Land of Enchantment

I pulled into Ruidoso about 10pm after dropping Maggie off at an old friends house. No dogs allowed at The Inn of the Mountain Gods. The boys were probably just settling into the Casino, so I checked into the resort. They had left a room key for me, so I went upstairs to drop my stuff off before I took off to find them. As I was walking down the hall, I smelled this horrible odor emanating from the door of my room. Just great! I open the door and found Rodney inside smoking a joint.

"Rodney, what the hell are you doing, man? Jeez that stuff stinks."

"It's for my glaucoma. Prescription. heeheehee." Rodney was stoned and probably drunk. Whatever man.

"Bullshit, how in the hell? When did you start smoking weed?"

"I done tole you its for my glaucoma. Dr. Barnes gave me a prescription for it and I'm supposed to smoke weed now. heeeheeehaaw. Can you believe that? Heheheehaaw."

Rodney didn't fool me. He looked older than his age, but he damn sure didn't have glaucoma. Rodney was a rough and tumble good ole boy through and through. It's doubtful he had been out of Lubbock but 5 times in his life, and at least 3 were trips with the gang to Ruidoso, and that might as well be Lubbock on the weekends. He loved two things in this life. His son and his friends.

Rodney regaled us with stories at the bar on Tuesday nights. Cleaned up the next night and never failed to have dinner with his teenage son. My favorite recount was when Rodney spiked the brownies in his high school Home Economics class with marijuana.

"the assignment was the meal had to include differnt colors. We HAD GREEN! hehheehaw. Them girls sure did liike me."

I immediately started to think of that while I tried to muddle through the weed smell. His favorite saying about Lubbock is,

"I remember when you could be drivin down Quirt Ave hopped up on qualuudes, and nobody would say nothin."

Those must have been the good old days. You did it now, you were being watched on the big brother light camera. Rodney hadn't messed with those things since then and I was worried he might drift back into the drug use. I guess Dr. Barnes fixed that for him.

"Damn it Rodney, why dont you go sober up so we can go have some fun."

"I'm having enough fun right here, hell I dont gamble anyway. I'm just going to stay here and drink some pre-paid beers."

'Pre-Paid Beers' is another Rodney euphemism. If he has beer in his 30 year old Styrofoam Shlitz cooler, they were deemed pre-paid beer. Any other beer is bought from a bar and put on a tab, therefore it isn't paid for yet.

"Go for it bro..Chief and Ron downstairs?"

"Yep, as soon as we got in Chief ran over to the roulette wheel, put a five hunnert on red and hit it. Heeheehaaaw. That Chief, he is somethin else. He hadn't even been to the room, paid an Indian to take his shit up for him. I guess we'll see him tomorrow fer lunch. heeheehaaw."

"Well, I'll go down and see if he has his house deed up for action. Check ya later, and lay off the doobage, I'd like to sleep tonight."

"Alright man. Ya'll call me if you get soom women goin down thare."

I took a trip through the Casino and spotted Ron at the bar. He had a throng of people around him. He knew every single persons name and introduced me to them all, recited where they worked, and gave me the rundown on their marital status and sometimes even knew what their parents did for a living. Ron had a mind like a steel trap when it came to knowing people from Lubbock.

"Dude, what took you so long? Where the fuck you been? I thought you were hauling ass!"

Ron, the Jetta aint no Mazzarati. I took my time and enjoyed the scenery."

Ron smiled, "I guess we could have done this for alot cheaper if we had just stayed home. Everybody is always from Lubbock."

"Yes, France has the Riviera, L.A. has Palm Springs, New York has the Hampton's, and Lubbock has a shithole Indian Casino in the mountains of New Mexico."

"Good times." Ron was feeling no pain and just happy to be in a bar.

"You going to gamble?" I already knew the answer to this question. In all of our trips to Ruidoso, Ron sat in the same seat at the bar munching on nachos, sipping on beers, and bullshitting with people.

"Hell no man, Damn Chief is going crazy and I can't roll with him. He talks me into crazy ass bets that he seems to win, but I never can. I might try tomorrow, but for now I'm just happy checking out the ass." Ron felt uncomfortable betting a quarter, much less his paycheck.

"Alright then, I'll go see if I can calm Chief down."

"Hold on dude, that chick Twila, she was at the bar last night with some big dude."

"Really, that was prolly Struts or Rex. No big deal. I forgot to call her. Damn."

"No man, this dude was huge and looked like he was...well, he was big and had a bunch of tattoos and muscles and shit. It wasn't those football players. They weren't with her. This dude was pissed off at Twila too. Kept yelling at her and kinda pushing her around. She came by and cussed me out because she couldn't find you. She looked like shit bro. She looked scared too. I don't know what the story is, but you might want to steer clear of her for a while. That guy was scary."

I felt a cool chill down my body and also felt the jealousy creeping in again. "Really? Man Ron, you might be right about staying away. But I just don't think I can do that now."

"You like her? Oh shit Russ. I have seen this before. Don't go off the deep end with this one. Twila is trouble bro. I'd find someone else more your speed."

I sat down and had a shot with Ron in silent thought. He was right. I do go off the deep end and chase women I shouldn't have any business being with. But he knew that despite his warning. I was going to chase her anyway. I was hooked on Twila. I was scared for her too.

Even the losers, get lucky sometimes

Chief was at the craps table, looking haggard from a long day at work and even longer trip out west. He was like a moth drawn to light. Focused on every nuance of the action. Pen and paper in hand charting each and every roll and the tendencies of each roller. He doesn't sleep the entire time we are there, and only takes one break to have lunch with the gang at our favorite local eatery in town. Chief is amazing. If he sleeps, its because all of the dice tables are closed. I think that happened once during a renovation.

If I made up those fake motivational posters that can be found on the internet. I would photoshop a picture of Chief during a roll at a Dice table and the caption would read.

Gambling: Doing the same thing over and over again expecting positive results.

or better yet.

Tenacity: never quit until your broke.

But in the entire time I had known Chief, he was never broke. The guy oozed cash at all times. He could walk into a rigged card game and catch the miracle card to screw the shysters out of their stacks. He was remarkable. He paid every tab, bought every lunch, and picked up every hotel bill every time we were in Ruidoso. Otherwise, Ron, Rodney. and I would probably be back at the local tavern. I on the other hand was the anti-thesis of Chief at gambling. I lived for the pain.

"You want some of this!" Pointing at his huge chip stack of $25 greens, $100 Blacks, and $500 pinks.

"Damn Chief, what the hell? How do you do this?"

"I go to church every Sunday and the Lord likes me, that's all it is." Grinning the grin of the charmed life.

I bellied up beside him, and he pushed me $500 in chips. "Start there and I will try and cover your losses." Laughing like he already knew the result.

"Not this time Chief, I'm going to heat up, I can feel it." I better, I guessed that the running tab I had with Chief over the last 8 years was something like $7000 or so. I had one hot streak in 2002 and left Ruidoso with $100 extra. But that was because I caught Montezuma's revenge after the first night of playing poker, and spent the rest of the weekend in the bathroom. Chief never asked me for repayment. I gave him money now and again, but he never seemed to care whether it was repaid. He really didn't. It wasn't about the money for Chief. He liked the action and thrill. He was a lucky person. If you have ever heard about lucky stories about slim odds gambling wins. Chief was the main character most likely.

