My all time favorite bit of cootie behavior from last night…

I literally bumped into a woman I know last night and stopped to speak to her and her friend.  Both women are in their early 40s.  The woman I know introduced me to the redhead I didn’t know and she was nice and nice looking and had her hair in one of those claw clips pulled up off her neck.  I turned back to the woman I know to inquire about her daughters and such and about five or 10 seconds later turned back to the redhead when I felt her touch my forearm.  When I looked back, she’d snatched the claw clip out of her hair and pulled her hair over her shoulder. 

Can a goofball buy a clue?

Prolly just coincidence that she wanted her hair down just at that moment, you think?

A few minutes later the redhead also wanted to smell my cologne.

Was this another clue?

Alcohol plus cooties.  Goofballs aren’t the only ones who put on beer goggles about 11:30 p.m., I’m thinking.

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there are those who prefer my hair longer and it’s recently been down to my shoulders, but Daria cut my hair Thursday.  Thank you, darlin’, you are the very very best.

Ponytailedavidz at Isis nonwithstanding, I finally got home this evening covered in various shades of lipstick administered by women ages 22 to 62.  Little did I know this was Middle Aged Married Women Who Are Sick of Bastketball Flirt Your Ass Off Night.

A business associate/friend invited me to Groovy’s at 10 p.m. tonight to meet some of her friends.  Four married MiddleAge women to fascinate with my theory that boys are goofballs and girls have cooties.  There were at least five groups of married women of four or more at Groovy’s. 

I’ve been girlhandled.  The stand close to you and rub your back up and down lightly, hug you, kiss your cheeck, OH! What IS that cologne you’re wearing?,  snuggle up to your chest to smell your neck below the ear kind of girlhandled.  Cooties.  Makes me smile.  Flatters my fragile ego and I know the drill and I don’t mind a single bit.  I got danced close when the song was fast, bumped into, rubbed on and kissed on the mouth warmly.  Even ladies I know as friends or know their boyfriend/husband better than them greeted me … warmly, but since in front of their husband, chastely as well.  I started to think that everyone had been administered X but me and started looking for the most likely dealer, but I don’t know what a club dealer in X looks like.  I know a drug deal when I see one, but it was so freakin’ crowded you couldn’t see one.  Fog machine and confetti.  What the hell was I thinking? 

I am NOT complaining!

I merely wish to thank Daria for maybe the best haircut of my life. 

She is SO good.

There were also sharks in the water.  A guy with a European accent, flowing dark brown hair, silk shirt and slacks was killing at will.  A swarthy shorter man with lots of product in his hair and a trimmed beard and an honest-to-God-I-kid-you-not gold medallion on a huge gold chain exposed along with his chest hair about four buttons down and more than three rings on his hands  “held court” with bored security guards and touched himself.  It was comical.  Life imitating Saturday Night Live’s imitation of life.  He didn’t cock his head to the side in “time” to the music like Will Farrell, but, damn, son. 

I’d like to have a nickle for every bottle of peroxide in the room, if you know what I mean.

Sometimes, it’s nice to watch people dance whether they are goofy or really good.  None of that last night.  Free-for-all brawl was more like it.  Lots of times, there are three or more girls out dancing together and not with male partners.  Some of those times, some brave guy goes out onto the floor and tries to cut one or more out or to just dance with all of them at the same time.  So, I was watching these three women of some age over 35 but still very good looking and this guy tries to dance with them, but he can’t quite cut in because he’s focused on one particular bleached blonde and every time he moves that way, the other two block him with their backs.  He didn’t figure it out for three songs in a row and finally walked off shaking his head.  I laughed on the sidelines along with the girls.

I got flirted with by single girls, too, and in particular a buxom Hispanic, a bootilicious black and a slim blonde.  Groovy’s was very race, color, creed tolerant in its flirting tonight.  It’s a diversity equal flirting federal rule in discotechs now, I think.  I’ll have to look up that reg in the Federal Registry.  Yeah, I’ll do that any day now.

Knew most of ‘em.  AND their boyfriends.  Not that I didn’t do my share of drooling. 

Earlier, saw Randy Clemons play at the Red Cup and he was certainly worth the price of admission.  Seriously, I don’t care what anybody else says about him, I think he plays pretty good dobro.  Honestly, I think he’s among the very best of the talents I’ve seen at the Cup.

I’m officially in love with Sue, the new waitress at Galileo’s whom I’ve not yet met.  I understand she’s presently burdened with a boyfriend and I think it’s cruel of her to use him just to get to me.  What can you expect of a woman of so few years?  I am officially in love with her because she actually smiled at me as she walked by to serve someone else.  That’s about all it took.  Hey!  It’s Spring!  I’m a sap, so what did you expect?  From a goofball?  Shut UP.  Every day is old guy acts the fool day.  Safe, harmless fantasy.  Shut UP.

