I’d know you better if you were naked

Ever have a moment where you look at someone and they look familiar, and you think, if you were naked, I would know. Or is that just me? It’s been a few times lately. My friend Andrea waits tables at a local, upscale restaurant, a wine and cocktails type bistro. She often comes over to […]

Ever have a moment where you look at someone and they look familiar, and you think, if you were naked, I would know.

Or is that just me?

It’s been a few times lately.

My friend Andrea waits tables at a local, upscale restaurant, a wine and cocktails type bistro. She often comes over to my house after work with friends and co-workers, so I have several times wound up in the hot tub with naked, inebriated restaurant staff.

I was sitting at the bar one night, my bachelor week a couple weeks ago. I was sipping dirty martinis and people-watching; writing a story in my head that was being narrated by someone very like Marv in Sin City.

I was also watching waitresses. I love waitresses. And I kept thinking, I know that one girl but I could not dig up how.

It hit me. I think I’ve seen her naked. I could remember her full, luscious breasts.

If I could get her undressed, I thought, I could be sure.

Then there was another friend. I’ve seen her web cam photos, but when I met her in person, she was dressed. I didn’t recognize her at all. Thne later, in the hot tub, I realized, I’ve seen those tits before. And it hit me. I’d know you if you were naked.

The last time was, of course, another waitress. A mexican joint not far from me. I used to eat there weekly, but not so much in the last year, for no reason other than shifts in dining habits. They have a new waitress, and as usual, I took a liking to her on first site. She looks youngish, brunette. Short, with great thighs in a too-short skirt. Pierced nose, pony tail. She smiled at me in a way that made me want to growl.

And I kept thinking, I know this girl.

In fact I don’t, I finally realized what it was. She looks like a combination of a couple women. A stripper from some club I was at not long ago, and a girl I’ve seen on a porn web site. My brain fused them together and this cute little waitress was just similar enough that she pinged my sense of familiarity. And again, I had that thought. If you were naked, I’d know how I know you.

Maybe it’s just that I know bodies better than I know clothes. People I’ve seen naked a lot, I know in my mind’s eye every mole and scar and curve, every hair. Close friends, I could not tell you what they had on the last time I saw them, but I could tell you exactly what bruises they had the last time I saw them naked.

Wearing nothing is devine, naked is a state of mind
I take things off to clear my head to say the things I haven’t said
I live inside the elements the the earth and sky are my best friends
Water is the evidence that washes me from end to end

Categories: sex

working on sundays

My tar process got the files moved over, finally, but now I have to nuke about 100 million files…. I have to copy the fucking think and delete (obliterate, in perforce terms) everything I don’t want.
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Dammit, I hate working on sundays.

Still struggling with a perforce problem. My tar process got the files moved over, finally, but now I have to nuke about 100 million files.

Can’t these fuckers come up with a way to *extract* meta-data? I have to copy the fucking thing and delete (obliterate, in perforce terms) everything I don’t want.

They need to think about offering a real database back-end, I tellya. The proprietary db model is getting old.

Grumble, grumble. I’d rather be at a strip club.

[made with ecto]

I’d know you better if you were naked…

Ever have a moment where you look at someone and they look familiar, and you think, if you were naked, I would know. Or is that just me? It’s been a few times lately. My friend Andrea waits tables at a local, upscale restaurant, a wine and cocktails type bistro. She often comes over to […]

Ever have a moment where you look at someone and they look familiar, and you think, if you were naked, I would know.

Or is that just me?

It’s been a few times lately.

My friend Andrea waits tables at a local, upscale restaurant, a wine and cocktails type bistro. She often comes over to my house after work with friends and co-workers, so I have several times wound up in the hot tub with naked, inebriated restaurant staff.

I was sitting at the bar one night, my bachelor week a couple weeks ago. I was sipping dirty martinis and people-watching; writing a story in my head that was being narrated by someone very like Marv in Sin City.