Soon, it became Chief's turn to roll. He announced to the table. "Everybody better load up. I'm going to bust this joint in 45 minutes." Then a cheer came from the gamblers. Chief's exploits were known far and wide, and everybody did as he said to do.

On and on for 45 minutes like Chief said he would. He hit point after point. He hit Hard eights, and loads of sevens and elevens at the right times. The pit bosses were gathering around in concern. You would think they would ban him, but they just couldn't. Somebody had to win. Inside 20 minutes a crowd was gathering and pushing chips into the middle. It would take the dice crew 30 to 60 seconds to pay off the bets after each roll. The table looked like a rainbow mountain range. All around it were people so happy, they were screaming and moaning in orgasms of greedy delight. It was Chief's creation. He never smiled or stooped to admire his creation. He was the artist and we were the visitors seeing his art while it was being made.

I seriously began to question my aversion to Christianity by the 40th minute of Chief's triumphant roll. The Himalayas of chips were now mounted on this one roll. Sweat was beading from his brow. I screamed at people.

"NOBODY FUCKING TOUCH HIM!"

He looked at me without smiling, glee of chips on the table reflected off his deep green eyes. I loved him I thought. Then he said.

"This is IT Russ, get it in now!"

He looked at me, but I just couldn't. I had made $2,000 on this long roll and I just couldn't give it all back on this one. I thought to myself, it has to end sometime. So I kept my same bets out there as is and he coolly lifted his eyes off me and said.

"The point is eight people, one time, HAAARRRRD EIGHT!" Chief had $1,000 alone on that space on the table. He had pressed his bets up each time he had hit that number in that way. The dice flew in the air and the boss screamed the call over the hush of the crowd.

HARD EIGHT!!!!!

The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of Rodney laughing with Ron. The two of them were sitting watching an old Sanford and Son rerun with the television up full blast.

I said through the bed spread. "Damn boys, turn that up, is this the one where Lamont gets married?"

Ron said, "What's up fucker! Now this is the one where Fred fakes a heart attack. HAHAHA!"

Rodney chimed in, "Well. well, well, the big gambler is awake."

Hungry again I said, "Let's get ready and go get Chief. I'm ready for some grill action."

Ron stated, "Damn that fucker Chief is still rollin dice. Didn't even come to bed again."

I said, "Let's go pull him off before he turns into pumpkin. He prolly needs some Juevos Rancheros with green chili and Chicken Fried Steak. I know I do."

Rodney said, "What the fuck is that. They got tacos thare?"

Ron replied, "Damn Rodney, we have been there before. Just get the same shit you always get. Oatmeal and Miller Lite. Breakfast of Champions."

Rodney started laughing, "Memeber that time ole Russ drank that bottle of ketchup cause he lost a bet to Chief. That was fuckin hilarious. heeheehaaw"

Ron laughing but still glued to the television. "Hey fucker, you goin to do that today?"

I stumbled off to the shower and caught a glimpse of those two glued to the television with pre-paid beers in hand. Must be good to be the king. "No, and it wasn't no bottle neither."

Both of them said in unison. "It damn sure was."

Lincoln County Grill

People just stared at him, patted his back, smiled, and mumbled as he walked by with racks of Pink and black in tow. Chief strode through the Casino like Mick fucking Jagger and Paul Newman in The Color of Money all rolled up into one man. All told it was a $17,000 score. Not his best but among the better in his trips out here. I knew there would be a bigger push for glory tonight and I looked forward to the show.

We were late by our standards for brunch, but Chief had to take a shower after it took him 20 minutes to cash out his chips at the cashier booth. The bulk of time he wasted was complaining at having to fill out an I.R.S. form because he won so much. Nice problem to have I thought. Next Chief stopped by the front desk, placed $5000 in an envelope, and then mailed it to his Baptist church in Lubbock at the Post office on the way to the feed.

We looked at him stunned, then he began his black football player impersonation and said, "Yeas, first of all, I'd like to thank Jesus Christ and my momma."

I didn't want to discuss my outcome last night as we ate, although it was favorable.

During our brunch at Lincoln County Grill, all ears were tuned to Chief as he recounted the high rolls and near misses. His goal wasn't to win. He wanted to someday walk in and bust that place. He longed for the moment he had the whole Casino, Reservation, and naming rights to every first born Mescalero Apache riding on one roll of his dice. Winning wasn't the point for him, that was too easy and he had far surpassed that expectation.

Chief calmed down a bit and inquired, "Hey Russ, how'd ya end up?"

"Well, after I paid you back, I had a 175 left over. So I won!" holding my hand clasped above my head in the Champions repose.

Ron and Rodney started laughing. Chief wasted no time in exposing my obvious scrub of the discontent.

"I told you what the roll was, and you never listen to me. You could have been up 10 g's. Instead you got $175. I think you better drink a bottle of ketchup for that."

Rodney was doubled up on the floor under the table laughing instantly.

Ron pushed the bottle over and said, "Drink up fucker!"

"That's right, everybody kick a man while he is down. Damn it, I need another fucking beer. Cocktails!"

The debauchery continued mostly at my expense for another 2 hours. Ron, Chief, and I treated ourselves to full New Mexican greasy cuisine that satisfies for hours but always leaves you craving more. Rodney, true to form had tacos and oatmeal that he barely touched. He made up for it in tab beer.

We stopped into a local convenience store so Rodney could replenish the Styro foam for his evening of Nick at Nite reruns in the $300 dollar a night suite. He came out of Allsup's with a 30 pack of Busch light tallboys.

"Busch was on sale, hell it's dollar fifty cheaper than the Strip."

Ron said, "What a bargain, fuck Rodney were on vacation, it's okay to live a little and splurge for some actual beer that tastes good."

Rodney just proudly stocked his indestructible cooler, he looked as if he had just won 17 grand.

To each, his own

I was so satisfied at that moment after lunch. Here I was in this beautiful place in the mountains and everybody around me was happy. Good times. Surely today is the one day that I can't lose. It must be so.

Chief and I decided to get our names on the poker waiting list. We passed the time with a massage while we sat at in chairs waiting for our turn to torture the other tourists at poker. At a dollar per minute, Chief dropped 100 bucks on the massages, but made up for it when he hit a small machine jackpot on a slot as a 4 foot Asian woman worked the tension out of neck. It ended up costing me $100, even though he paid for my massage labored on by a 6 foot Mescalero nicknamed 'Cheese'.

He was named that because he said, "everybody call me that because I'm always smiling. I'm also gay, but your not my type." Thanks for the biography.

It was the most tension building massage of my life after he said that. Chief added insult to injury and made me take a picture with 'Cheese". The he said, "you need to get over that. It's just wrong. I'm publishing this as your bio pic from now on." Chief knew exaclty how to expose me.

"Hey Dude, I'm not the gambling baptist liberal gay lover. I got issues and I'm working on them."

The poker boss was announcing our names to seat, and saved me from further outing. Chief patted me on the back and said, "Let's roll em up bro."

Hearts of a Champion.

