My Triumphant Return

Yes, I know. I know. I have done this to you before and I came back with excuses and promises. Once before I sheepishly returned, roses in hand, promising that it was a one-time thing - that I was drunk. Over the past month I have received many, many e-mails and comments expressing kind sentiments such as: “What the fuck? Update, asshole!” and “Dude, write something (although this blog is just as good when you don’t write, as when you do.” However, my favorite has to be “Are you really surprised your sister got knocked up? She has always been kind of slutty.” (Now that I write that one out, I suspect it might not have been about the blog, but more meant for me personally).

Well my lovely little friends, I am back. And once again, I have an excuse. Here is my story. Before we begin let me just say this: I am not ashamed of the things I have done, only those which I did not do. Also, the world is a tragedy to those who feel, but a comedy to those who think. Additionally, humor is the only test of gravity, and gravity of humor; for a subject which will not bear raillery is suspicious, and a jest which will not bear serious examination is false wit. Finally, allow me to impart to you that men acquire a particular quality by constantly acting a particular way. . . you become just by performing just actions, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave actions. I hope that you will take these words of wisdom I have to offer and learn from them. Tell the world my story so that others may learn what you have learned. (Or will learn in just a few seconds after reading this story).

Just under a month ago, I was up late one night preparing a blog post for your pleasure, (because I am all about your pleasure), when I get an e-mail. It is from our little friend over at Hobocamp, A Lover and A Fighter. Now, every single one of you who has been to her blog know just about everything about her. You know about her roommates, you know about her pretend work crushes and you know how her grandmother was once injured because of her gigantic, anatomically correct vibrator. Despite the fact that everyone knows all of these things, in addition to her name, I was once greatly chastised for referring to her by her first name in a comment. Therefore, we will refer to A Lover and Fighter for the length of this post as “Oprah.” So, anyway, Oprah e-mails me. I e-mail back, and then we begin an Instant Message chat that will forever change my life. I, being the nice fellow that I appear to be, ask how her day was. On a normal day I can assure that Oprah is as sunny as the day is long. However, on this particular day she was a bit down. Your hero (me) asked her what was wrong. Oprah launches into a tale of dismal, bleak, cold, big city life. I won’t get into the details, (men trouble), the particulars (run ins with the law) or the finer points (the racism allegations). Instead, I will just say that she was having a bad day. We continued to chat well into the night. Before I knew it we had been IMing all night long. By morning time I was online purchasing her a plane ticket to come for a visit. This may seem like a quick step to some of you, but when you IM with someone on your laptop at the same time you are urinating (I had to sit down to do so, and I don’t want to discuss it) you get pretty close with someone pretty quickly.

Two days later I was at the airport to pick up Oprah. You might think that meeting someone for the first time like that would be awkward, but it really wasn’t. We immediately hit if off. For those of you who saw her “This is Me Posing in My Underwear Because I am Not Ashamed of Semi-Nakedness” post before it was taken down, you will know I am telling the truth when I say that she is even hotter is person than she is in that picture of her with her black bra on the outside of her shirt.

Her trip was supposed to last for the weekend. We soon both realized that her visit would have to be extended. One week quickly turned into two, and the second week quickly turned into two weeks and two days. Before I knew it I was waving good-bye as her plane took off, and a single tear traced its way down my cheek. After two weeks and two days, I was left only with some photos of her visit, and a pair of her underpanties that she ‘accidentally’ left behind. I’ll share the photos now.



Shortly after she arrived, we went for some coffee and muffins. We took them to the park where we watched a spontaneously formed frisbee golf game and munched on the muffins. Oprah plucked a fresh flower for me and snapped this photo.



We went from the park to "inspiration point" where we hiked to the top of a peak and watched the sunset. She remarked that I reminded her of the Greek gods from the stories of her youth and commented that she wanted to take this photo as a constant reminder of the majesty of the "male form."



Over the next few nights we went to a variety of clubs and dance halls. We saw everything from rave clubs, to piano bars, to a "swingers club." I am not sure exactly what that last one was, but Oprah seemed to be pretty comfortable there. On the night we visited the piano bar, when the jazz pianist took a break, Oprah jumped on stage and began to play. At this moment she is transitioning from her introductory, Chopin's "Prelude in E minor" to Scott Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag." I know she looks odd in that photo (a little child-like), but the lighting was "off" in there.


We even had a chance to run in a small marathon. Here is Oprah warming up before we left the house. She is very limber. I don't recall why she stretches naked.

On our final day before she left we took a walk in the park along a winding canal where merchants and street performs lined the sidewalk. At one point we stopped to watch a painter go about capturing the scene in an abstract work of art. As we stood there watching, the artist looked up at us and stopped painting in mid-stroke. He gasped a little and exclaimed, "YOU are a work of art standing there, I must capture you." We both demurred. He insisted. Over the next two hours we stood and modeled for him. The result is now hanging above my fireplace:



You may have noticed that our little friend, Oprah, has only been posting sporadically over the past month. She asked me not to say this, but she posted from here. She even e-mailed her friends, acting as if she were just at home with an illness. She said she needed to "keep up appearances so that others don't judge." Because she implored that I not, I will not regale you with our exploits. I only say that I am changed, and each night that I look up that portrait, I am reminded of the pilfered underpanties tucked neatly under my pillow.

The lesson, you ask? There is none, I just wanted to keep you reading until the end. It is a literary technique. Writers use it. Because that's what I am, a writer.

(also I promise I will never disappear again).