I was also watching waitresses. I love waitresses. And I kept thinking, I know that one girl but I could not dig up how.

It hit me. I think I’ve seen her naked. I could remember her full, luscious breasts.

If I could get her undressed, I thought, I could be sure.

Then there was another friend. I’ve seen her web cam photos, but when I met her in person, she was dressed. I didn’t recognize her at all. Thne later, in the hot tub, I realized, I’ve seen those tits before. And it hit me. I’d know you if you were naked.

The last time was, of course, another waitress. A mexican joint not far from me. I used to eat there weekly, but not so much in the last year, for no reason other than shifts in dining habits. They have a new waitress, and as usual, I took a liking to her on first site. She looks youngish, brunette. Short, with great thighs in a too-short skirt. Pierced nose, pony tail. She smiled at me in a way that made me want to growl.

And I kept thinking, I know this girl.

In fact I don’t, I finally realized what it was. She looks like a combination of a couple women. A stripper from some club I was at not long ago, and a girl I’ve seen on a porn web site. My brain fused them together and this cute little waitress was just similar enough that she pinged my sense of familiarity. And again, I had that thought. If you were naked, I’d know how I know you.

Maybe it’s just that I know bodies better than I know clothes. People I’ve seen naked a lot, I know in my mind’s eye every mole and scar and curve, every hair. Close friends, I could not tell you what they had on the last time I saw them, but I could tell you exactly what bruises they had the last time I saw them naked.

Wearing nothing is devine, naked is a state of mind
I take things off to clear my head to say the things I haven’t said
I live inside the elements the the earth and sky are my best friends
Water is the evidence that washes me from end to end

Categories: sex

someplace else

I’m having one of those weekends where I just can’t seem to focus on anything.

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I’m having one of those weekends where I just can’t seem to focus on anything. I had a bunch of stuff I wanted to blog about – some stuff about stories I’ve been working on, maybe some harry potter, a bit about rebuilding a bbq and about mediating wars over polly pocket dolls.

But I’m sunburned and tired, and I’ve been struggling all weekend with trying to get a perforce tree copied over with rsync (don’t worry if you don’t understand that, it’s not important) so I could do a maintenance task I thought I could do over the weekend. I’m frustrated and would rather be someplace else doing something else.

The stuff I wanted to do this weekend seems to have fallen by the way-side.

Maybe sunday will get better. I have a fine cup ‘o peets sumtra, and I gave up on rsync and am using tar instead. If I can get that to fucking finish before sunset, and if I drink a couple more mugs of this fine coffee this morning, maybe I’ll feel a little less pissed off.

But I still wish I was someplace else.

[made with ecto]

Happy Birthday, Ruby

My daughter is seven years old today…. I remember the first one, who’s now eleven, being born only a couple years ago. This one can’t possibly be this big, this old already.

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My daughter is seven years old today.

Wow. How time fucking slips between my fingers. I remember the first one, who’s now eleven, being born only a couple years ago. This one can’t possibly be this big, this old already.

Seven years can go by in a blink.

Happy Birthday, Ruby. I love you.

Ruby Ruby Stitch

[made with ecto]

It’s that time already?

Doxy, it’s almost football season, already.

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Doxy, it’s almost football season, already.

How the fuck did that happen?

Pre-season starts next Saturday, august 6 with an unimportant Indianapolis vs. Atlanta game (Interesting only because it’s in Japan); your team kicks off preseason that monday, august 8.

My guys, the 49ers, get into it against Oakland on the following saturday, august 13. Hell, I wonder if I can get tickets to that one?

I’m starting to miss my season tickets. Last year it was easy to have them gone, the worst year to be a 49ers fan since the late 1970s. But I’m watching a new coach – and it seems, a coach with a clue – build a new team around a new quarterback. New defensive, offensive co-ordinators, new defensive scheme. Lots of new players, for once, where they’re need, on the O-line.