Chief won the first 5 of 10 pots after we sat down at the 10-20 limit table. 3 times, I knew he was bluffing but was never able to get in a hand to bust his fraud. Within a couple of hours, Chief had a monster stack that he built into a replica of the Taj Majal. The Taj stood clear up to his adams apple and was as wide as the width of a basketball.

The other players were getting intimidated. Whenever they got the hand or the guts to call his bullying, he would inevitably show them a slightly better hand. It was a crushing display of skill. I, on the other hand, had had some moments of brilliance but whenever I made a move to increase my stack, the tourists were always quick to bust my bluffs.

One old man started cussing at Chief when Chief called on a pot with a busted straight draw, but won anyway with an ace high after the man missed his flush with no pair.

"How do you call that bet with nothing? You sumbitches get so lucky on me ever fuckin time. This is bullshit!"

"Sir, I just wanted to see what you had. I was donating to the poor there." Needling him into a fury. Chief was brilliant at games of skill and strategy.

"I didn't think I was goin to win that one. Whew, so glad you didn't have nothing." Chief knew he had nothing and that story about donating was just Chief playing coy.

The old man started pleading with Chief, "Well how in the hell are you so stupid to call when you got nothin. God damn motherfuckers."

"EXCUSE ME! I'm a what? I'm a what? Say it again! I fucking dare you!" Chief wasn't really mad, he just wanted to get the man's blood boiling so he would blunder further. Blood game this poker.

The floor men came over to broker Middle East peace, and asked what was going on. After that, it became a war. Everybody knew that Chief and I were friends. So the war spilled over onto me as well through the next 2 hours at the table. It was table of tourists versus the Lubbock Urban Achievers Bowling team. We lived for these moments and not for the action, but because we would later be impersonating these folks for months afterwards.

So it went, I went into hands looking for kills. This was no longer a game of bets and small raises. This was a game capped to the limit and spinning out of control. It was our game. We were always in control of the action, and they weren't. It was just a matter of time, some luck, and well mostly time.

Chief was well on his way to adding a terrace and administrative building onto his campus when we got into a huge pot with 3 other people gunning for us. That is when I finally made a score. I flopped the nut straight with a flush draw to boot, and the Chief with nothing, was doing all the raising for me. He didn't know what I had, but he knew it was good from the way I was betting. The turn card in this hold em hand made trip aces for this young surly college kid. He started cramming chips into the pot at a fury, but my straight to the 10 was still good. Little did we know, the old man had also flopped a set of 7's and was just calling and waiting for his chance to pounce on such a hug pot. Chief finally folded after the ace hit, lord knows that any hand above a pair of napkins looked like a winner to Chief.

One other player was chasing for a flush, but knew it was up to a prayer for her to make it and still be good. Finally the river brought another 7 on the board. Normally this would be a killer to my hand and make the straight nor the flush the best hand. But this one card was a miracle. The 7 of hearts made my hand the "nuts", as we say in poker. I had a 10 high straight flush, and it could not be beaten.

I didn't know exactly what they all had.The old man now had quad 7's. The college kid had Aces full of 7's, and the mother had the nut flush and all were no good. I open with a bet.

The old man raises and the college kid re-raises to $60 and announces stupidly, "only quads can beat me."

The mom wisely drops her hand in disgust.

The old man perks up and stupidly replies, "Well I guess your beat there punk, I got them 7's in the hole." The looks squarely at me and says, "That flush you got aint no good neither, but I doubt you got anything."

I said, "Well, I got a good hand sir and I bet you don't got no 7's in the hole. I re-raise." I make it $80.

The old man ponders his turn like an actor trying to win an Oscar. After what seemed like a minute of suspense, he states fast and with quick movement pushes his chips. "I cap it..hunnert..pay it off big boys."

The kid stares at the board in disbelief.

6h 7c 10h Ad 7h

"You got them 7's in the hole grandpa?...god damn it! I know that sumbitch dont have nothin."

From afar his dad is screamin, "you got aces full Butch, you got it! you got it! call! it's just 20 more."

Chief chimes in interrupting him. "I'll bet anyone here a grand that my boy has got the old man beat!"

I don't know how he knew I had the 8 and 9 of hearts in the hole. Suddenly from the crowd, the punks father, a high roller looking middle aged man with horses all over his shirt said. "Hell, I betcha two grand my boy has your boy beat."

Chief said firmly, "That's a bet, your the witnesses. Show me the money high roller! You want some of this grandpa!" Chief was flashing his huge roll of bills at him begging him for action.

The old man ponders only a second and says, "Damn straight asshole, I got your ass now! Make it two also?"

Chief looks at me a second, then says, "Done. Damn it Russ, I hope you got this."

The punk reluctantly says, "I call."

Before I call I take just a moment while everyone in the room is staring at me. I can't believe this is happening. The Chief is just looking at me and for a second gets that look of defeat in his eyes. I have never seen that before and it hurt me so much to see that look of disappointment. But really, I was just fucking with him for all the times I had been the whipping boy.

I look down, take my hands and peel one last look look at the cards. To my surprise and relief, they hadn't changed. I said,

"Call" and threw the chips in I knew were returning.

The old man jumped out of his chair, flipped over his two 7's and said, "I tole you I had it you sumbitches, WHEEE HEEE...SEND IT!!!"

The horse dad said, "Butch, just flip over them cards and I will get this man's money."

Sure enough, the college punk had Aces full.

I didn't slow roll, but I did take longer than usual. The Dealer was looking at me to flip and I just said to him, "Better call a doctor, I got the nuts."

The dealer says outloud, "Winner! Straight Flush to the ten! Wow!"

Chief stared to jump up and down like Tech had just scored the winning touchdown in the last second to beat OU in Norman, he was entrhalled.

"No asshole, that's damn straight flush!!"


All told, I took down a pot that was just under $1,000. Chief took down $3,000. The old man didn't end up having it all, and Chief admitted to me later he just wanted to bust him because of the cussing and name calling towards him earlier. Even so, no matter what, there is a lesson to be had here. Even if I catch a miracle, the Chief always wins bigger.


Side note: Chief's Church is located near the corner of 50th and Indiana, you can't miss it. It's the only one on the block built out of titanium.

Molleja

I awoke the next day at mid-morning. The crew at La Boca had been long gone at work throughout the ranch, winery, and farm. Only Dosa was in the house to greet me. I said,

"Good morning Dosa."

She just smiled and nodded her head. Dosa wasn't much of a talker, but I could tell she liked me. She pointed at a small table near the kitchen and motioned at me to sit down. I was happy I was going to get fed. I had a hangover and I knew it was going to be a long day on the fluorescent trail. Maggie was gone, I guessed she was out tending the herds with the vaqueros. Good for her.

Dosa brought a plate about 30 minutes later as I sipped on my coffee. I asked her,

"This looks great, but I don't know what it is."

"Molleja! Eat....molleja good for you."

"Thanks Dosa, you really didn't have to do this. I was thinking an Allsup's burrito was in my future, but this ought to hit the spot."

Molleja is chicken gizzards. Normally, chicken gizzards are tough and rough on the digestion, but this was prepared just right. I imagined that Dosa had tenderized the gizzards the night before. It was evident she soaked them in lime, cilantro, and white wine. The taste busted out juicy goodness with every bite. She served it with refried beans, hot tortillas, salsa and eggs. It was the best breakfast I had had since yesterday. Without Pearl Light in can for breakfast, nothing is complete. You can quote that as scientific proof.

