Tuesday, March 13, 2007

"I don't feel good."

- Luther Burbank, dying words

These days my pal Unca Don is not the apple in the fruit basket of Selby Avenue that he once was. These days, there is Mrs. Unca Don to put a stop to his madcap hijinks and shenanigans. In fact, if you were to call him right now on his cell phone he would have to stop walking to talk to you so that your words would not be drowned out by the rattle of the ankle chain connected to the big iron ball. In the words of Francis Beaumont, "The sturdy steed now goes to grass and up they hang his saddle."

But such was not always the case. Once Unca Don used to write in the waistband of his hygienic white briefs with a Sharpie, "Property of Unca Don. Drop in any mailbox if found." He used to eagerly await the mail delivery on Tuesday after a weekend of debauchery so he could once again properly house his equipment. What I'm saying is that he used to be a player.

One evening Unca Don and I went to W. A. Frost because Don had a coupon for a complimentary heterosexual encounter if he purchased an entrée. As he ate his dinner and chatted with the Coupon Matron to his left, I was sitting on his right nursing a scotch. Well, not so much nursing it as drinking it; I made sure the scotch was old enough to have been weaned when I bought it.

Next to me on my right sat a reasonably attractive woman with brown hair who was intently staring into whatever it was she was drinking. I observed her for a bit and thought about chatting her up. Then suddenly her head swiveled around like the turret of an M1A2 Abrams tank and I found myself facing the 120mm smooth-bore stare of a psychotic. "Uh oh, Hulles," I said to myself. "This isn't going to be pretty and it will probably hurt lots. Again."

But the conversation started off well enough, I thought.

"My boyfriend thinks I'm too hairy," she said.

I examined the hair on her head and found myself somewhat at a loss because her hairstyle looked pretty normal to me, if a bit tousled. "Ungch," I said as I suddenly realized that she wasn't talking about the hair on her head at all. "Gnnrfw." I had never made strangling sounds before without actually being strangled so that was an interesting experience.

Guys, I know what you're thinking: "Go Hulles! What a great straight line you got! Even on my drunkest night I could probably craft a decent quip out of that one, like 'Let's see it! Hyuk hyuk!'"

Not so. This woman was deadly earnest and scary crazy; you could smell the sweet stench of psychosis from twenty feet away. "Run!" shrieked my gibbering brain. "Fuck Unca Don and leave the tab! Save yourself!" But alas, I was impaled upon the besplintered wooden stake of her cold glittering stare [love that new metaphor mixer!]. I could no more have gotten off my bar stool than I could have swum to the moon. Transfixed by her unblinking gaze, I suddenly realized that this was how she captured her prey in the wild.

Sure enough, as I sat there twitching occasionally and breathing through my mouth she explained to me in great detail how she didn't think she was too hairy, what was up with that, she trimmed herself with a nail scissors once but that didn't appease him, it was really that there was too much of a hairy surface area as opposed to the hair being too long, maybe she should go for the bare cookie look, she could probably wax her vulva but that sounded like it would hurt, what did I think?

"Nnngh," I said, staring at a small pool of spittle on the bar directly below my chin and wondering vaguely where it had come from.

Just then the Coupon Matron squealed with delight (I told you Unca Don had it going on at one time) and the spell was broken.

Don later told me that when I rocketed out of my seat and ran screaming for the door he just assumed that it was a case of being poorly positioned when the aftermath of a Mexican Windbreaker binge came upon me. I should be so lucky.

We found out later that Fanatica (not her real name) was banned from W. A. Frost after that episode. Too late for me, but at least some good came of it.

The next time we encountered Fanatica, Unca Don and I were at a different bar in the same general area (Fabulous Fern's if you must know). I think it was Okra Night. I had just run into a female friend who had brought me over to her table to meet her fiance, something I had looked forward to for a long time, believe it or not. Suddenly and without warning Fanatica was at my right elbow talking to me over the conversation of the couple at the table. I was tremendously embarrassed, and finally apologized and said that I was going to go back and sit at the bar and (by implication) take Fanatica away with me. Their relief was palpable.

As I escorted the briskly chattering Fanatica to the bar, I had to figure out how to dispose of her. I wanted to plant her and have her stay in one place so I could at least enjoy part of the evening somewhere else. What to do, what to do?

Ping! Light bulb comes on.

"Hey, Fanatica, this is my friend Unca Don, noted vulva waxer and braider of pubic hair. I just bet you two have tons of things to talk about."

See, Unca Don, unlike me, is unable to defend himself conversationally. He always politely listens to whatever wackjob happens to be sitting next to him and nods and asks questions and in general encourages said wackjob to stay and talk forever. He usually even buys them a drink. How he has been able to survive this long with his mind more or less intact is something I will never know. But because of all this Don was the perfect person to stick Fanatica with. No sooner thought than done by yours truly. Am I a good friend or what?

Probably not. I left Don to survive or not as he would and found a corner to cower in and drink myself insensate.

Unca Don later told me that Fanatica at one point had drawn sexual positions with stick figures on cocktail napkins to explain what she liked to do with her boyfriend. One drawing in particular was pretty gruesome. It involved Fanatica sort of crouched over with her ass in the air and her head stuck in a corner. "This is my favorite position," she said. "But I'm always afraid he's going to snap my neck."