I’m cautiously optimistic about my team’s chances, for the first time in a couple years.

I’m looking at my calendar. Wow, it’s been a long year since last I sat here thinking about the start of football season. A year ago today I was getting ready to go to Fiji. I was thinking about how I was missing my first football season in years with my season tickets gone.

A long, long year. I have not been in the ocean since then; I’ve not been on vacation since then, not really (well, a short trip to Florida, too short, and a day here or there).

I don’t feel like the same person I was a year ago; in some ways I’m better, in some ways not. I feel as if that summer was the start of some rebirth for me, a process that maybe is still only beginning.

It’s almost fall, already, summer past it’s peak and on the down-slide. The year is past it’s halfway point. For many years, where the summer begins to ebb, I’ve looked forward to football season as the consolation prize for the loss of my favorite season. Sundays, monday nights, become the high point in my week. Last year, it felt deeply strange to not care about it, to look forward to friday, the end of my week, more than I looked forward to monday nights and the game.

I’m hoping for a better season, this year. Doxy, I’m hoping our teams, with our first and second draft picks, can crawl back outta the pit and make us proud.

Let’s make us a date, ok? Some year, I’ll take you to the superbowl. And maybe this time your guys will win.

[made with ecto]

Sun and Sea

It’s been a while since I’ve sat at work and daydreamed about a sandy beach, diving exotic oceans, sailing sunny seas…. I want to sleep in a hammock under a palm tree.

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I can’t stop thinking about sun and sea today.

It’s been a while since I’ve sat at work and daydreamed about a sandy beach, diving exotic oceans, sailing sunny seas. Today I can’t stop picturing it.

I want to sleep in a hammock under a palm tree. I want to walk on a beach and feel my skin go tan. I want that salty feeling my skin has when I’ve been in and out of the ocean all day.

I need to be on a boat. It’s been too long. I feel good when I’m on a boat, at one with the universe. I’m made to be at sea, not land-locked in a valley.

I need to get the fuck outta here.

[made with ecto]

Can’t do nothin’ with a dull knife

I own a lotta knives…. Finnish Pukko knives.

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I’m a knife geek.

I own a lotta knives. All sorts of knives. Pocket knives. Hunting knives. Balisong/butterfly knives. Switchblades. Bayonets. Finnish Pukko knives. Tactical folders. Skean Dubhs. And kitchen knives. Way more than I need. French, german. At least four serious chef’s knives (wait, no, it’s six). Several paring knives. Couple fillet knives. A butcher knife or two.

One of the key things is, I keep them fucking sharp. If they’re not close to being razors, what’s the point?

My all time favorite is the carbon steel french knife from Thiers-Issard. It takes an incredible edge, and like the knives I grew up using, it goes black with age. I love this knife.

But one of the facts is, you use knives, you’re gonna get cut. I got my first knife when I was six, and then made my first trip to the emergency room for stitches shortly after. Cooks get cut all the damned time.

Tonight I was making dinner; I grabbed the carbon steel knife, picked up my sharpener to freshen the edge (one of those ceramic deals with two rods in a big V). As usual, I hold the sharpener with my left hand, the knife in my right. Tonight, I missed the rod and whacked down hard enough on my hand to make an audible thunk.

Ow, thought, and then went on. It just felt like a whack. But then I realized how sharp this knife is. I looked at my hand, and there was a razor-thin red line. Then I bent the knuckle.

That’s gonna bleed a lot, I said to myself.

The thing with cuts on that hand is, they’re hard to bandage by yourself. After about three tries, I was about to call a friend to come help me. But the thing is, I don’t have the fucking patience. So I went for the biggest damned bandaid I could find, slapped it on, and finished dinner.

All this is, of course, only an excuse to try my new iSight camera out. But here’s the result.

Really though, I’m good with a knife. Damned good. I’m just not so good with bandages.

[made with ecto]