Dosa spent her days in the kitchen getting everything just right, that is until her father came in and messed it up again. I could tell from last nights fireworks, that that was how they communicated withe each other. Dosa had a small television and I gathered a small infatuation with Patrick Swayze. On top of the VCR were worn copies of Roadhouse and Ghost. Dirty Dancing was up for morning viewing and Dosa mimicked the words silently in her toil around the kitchen.

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner"

I loved Balmorhea and La Boca, but I couldn't live here permanently. If it drives you worship Patrick Swayze, then I better get out of town with the gold while the 'gettin is good.'

Jetta was loaded down with 3 cases of wine. I felt obliged to buy more on behalf of The Hub. 'Research' is the simple note inscription I wrote to Burns on the hand written receipt in Spanish. I drove out to the fields to fetch Maggie and to say goodbye to Juan Miguel, but the vaqueros said he was down at Rosita's grave site, so I decided to leave him a note and let him be.

Senor,

You gave me your true soul to ponder. May you and Rosita swim forever here in the heaven of La Boca. Thank you.

your friend,

Smith

I saw miles and miles of Texas

The hangover was mildly cured by the time I sidetracked home through Wink, Texas. I decided I wanted to see the Roy Orbison museum before I left this world, and this seemed to be a good afternoon for it. To my chagrin, it was closed so I popped into a local gift shop and purchased a Greatest Hits CD for the home stretch instead. All told I have written small pieces for The Hub on Bob Wills form Turkey, TX,Waylon Jennings from Littlefield, and Don Williams from Floydada. My friends back home ask why I never do a piece on Buddy Holly. All I can tell them is, what is there to write about? Just listen to the music, the story is already been told. There is no need to repeat it and besides, the way it makes me feel is mine alone.

The 'KID' was passed out in the back seat after a hard morning at the round-up. So I was left to endure the miles with my thoughts. Then it occurred to me that I haven't called on my oldest living great aunt in quite a while. So I pulled aside in Seminole to pay her a visit.

The last of her tribe.

Aunt Sherrie was a retired school teacher, and had been retired since I was just a small boy. She had outlived everyone except one son in the Nursing Home nearby. These days she kept a garden and taught piano lessons for extra money, she was also the County Chair for the local Democratic Party. I think its because she was the last yellow dog Democrat living in Seminole. She had lived in the same house for 60 years that she purchased from the proceeds of her dead husbands life insurance.

I came to the door with a big smile on my face and knocked as loud as I could. She came to the door with a surprised look on her face as if she didn't recognize me.

"Ma'am, I was just passing by and wondered if I could share with you the good news about Jesus Christ." She began to get red in the face, Aunt Sherrie was also the only atheist in Seminole and I knew she wouldn't pass on a chance to play along. Besides, it is fun to torture ornery relatives with bad eye sight.

She said, "you sumbitches aint never gonna see me in no whore house on Sunday. But come on in, I aint had no good laugh today." I loved it that she taught English once upon a time.

I thought that I better end this now before I get indicted for homicide. "Aunt Sherrie, it's me, your nephew Russ. How are you doing, young lady?"

"My lands Russ! You sumbitch, I was about to go fetch Marvin's old squirrel gun and pop a cap in your ass, heeheehee. Them damn Baptists and Mormons come over here all the time talking all that brain washed babble, but alls they want is an old woman's money. BUUULLSHIT." Evidently, Aunt Sherrie had been keeping up with the street lingo in Compton. God, or Allah, or Vishnu only knows where she learned that. Then she gave me a hug and a kiss while she was laughing with glee. We shared that dry sense of humor inherent throughout our family.

"Put on them gloves over there boy, I need you to help me outside in the garden. What you doin in Seminole? How old are you now? Are you married? I always forget. You still write for that Nazi magazine in Lubbock?"

I never got a full response to the inquiries out, but the next question would keep on firing from her mouth. She had the television on full blast, the radio news was on out side full blast, and I don't think she was really listening to anything but herself firing questions, then answering them for herself. I was having fun just picking her tomatoes and wondering how she kept herself in such good shape. I guessed she was in her mid 90's now, but she looked and moved like a 60 year old.

After we got done in the garden, she made some sweet tea with at least a half a pound of sugar. She offered me a piece of lemon cake she had made yesterday from scratch. I asked,

"Aunt Sherrie, I got to get back soon, but I was wondering if you would play me something on your piano before I left. I always loved how you played.

"Why sure boy. I know what you want to hear me play."

"Wow, you know of The Clash?"

"No god damn boy, and old song. It was your grandma's favorite. We use to sing it together, the whole family back on the homestead."

I said, "Yeah, what is the name of that song?"

She starts playing lightly and beautifully on the 100 year old weathered piano her father had bought her long ago. She promptly ends the build up, changes chordes and blasts her voice with the music coming from her arthritic fingers.

"My buckets got a hole in it, my buckets got a hole in it, my BUCKETS GOT A HOLE in it!....Can't buy no beer!" She stops the music and begins and old womans belly laugh that lasts for 15 seconds.

"I had to get you back boy, don't come around her lookin for a fight unless you bring your lunch. It will take you all day to get old Sherrie!"

She begins playing again. This time I knew she was back in time in her mind as young girl around the old piano with the family long in the grave.

"You remember Russie, we use to sing this to you, me and your Meme. Your were so cute."

There Is No Greater Love

There is no greater love
Than what I feel for you
No greater love, no heart so true

There is no greater thrill
Than what you bring to me
No sweeter song
Than what you sing to me

Youre the sweetest thing
I have ever known
And to think that you are mine alone

There is no greater love
In all the world, its true
No greater love
Than what I feel for you

She looked at me and smiled. It seemed for a moment she could really see me clearly, but I know that what she really saw through her old glasses was the faces of her family long gone. It gave me pleasure beyond thought comprehension.

Aunt Sherrie made me take tomatoes and the rest of her lemon cake with me. I was 20 miles down the road before I realized how special that was. If that was our last visit, it was a good one to cherish.


West Bound and Down

I was on the outskirts of Brownfield when my shit started blowing up. That is old school lingo from the 90's that means my cell phone is ringing. Ron had left me a message. Speaking of shit blowing up, he said our bowling league night was canceled because the bowling alley sewage pipes had ruptures and spilled foulness throughout the bar. I guess they reckoned with no bowling alley bar, there was no need for league night. I like the shitty logic.

Anyway, the team had decided to go gamble in Ruidoso, New Mexico for the weekend. Did I mention that Chief was on our team? Nobody knew where I was, but they were letting me know. Hedonistic thoughts rattled around in my head. I was tired, but I was also not wanting to miss out on the fun. So again when faced with life's tough choices, I asked myself.

"What would Burt do?"

I immediately turned Jetta west to head off the boys at the mountain pass. If I missed them, I could always rally up with the gang at the Casino. I didn't need to have my copy done until Tuesday anyway and the expense report needed some more abuse. I justified, I will probably write better anyway with ill gotten Apache cash in my back pocket. After all, it's all about the quality of work. No cards and all work makes 'Russie' a dull boy. I punched up the I-20 truckers show on A.M. I changed Maggie's name in my head again to 'Flash'.