"I'd like to see that," said Unca Don.

Fanatica laughed.

"No, really, I would," said Don.

We later found out that she was banned forever from Fern's after that night. Again, too late for us, but we consoled ourselves with the fact that we saved countless future generations from the mind-numbing terror of Fanatica conversations.

Don still claims he never slept with her. I remain skeptical, but maybe this time he's not lying.

Want to know something really funny? This story is all true. Unca Don says he still has the above-mentioned cocktail napkin somewhere. If he ever finds it, I'm scanning it and posting it here for all the world to admire. My bartender friends report that Fanatica has been banned from pretty much every bar in Saint Paul and no one has seen her in years.

I like to think that she somehow found some sucker to marry her then tortured and dismembered him and ground his bones into a fine powder and is now a hausfrau somewhere in Saint Paul, sitting at home in her nasty house dress like a spider in a web, waiting for you to invite her to join your book club.

As you value your life and sanity, don't do it! But if you for some reason decide to do it anyway, let me know how it goes, would you? Just morbid curiosity I guess. And find out if she bred. We might have to burn out a whole nest of them.

-- Hulles


SuperBee said...

Did she have a full-strength Twin Cities accent? (Proper response: "Ohhh, you betcha!")

LaCosta (Lollie) said...

I have two running visions in my head because I'm unsure of her age...one is mildly distressing because she's about 33, while the other is truly horrifying because she's pushing 60...

Tate said...

Jeez! Had me spooked for a moment but I swear I have never been to St Paul!

Extremely entertaining. :)

Jen said...

I get to hear women complain all the time that their boyfriend/husband/fuck-buddy thinks they're too hairy. But unlike you, I actually have to look at it and tell them their boyfriend/husband/fuck-buddy is wrong.

Hulles said...

Superbee, you need to get out more. And, btw, take a trip to the Twin Cities. None of you will ever be the same again....

Kristen Painter said...

Um...maybe you should stay in more.

Ann Vremont said...

omg ... i thought the story was inevitably leading to the revelation that Unca Don's ball and chain was fanatica

you should be gawkered -- this was a very worthy, entertaining read (emoticon omitted)

Hulles said...

Lollie, 33 is closer, so only mildly distressing is the vision you have.

Tate, thanks. I knew it wasn't you because grinding the bones into a fine powder isn't part of your M.O. as I understand it. But do come to Saint Paul. Not everyone is psychotic, promise.

Jen, I'm not sure why you tell them the bf/etc. is wrong - don't you want the business? (She's an aesthetician for those who don't know.)

Kristen, I'm tired of staying in. Back in those days, though, that would have been good advice indeed.

Ann, Don's ball and chain is a lovely and (relatively) sane woman named Renee. In many ways I don't blame Don for hanging up his six guns on the hook. But I blame him for everything else... And thanks lots for your comment. It is much appreciated.

Jen said...

But telling them they are normal is all part of my evil plan. They think I'm sympathetic; I develop trust. Then I can manipulate them into seeing me every month. If I tell them what their boyfriend tells them, they'll hate me.

Hulles said...

Jen, I can see you've thought this through....

Jen said...

Of course. It's a business strategy.

Cristina Cordova said...

So... I really AM tooo hairy! (i knew that)

Hulles said...

Cristina, um... I'll just stick to saying that it's nice to see your little photo in my comments. XOXO.

Stephen Blackmoore said...

Jen, you really need to work on your manipulation skills. The trick is in making them think it was their idea to get it done, not yours.

When asked the question you're supposed to look and in your most professional and sympathetic voice say, "Huh."

"What? What does that mean?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. You're fine, really. Although..."


"Oh, I'm sorry. Nothing. You're fine."

"Oh my god. I AM too hairy. Can you do something about that?"

"Of course. If you really want to."

It pays to be a sociopath.

Hulles said...

Then why am I broke?

Eva Gale said...

I'm wth Ann, I thought you were leading into a Unca Don/Fanatica tie in.

That was a much needed laugh. Coffee snerking included.

Ann, you cannot mit the emoticons, it's nice to hear him tweak about it all the way from St Paul.

Hulles said...

Eva, you cannot omit the o in omit. I'm glad you laughed. If Don and Fanatica had gotten together, I would have had to Intervene. I have had to Intervene in several Unca Don relationships. I keep telling him to date Earth girls, everyone knows they're easy.

Mosilager said...

So you never actually found out her real name? That's a hilarious post H.

Eva Gale said...

Sorry-today is a spelling impared day. :-)

Eva Gale said...

See? I told you.

Hulles said...

Mosilager, thank you very much. Funny, I had you pegged for "an hilarious" instead of "a hilarious." And I always knew her real name, I just didn't use it here because she might be your mom or something.

Eva, Arrrgh! An emoticon!

Jen said...

Mr. Blackmoore, while I am glad to see you around these parts once again (I assume it means you're feeling better), I must inform you that you aren't exactly right. That kind of strategy works in male-female relationships, but not in female-female relationships. It's my job to make them feel comfortable and normal while at the same time giving them my professional advice.