I’ll shut up then.

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p.s.  said “bon voyage” to Oz and Debster, I already miss them and wish them a great time in sunny Mexico.

Legendary reporter Mary Jo Nelson died at age 80.  Her obituary in The Daily Oklahoman is here.

I worked beside her man and boy for more than a decade.  She was a wonder.  I’ll miss her.  She avoided the ubiquitous cynicism of the journalism profession and was relentlessly upbeat.  She covered city hall for the Times while I was on the same beat for the Oklahoman and we sat side by side through many a boring Tuesday city council session during Patience Latting’s mayoral term, flogging the “Bishop bloc” from the southside for its loyalty to the town’s developers.

Services are pending at Guardian North.

A.O. Scott, reviewing the movie “300” for the New York Times, absolutely hated it for lots of the same reasons I liked it.  You can read his review here.

He’s wrong, in my opinion, but he’s also funny in that snarky kind of way that film reviewers sometimes have.

Life Magazine asked Chris Rock if America was ready for a black president like Obama and he replied: “America’s ready for a retarded president, why wouldn’t it be ready for a black president?”.

I think that’s funny.

Andrew Sullivan calls “300” the most gay movie of all time.  He’s gay and it’s funny if you read the column as I do.  Anyway, I’ll admit the screen fills with beautiful men.  It’s hard to describe a horrific slaughter like the  Battle of Thermopalae as gorgeous, but this film is really wondrous visually.  300 lean and muscled up men in capes and thongs.  Damn.  I think of myself as very darn straight, but wow.  And how Freudian do you have to be to recognize swordplay and big thick spears as just a bit on the phallic side?  And, as I’ve heard him described elsewhere, the guy who plays Xerxes looks like an ultra pierced Eurotrash club fag in this role.  But(t), you know, I didn’t think about any of that while I watched.  I was “into” this movie almost like Starwars in 1977.  I just flat willingly suspended my disbelief.  I think it had something to do with going to see this one by myself at an “off” hour in a huge, but almost empty auditorium.  No kids, no cellphones, no scratches on the film, no distortion in the speakers, no sound from the theatre next door.  It was such a delight that I was glad, even eager, for a good popcorn chomping old fashioned good guys-bad guys melodrama.  It is no doubt brutal and violent, in a graphic novel blood splashing way.  After all, most Greek stuff is brutal and violent and this is a myth/legend about a bloody historical event.  It’s literally “theatrical”.  Dignity, Honor, Valor, Bravery, Romantic notions all, I agree.  Patriotism, the last refuge of scoundrals.  Still … it’s comforting, I suppose, to think for awhile that those ideals, those virtues, might really exist.

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P.S. I’ve been posting comments everywhere as “anonymous” without thinking to sign the posts.  sorry.  If there’s sumpin’ stupid, it’s likely me.

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Not too long ago, I posted about a controversy at a small college at which the National Delta Zeta sorority came in and chased away all the “sisters” who were overweight, of color or handicapped.  The local sorority girls got their panties in a wad and called their Indiana Univ. sisters “plastic” blondes.  Now, the whole sorority is off campus and there’s a national debate about sororities.

“Plastic” is, as most of you know, also a phrase used to describe credit cards as well as women with good looks but no brains.  Most “plastic” women, one may suppose, rely heavily on their “plastic” to maintain their unelastic lifestyles.

As has been well documented here, it was only last summer that I made my move to get “plastic” out of my life.  I radically rearranged my finances and lifestyle to leave the credit card culture behind and keep nothing but a paid up Amex and a paid up Texaco/Shell card.

I hereby also give up “plastic” as in women as well.

For me, many women have much in common with my addiction to credit cards.  They are very handy to have about.  They are very good for instant gratification of a moment’s impulse.  They can provide a very entertaining weekend.

But, OH, the payback is a bitch.  (pun intended)

The higher the interest, the more difficult it is on the back end.

Of the deal, that is. 

I’ll leave those of you so inclined, declined or reclined to continue the pun … er … fun.

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It might not be quite so good after today’s drop of 200 points in the Dow.

Elsewhere, President Bush kept expectations low for his tour of Latin America, telling reporters, “I never got good grades in Latin.”

The world can be a pretty amusing place if you just look at it from the right angle.

Some of you know I’ve been searching for wisdom and attending the Debster’s Socrates Cafe and even reading in the Quran (Yes, Deb, an English translation, but it’s still dense). Here’s the perfect antidote:

Monty Python’s Philosopher’s Song

Enjoy!  Have a great day or I’ll … I’ll … Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, especially if you’ve got a foot the size of a cantelope with toes.

Post script to John X: I can’t decide between the 3 “nuns” and the Ottoman looking character with the wide mouth.  I’ll take Ottoman for $400.  The rest of you can find out what I’m talking about at MindTurds.