I called the boys on the cell as if it were a C.B.

"Bandit two, this is Bandit one, do you got your ears on?"

Ron answered back "Yeee HAW! Go ahead Bandit one, we are negatory on the Smokies and clear down to the the Lincoln County line, go ahead."

"I'm west bound and down. Bandit one is hauling ass to Ruidoso, we'll be seeing you on your back door soon."

The radio started playing Convoy by C.W. McCall, and all was as it should be.

CONVOY!!!!!!!!!!

La Boca

The Chief was right, I needed to get out of town. I stumbled out of my bedroll and made my way to the public bathroom at the campground. Maggie loitered outside while I bathed. After a refreshing 50 degree shower, I decided we would walk the 2 miles to town to get some breakfast. Besides, Jetta needed some rest from yesterdays hard ride. Balmorhea is an oasis. The main attraction being a Spring that pumps millions of gallons day to the surface that centers around the state park. The water moves fast and provides a delicate ecosystem for minnow like fish, the species can only be found near the springs source. The fish dance with the currents of the geothermal offerings. Somehow, I was going to have to make this place seem like the Bolshoi, Sturgis, and Yellowstone all in one, to satisfy our readership at The Hub. I need eggs, red meat, and alcohol to make that happen.

Maggie and I walked along the highway, the Balmorhea Spring at our side. It irrigates the land around the town and feeds into a nearby lake as well. Dotted along the aqueduct are farms and a winery. We were definitely going there after breakfast. Perhaps media perks were appreciated. Let's hope that wines flows like the spring of this day.

The local town only supports about 800 residents, but it isn't your typical West Texas burg. There are thriving gift stores with pinata's, carved bears from wood, wind chimes, and typical Mexican trinkets and blankets. We finally stumbled upon Tiffani's. I decided to mosey on up and patronize.

Breakfast at Tiffani's

Tiffani's is a local favorite, I could tell right away this was going to be a special moment. By the way, the sign out front had the 'I' in Tiffani dotted with a heart. After being greeted at the door, I immediately wondered if I should call a local Realtor. Why? Any progressive town that allows smoking, dogs to sit in the booth with you, and serves ice cold beer before 10am, is a town worth living in.

I wondered if angioplasty was offered for dessert, because the smells and items described on the menu were lethal. Lethal but so good that is. I ordered the migas and a ribeye medium rare. Pearl Light in a can. I felt so damn good, I said,

"Bring out a 10 oz sirloin for the kid, would'ya plaese."

I lied to the waitress and said Maggie's name was' Sundance' and that mine was 'Butch.' She didn't get it. 'Sundance' dipped her nose in the salsa verde causing her to sneeze violently while I read the local paper produced out of nearby Fort Davis. On the back, it was reprinted in Spanish. I didn't really understand the parts written in English, so I immediately tossed it aside and focused on the television. Fox Sports El Paso was on, and doing an expose' on the UTEP Miner's soccer team. Riveting.

Maggie, excuse me, 'Sundance' finished her sirloin in 9 seconds. Then proceeded to slink out onto the cool floor beside the booth. Everyone came by as they left to pay there respects. Our waitress wasn't to keen on clearing a table, but she made up for it in replenishing cool beers. She was getting a big tip because she starting calling me, "Mister Butch". The whole Pulp Fiction coolness of a Mexican woman saying "Mister Butch" was a 25% bonus for her.

I was fixated on perhaps starting a pyramid to honor my achievement of discovery, but felt the eyes of a high school student group on me, and thought better of such a monument.

Finally, the teacher came by and said, "Rusth, is that you?"

Damn it, I thought, can't I just get away without being noticed.

"We'll hello, how are you doing?" I was bad with names, especially after the mind control drugs are circulating. I felt annoyed and I hope the look on my face said, 'sorry I can't remember your name, will you please remind me.' No such luck. I sort through the mental high school yearbook. Maybe Chuck, or Dave, or Eric. Nothing fit there. We weren't close friends back then, so no real foul.

His name was Trent, I caught it on his drivers license. I remembered he was a fat kid in high school, but he had slimmed down quite a bit. He just sat down and poured out his soul to me like I was a bartender. Except this bartender was getting ready for an afternoon of bumbling through wineries and taking out of focus pictures. Trent was a born again Christian and had a family. Showed off his picture of his obese wife and obese girls, ages 7 and 3. That seemed odd to me, because I remember we use to speculate harshly the Trent was gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that now. It's just that I have a "gaydar", and it's as accurate as a Super Doppler Storm Tracker Weather Center forecast.

"Just on our way back from the observatory. Taking the kidths back to San Antonio." The lisp is emphasized in "kidths". There it is. The National Sexual Orientation Center has issued a gay warning out for Trent. Be advised, that Trent is a born again Christian with possibly deep inner conflict....Yada, Yada. Who cares. Whatever floats your boat brother.

"Listhen Rusth, if your evar in town, give me a call and I can show you around. Good to thsee you again. God blessth. Caio!" Trent is definitely a traitor to his team. (Insert Brando doing the Kurtz whisper..."the horror.")

'Mister Butch' and 'Sundance' paid our way out of Tiffani's with a heart shaped I, looking forward to the Burns getting a receipt on my expense report that included the words "A.M. Bar". I felt like Lester Burnham with a slice of bacon on the side. I uttered to myself,

"I rule!"

Beer before wine? or is it Liquor before beer?

La Boca Del Vino winery is likely the laziest alcohol operation in the world. They produce only 5,000 cases of wine a year. It's all Cabernet. The bottle has nothing flashy on it. I thought it might as well just have a white label on it with black block lettering on it that simply says, WINE. There was nothing special about the tour. I walked in and asked for help from one of the migrants working inside a barn I thought might be the 'Visitor's Center.' He did not speak English, but knew what I wanted to see. He pointed to the fields of grapes. Then he pointed to the rusted cone shaped whatever. I guessed that is where the grapes fermented. The he led me to the bottling barn. There were chicken coups and a hog pen adjacent to the building. Tour over. Pictures taken. Now let's finish the mission.

Then I said the universally, or most understood phrase in Spanish that I knew to convey I wanted some alcohol. I mimed a bottle tilted to my mouth and said,

"Otra"

He laughed like a bastard, and I knew what he was thinking. "Otra" doesn't mean I want one, it means I want many more, or something close to that. Hey, I'm still learning. But I got street smarts from my days whoring around in Matamoros. Probably learned more there in one Spring Break than the 15 semesters of college I took in the language. Enough of that lament.

Anyway, he said something outloud and all of the sudden 15 migrants came rushing up with bottles. I started handing out dollars like rap star at a titty bar. All told, I scored a case for just a smidge under 60 bucks. I asked for a glass, but I got alot more than that. Immediately I was put into an old 60's model Chevrolet truck and driven to a nearby pond that had a table and chairs nestled under some old pinion trees.

"Tu comida?" The migrant inquired. That means something about food I think.

"Yes...no...SI! SI! SI! SI!"

