Later today I’ll show you how to pick up sexy-shaped little things like just don’t exist in Florida. But for now, I’d like to give you an example of the type of people who are in the majority in this State. Damion decides to write a sign saying “Sale”. He could have borrowed any of a dozen different pencils, pens, crayons and chalk which we have at the Thrift. No, I remember he asked to borrow a “grease” pencil.
See the sign? The one that looks like it was written in three different fonts? It is written in grease. This sign has to be picked up and taken inside at the end of each day. Now think of my favorite beige short-sleeve dress shirt, the one I only wear on weekends. You want to know the sad part? Damion is actually one of the sharper tools in the Florida shed.Between customers, and it was busy today, I watched half of “Tombstone”, the western with no basis in reality. I like these epics because they are very well-made in terms of sets and makeup. Lots of surprisingly liberated sexy women considering the era it is supposed to portray. I must watch the other half tomorrow morning, since I’ll talk my way out of going to the doggie wig place. I admit, I get lazy when there is money in the coffers. (What the hell is a coffer, anyway? And why aren’t there more of them around these days?)
I’ve decided on another quiet evening, ah, just to relax. Not just that, but to relax whenever I please. When I worked, I had to relax between other things I was always behind on because of work. Sportsgook emailed from the boat, he is an entertainer there one weekend a month, something called “The Fifties Stage”. I will call the new guitarist tomorrow, see if he is still interested. I didn’t say, but he told me several times he was willing to play for $25 a night. He does not sing, but at that price, I’ll find somebody who can. For the record, $25 a night is all I figure a good guitar player is worth these days. If they don’t like it, they can go metaphorically play “Mustang Sally”.
Speaking of cranky guitarists, the G tried to bad-mouth Club M and is getting shot down in flames. In yet another of his less-than-successful forays out into the real world, he again gets both feet in his mouth. That is unfair, I should say that his writing career has been just as astoundingly successful as his music recording career.
Hell, I’ve done twice as much recording and that isn’t even what I set out to do. I could easily compile, encode, engineer, burn, label and market a dozen CDs and make 100 copies per hour on the nine computers I already own.
Let me tell you the facts. Very few people go to a bar to see a band. That is “guitar-think”. Most people go to the same bar no matter who is playing there. What is more, they go there to have a drink because most of them are so boring and bored there is nothing else they can do. Then, they scout around for women.
If none of that flies, they may pay attention to the band when they aren’t talking goof (“Hey everybody, let’s all risk a DUI because The G is up at Alligator Alley this Friday!”) If they have a favorite musician, they just wait for the next time he shows, they do not go looking for him. That is why my philosophy of working with the crowd that is already there is so different. I don’t expect anybody to change their habits to hear me play.
This guy finally brought in the stands for the mannequins. They are a metal plate that fits a prong into a metal tube on the mannequin’s right foot. There were a couple of sharp dudes in today that noticed the extra-hot fashions on display, although one guy’s wife was not pleased that he would mention it. He did not appear to care what she thought. The wardrobes were chosen by that tall blonde who was in last Saturday. She must have an eye for it, because I very rarely notice what women are wearing unless something else gets my attention first.
Here is your lesson on picking up women. Notice the strategic location of the right hand, and the leverage of the shoulder. As Dr. Ruth would say, if she were a polite lady, “Leverage! Leverage!” Of course, in your case it would help if you found a lady with no arms. Okay, that was a bad joke. I had once planned on using a mannequin to practice undoing bra straps, but then I found out that my kind of woman does not need a bra. You see, this Catholic gal called Lynette Bartholet told me that her mother pinched the hooks on her bra shut with pliers before she went out on dates. I have not seen Lynette since high school, but I ran across her younger brother at a sawmill near Northern Montana and he says she married and gained 200 pounds. Mercifully, in that order.
Later. Okay, the mannequin shot proved so popular, here is another.
Return Home
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