Something was uttered under his breath but I assume the words "pinche" and "gringo" were used. He had a big smile as though he meant it like, "hey, your the bomb shizzle!" But I know it somehow meant to really state, "fucking tourist!" Anyway, 'Sundance' and I were all set. Mister Butch aka Pinche Gringo, was damn near heaven. I thought I might write the Los Lonely Boys to tell them of the location. I also thought if I started a rap group I would do so in Spanish. The band name would be Pinche Gringo and the White Raza. or maybe Blanco Raza. I don't know.

Drunken fish

Juan Miguel de la Garza was a man in his early 70's. He came by to this place each day to take his rowboat out to catch his dog food fed catfish. He noticed me right off, but didn't say a word as I mumbled the yell, "Helllloooo thare!"

He didn't even look in my general direction after I made a noise. I sat there watching him. Streams of Shur Fine dog pellets floated in the water, and all of the sudden fish mouths began to gobble up the debris. As soon as he finished the feed, he gathered his pole and got in his boat to row out to the middle. It was an amazing sight.

As he rowed, the catfish seemed oblivious to his intent. They kept gobbling and only darted whenever the boat was nearing their spot on the water. As soon as he passed by, they would continue their feast. 'Sundance' started barking at the fish on the water and suddenly the old man reversed course and headed directly to the shore where 'Sundance' was in distress. I started towards shore to protect the kid.

"Is that chour dog?"

"Yes sir, sorry about that. I was just enjoying the scenery."

"I like dogs, would chou mind if she came along while I fished?"

"No, not at all, but she might be a pain."

"No, no, not this one. She will settle down, fishing is peaceful. Chou come along too. Bring chour vino."

Wasting no time, I gathered up 3 bottles and headed for the boat. Senor de la Garza was pulling out fish after fish and letting Maggie play with them in the boat. I couldn't lie to Senor Garza, and revealed our true identities. I was sitting back watching the clouds reflect on the water in drunken bliss. I offered some up to Senor Garza, and he gladly accepted.

He said, "So chou live in Lubick?"

"Yes sir, err Senor Garza"

"Call me Jaun. So tell an old man, what is a man like chou doing at La Boca?"

"I'm supposed to be writing a story for my magazine, but the truth is I'm running away from a woman back home."

"Ahh yeas, a woman. This is why chou say 'otra' to my boyzz!... chou look troubled. Tell Juan this trouble."

Maggie tossed a fish accidentally out of the boat as I began to tell Juan about Twila. Juan de la Garza is not the kind of man to mince words, instead he chooses carefully. He sat there and listened to me, then he put his hand up as if to stop me from speaking. I stopped and he sat in silence smiling and fishing for a while. This went on for at least an hour and even though I felt uncomfortable like I had offended him, his smile reassured me I didn't, so I relaxed instead.

He took the bottle of wine, and began to sip on it and admire the taste that only a creator can appreciate. It was his, this place was him, and he was this place.

"I am glad you are hear on this day, Mr. Smith. You are a troubled man, but inside I think you have a good heart. An old vaquero knows."

"Thank you sir, I mean Juan."

"Chou need peace, but to appreciate the peace... chou must endure the pain. Only a woman can do that, give chou peace and pain."

I didn't say anything, how could I? So profound. This wine is fucking good!

Then he did the unthinkable. He motioned me to sit still and placed his finger against his mouth to tell me to be quiet. He placed his hand on Maggie to ease her tension and somehow she too knew to sit silently. He then reached down into the water and pulled out a fish with his bare right hand.

Then the triumph sprung from his voice, "Ha YAHHH hahahaha, chou see, chou must respect the peace and it will provide you with life! HAHAHA."

He took the bottle of wine, poured a little into his hand and uttered something in Spanish to the fish, it was like a prayer. Then he slips some wine droplets into the mouth of the fish, placed it in the water to let it go.

I watched as the fish floated by me upside down, wondering if a) it could ingest alcohol and b) if in my second life I could be a catfish in this pond. The catfish then sprung to life and swam away.

"Let's cook the rest up, haha! Chous will be my guest."

"I will be honored Senor de la Garza!"

"I like the way chous say that, Senor Smith."

Juan Miguel de la Garza

Senor Garza was a lonely old man, his wife Rosita had passed away from cancer a few years back. He had fathered and raised 5 boys that had all left La Boca for the cities and careers. His life's work was this 7th generation rancho in Balmorhea. He proudly recited the lineage beginning with his greatest great grandfather. Juan Alfonso was deeded the land for his service during the Texas Revolution under Sam Houston. Through droughts and pestilence, Juan Miguel had always survived with his land in place. While so many Texicans had sold out long ago for the dreams of San Antonio, El Paso, or San Angelo.

Juan Miguel also had one daughter also named Rosita, he called her Dosa. Throughout the 100 year old home, he had pictures of his bride and family portraits of days long past. Quinceneras, fiestas, and Dia de las Muertas were shared here. This evening he shared his stories and fish with me, and spoke of those gone from La Boca.

He sent his crew to fetch Jetta, while he filleted and battered the fish. He made pico de gallo as fast as a blender, with only a dull knife to aid him. Next, he produced freshly ground tortillas from corn grown on the sandy Boca fields, and shaped just this morning by his crew. He bragged that the offspring seeds he used were brought here originally by Juan Alfonso, and toasted his name with yet another glass of wine. He wrapped the fish in bacon and placed them neatly on the grill to roast on an open cooking fire that had served his family since he was just a boy.

On and on he labored, with only his 'Dosa' to aid him. She dared not get in his way, but was merely there to curse at him in Spanish for doing something that she could have easily helped to make time. Senor would have none of it, and continued furiously for 3 hours, bring snacks for me to stem the tide until his homegrown bounty was ready to serve.

Finally at 9pm, the dinner bell was rung. Into the great dining room with a 10 foot hand made pinon table and chairs that were made to last 200 years or more, the entire crew of La Boca sat down to feast. Senor finally rested at the head seat, as he waited for everyone to quietly settle. He then raised his glass of wine, and everyone else followed suit. I didn't know what the old man was saying, but it sounded more eloquent that a Shakespearean soliloquy to my ears. Senor Garza spoke steadily and firm, and everyone then stood to toast the old monarch of La Boca, then said together.

"Nuestra tierra de madre.... la boca!"

To our mother Earth, the mouth. Well, it sounds better in unison on 25 Spanish tongues. The meal lasted way into the night and then broke out in song. Juan Miguel was getting tired I could tell, but wanted one last chat with me before bed. I followed him out to his spacious patio, and he calmly lit his pipe.

"Now chou can go home and write your story. Will you tell of La Boca?"

"Oh yes Senor, I will. You are so kind and this place is an oasis of heaven."

"Thank you from my grand fathers and mothers, I am juss the caretaker of the oasis and I miss my darling Rosita. I keep busy to pass the time until we meet again. Chou are a young man, I hope chou can have what i have hads in life."

"There is no way I can ever touch this, Senor. I thank you for your day here. Of all the things in Texas, this place and you are special to see alone. I don't know if I want to pollute you with all the visits that will come."

"No, no, no, La Boca is a giver of life. It, how do you say, restorezz... and this will be good for alls the people to sees one day. My Dosa will carry on after me. Let them enjoy the wine of my grand fathers and the peace of my Rositas pinons and gardens."

"What was she like?"

"OH, Rosita was a cactus in a wildfire. The most beautiful woman in this world. Many mens wanted her, but she wanted only me. She came to me and I could never let her go. This is good? No."

"Yes it is Senor. So what did you do to win her?"

"Chou cannot win a woman, she claims chou for life, and if chou are a good man, you learn to give chour life to her. Is this Twila a good woman?"

"Well Senor, she is and she isn't. She is like your Rosita in a way, like a cactus in a wildfire. I cannot get enough of her, like your wine."

"Oh, this is good and bad Senor Smith. Good that she is like the wine... hahaha... but bad is she is not grown jus right."

"She is different. She likes many men. But yet, she all of the sudden just came out of nowhere and is mean to me and nice to me all it once and all the time. I can't explain it. She isn't anything like the others. She cusses and swears and isn't so feminine like alot of other women."

"She loves you, Senor..chou can say no more about dis. It is...and old vaquero knows. I knows like I know the fish. Be still and silent and wait for her, she will come to you, and then chou... must grab her and love her ...then learn that one day, CHou... will have to let her go. Like the fish today. I say a prayer to Rosita, and then I let her go again...until it is our time to swim together again under the pinon trees."

He smiled in his peace. He left me in silence to retire to bed. I sat there alone with feint noise of happy people singing and the sound of the breeze through the garden. I wondered if Twila was thinking of me the way I was thinking of her now. There has to be more to her than this. I just can't be feeling this way, unless that were true. Tomorrow I ride again, but tonight I miss Twila like I have never missed a woman before.

Road trip with The Lizard King

I'm a back door man

Hey, all you people that tryin to sleep

I had a dream that night after the boat show. Twila and I were getting married at the bait shop lobby on Buffalo Spring Lake. Twila walked down the aisle in her cheer leading outfit to the tune of Back Door Man by The Doors. Don't ask me why, it's just a dream and it is one of my favorite songs. Maggie was my best man and Strut Strutters was the bridesmaid. The flower girls were Skye and the other Twilas on the Renegade cheering squad. Rex was the preacher conducting the service. He said, "you better pony up that ring."

Then I kissed Twila as Naomi was crying as Alex was screaming, "God damnit, this costs too musch."

I awoke in a sweat as Twila was asleep beside me. She looked peaceful. In fact, I just stared at her in awe. I have never seen her still until that moment and I could feel her security in my bed. I never wanted her in the deep way you want a woman until that moment. She had a grin on her face.

Even though the dream stopped when I awoke, the music never really left my brain. I muttered to myself.

"The men dont know, but the little girl understand."
I eat more chicken, than any man ever seen, yeah, yeah

So I'm sitting there at lunch with Chief as he is looking over the racing form and calling his bookie in Vegas to make a bet on race in Miami. What a country! Anyway, I am reciting the details of my dream to Chief. Chief minored in psychology when he was in college in the, "horse and buggy era", as he would have you believe.

He knew all this obscure shit about Immanuel Kant and Freud. It seemed to intertwine somehow with his analysis of the Tech Veer offense versus the full court press. The guy made sense on paper, but never in real life conversation, except to me of course. Chief liked to listen to me because I think my pathetic existence somehow exceeded his own in his mind. The Chief was competitive and he liked to win. But as his job was for so many years, he could tell you exactly why you lose and why you will continue to lose. Uplifting.

"So let me get this straight, you have already met her parents, she is sleeping in your bed every night, and you don't like the kind of person she is."

"You could say that."

"I just did. Jesus, this is like picking a quinella at Aqueduct in the rain. You just don't do it. No matter how hard the tip is or how much you believe it, YOU JUST DONT DO IT." Everything hard gets translated into gambling analogies.

"So I'm fucked then. I knew it."

"Wait a second Russ, this is the chick you want to change? Damn man, she changed you in 4 fucking days. She sleeps with football players, dresses like a whore, calls you out and EMBARRASSES YOU in public. This is complete and utter bullshit my friend. You know what your problem is, your pussy whipped. That's it man, once they got that they aint doin shit."

"So what do I do?"

After a long pause and stare, the Chief grins and says, "You have to ignore her. Just a few days and then she will be ripe for the picking my friend. RIPE! Trust me, I know women. I know women so well you don't even know how well I know women."

"But she lives nearby, hell it's in the next building over. She has a key. I'm screwed."

"No your not, no your not, no YOUR not!...I'll send you on assignment."

"Where?"

"Who gives a fuck where, just go get a story or something. Go to Vegas. DO Something other than be here, OKAY?" All roads of enlightenment lead to Vegas for Chief.

"Okay. But I will have to put off the Twila article until next month. That okay with you?"

"Russ, I'm thinking travel piece brother. That's what we need this month anyway. So I will see you in my office next Tuesday with a completed travel bullshit piece ready for editing and print, Okay?"

"Leaving now. One more thing, do I call her?"

"No, leave a message. But whatever you do, don't fucking call her man."

Out here we is Stoned
Immaculate.

The spirit road has many paths, but only the Volkswagen can forge the truest. I felt like John Wayne on my paint horse named Jetta. Maggie would play the role of Indian scout or Cookie in this one I reasoned. Open range and deep thinking inspired by the nothingness dotted with pump jacks and steel irrigation. I'm not exactly my generations Jack Karouac but I'm no hack either. I admit, I am just a cheap dime store tripe writer, I long since gave up becoming Hemingway. Those guys looked for trouble and that is what made them great. I avoided trouble and found it anyway, that must be the difference between mediocrity and successful discontent. At least I'm still alive, and maybe I might find my road and the sun that also rises as it falls.

Ill tell you about texas radio and the big beat

I listened to Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys, Oasis, Coldplay, and Conway Twitty. I got bored with the CD changer and caught the tail end of a High School Baseball game between Reagan County and Crane. Crane won. Then I flipped over the dial to FM and caught a Classic Rock station in San Angelo. They play the Los Lonely Boys two hits every other song because those boys busted out the charts from there. I still do not know how far is heaven, but I have heard the question asked before. Maybe the answer lies with Ron. Ron's voice came over the airwaves a few times doing commercials for the likes of Shithole Ford in Shithole, Texas and Tractor Pull Extravaganzas at the Scurry County Convention Center. Wherever the fuck that is. Ron rules and can make anything sound cool to check out.


Wandering, wandering in hopeless night

I lost myself heading south somehow. It is easy to do, especially when Odessa is somehow involved. I skirted past the "Petroplex" and found myself free in the darkness with only the fluorescents to guide my horse. I didn't think I would avoid Twila by calling at the hour I did, but I missed her and found the recording instead.

South I thought, but not too far this time. I have been to Big Bend and it still leaves me feeling like the moon landing was a farce. I don't believe that it was, but if it were, Big Bend would have been a good place to fake it. I settled on Fort Stockton, then changed my mind to Balmorhea instead. I didn't have enough time to go back to the moon on this trip.

We pulled into the Balmorhea State Park about 2am. I pulled out my bedroll, watered the horse, and laid my pistol by my side should any posse try and jump me. I didn't really have a pistol, my only weapon was a Dell laptop. It shoots the straightest for me. I instantly fell asleep after Maggie offered to stand guard, like a good Indian guide, she can sleep with her eyes open and can hear whispers a mile away.

Out here in the perimeter there are no stars

The sleep didn't last long. I asked Maggie if she could sing in Spanish so I could pretend I was watching Telemundo. When I was in college and flunking Spanish at a record still unbroken at Texas Tech. I flunked the first year course 3 times. That was until I found out about bribery and the power of cheap alcohol to Teaching Assistants. I digressed, anyway I use to fall asleep to Telemundo broadcasts at night in bed thinking I would somehow absorb the language in my sleep. It still works to this day. The big breasted chicas dancing in my dreams. If only Twila was Spanish. I still can't get that image from the night before out of my head. I guess I ruined it.

Back in those days everything was simpler and more confused

Alex and Naomi

Shootout at The Golden Corral

I met Alex and Naomi at the Golden Corral after work. I just had to meet the woman that brought Twila into the world. Twila was late, so Alex, Naomi, and I decided to go inside and start the dinner without her. Right away, I knew I liked Alex. He was tall and skinny for his surprising height. Alex Caro stood 6'6, or maybe he just looked taller with the plastic back brace covering his brush popper shirt from the early 90's. He also had a finely groomed grey 'mulletino', it wasn't permed but you could tell he had spent a great deal of time on it. I'm sure that he has had the same hair style since the 70's and was proud that it had grayed out. Alex has a smile as big as Dallas, and I could tell that he loved life and everything about it.

Naomi Caro was everything I thought she wasn't when picturing her daughter. Naomi was polite, gentle, patient, and listened intently to every word. You could tell where Twila had gotten her figure. Naomi's face wore the years of bouncing around husbands and it had been a little hard on her. But even still, she looked pleasant. You just knew right away that the Caro's has at last found some love and peace and they were enjoying it. I liked them right away, and I could tell that they liked me.

"So do you like the Cwboyzz?" Alex asked with a smile. It seems that back in his native San Luis Potosi, the Dallas Cowboys were very popular. Even though Alex had moved from there 30 years ago, he still never lost that native accent. From now on, I will refer to America's team as simply, the CWBOYZZZ. Emphasis on the end.

I said,"Yes, I grew up not far from the stadium in Irving. Never missed a game on television as a kid. You ever been to a game?"

Alex said, "No god damnit, I always gots to gos to work earlys. But not anymore. Pendejo's fucked up my back, man. I got my cheque so I'm going to take it easy." Then he started laughing. He had the gleam in his eye of a lottery winner you see on the news.

Naomi said, "Al, we can't just live like the Trump's now. We need to save that money in case you need another surgery."

Alex smiled at his wife, "Your right, but we are going to see the Cwboyzz finallies. Donald Trump can kiss my ass. You ever watch the Prentice?"

I started laughing, he knew that I found his accent humorous, so he hammed it up. Alex is good people. So I decided to play back. "The Prentice, I could win that show totallies, man."

They looked at each other for a second to decide if that was a foul or not, then Naomi started smiling and cracking up first. It was by far the best meal conversation I had had in a while, that is until the Texas Tornado came rushing through in a pink mini skirt and Harley Davidson tank top on. Twila entered the dining room looking to chew some ass.

"Why don't you evar answer your fucking cell phone?" At first I thought she was talking to Naomi, because I wasn't aware that Twila had my number. I was wrong, she wanted a piece of me in front of her parentals.


"Nice to see you too, Twila. I had it off because I didn't want to interrupt the meal."

Twila swelled up and blasted, "My car broke down on the Loop. I had to hitch hike over here and give a trucker a blowjob for a ride."

Naomi squealed, "Twila Jolene Barr, you didn't!"

Twila smiled, "just fuckin with ya." Then announced to the table. "Russ thinks I'm a whore and fuck evarbody in sight."

The parents immediately glared at me as if I had pissed my pants and been spitting up food like an invalid. I wanted to die.

Twila then rushed off to the buffet line as I sat there and squirmed in the awkward silence. Nobody knew what to say. Twila returned with a plate of cakes and cookies, salad, and a diet Tab.

"Ididn't he cute ya'll?" Twila was beaming.

"I think you inbarrased him Twilazz." Finally, Alex to the rescue!

"You need to watch your mouth young lady. It's not polite to come in here acting like a tramp." Naomi scolded.

"NAAOMI, I wuz just kiddin. He's a sweetie and its fun to watch him puff up and get all red." Twila felt no remorse as she alternated bites between the German chocolate and the harvest salad. I sat still in puffiness. To hell with Twila, there is no hope.

"Well hurry up and finish your food, we want to get there and back home in time so Al can watch the Busch series qualifyin. Twila, we just got a satellite installed. Al and me, we just love it. It can even record stuff and we don't need no VCR no more."

"Yeah Naaomi, it's called a fucking Dee Vee Ess and it can record faster."

"Twillazz, hurry up I want to check out the boatzz!"

Naomi sat there 'inbarassed' and looks straight at me and says, "I don't know what a nice man like yew is doin with Twila."

I was about to answer then Twila butts in, "Naaaomi, he liikes me cuz I love on him good." Then she just grins and chews at me and then back at her mother. They both smile and get that look on there face that women get when they know they hold some power over their men.

(Somewhere in my subconscious, Prince is singing Pussy Control.)

Alex looked at me devilishly and was smiling. He didn't say anything and he didn't have to. We have a connection that all men have, and we acknowledged it in that look. They have that power and is much as we hate it, we love it. I don't think I recognized that within me until Twila stated the obvious.

I'm screwed. I don't like it, but I need it. The mantra begins again.

The South Plains Boat Show

Someone once told me, that Lubbock has the most per capita boats in the State of Texas. This is remarkable because there is only one lake worthy of boat travel in the county, and in other parts of the state this 'lake' would be referred to as a pond. In fact, there are only two more 'lakes' within a 150 mile radius of Lubbock, Texas and for the boating parts of the year, these lakes are suffering from drought. Nevertheless, Lubbock has boats and a big ass boat show three times a year.

I grew up water skiing and boating as a child, but I never really got into the 'motorhead' boating mentality of what boat is really better than the other. If it runs, doesn't leak, and can pull a skier out of the water, it is a good boat to me. I remember my father spending small fortunes each summer to tune up and maintain our family boat. It was a constant chore for us all before, during, and after each outing. It was worth it if we used it often, but as the years went on we went less frequently, and then we just stopped all together.

Being back at the Boat Show rekindled some of the great memories of my youth on the water. I was surprised how much boating technology has improved. I was also not surprised at how proud the manufacturers are of their plexi-fiber creations. Boats cost alot of money. But little do people know, they cost alot more to keep afloat.

Twila spent most of her time there perusing the redneck wear shops that dot the sides of these type shows. You would think that Body Glove, or Quiksilver apparel items would be frequent, but they aren't. This is Lubbock. There was everything from Western Wear to biker wear. Twila tried to put a 'doo-rag' on my head with a skull figure riding a dirt bike with flames sporting the sides. She said I would look "hot" with it on. She made me try it on my head, then took it off and smarted.

"It don't look good on you."

I could tell she was disappointed. I wasn't.

Next she devoured some sort of fried sugary chocolate covered pastry. I hesitate to use the term 'pastry', but that is the most accurate description. I passed on that as well.

"I wouldn't look good on me." I said, then I made an obscure reference from Caddyshack to the gang.

"But it looks good on you though." They didn't get it.

And so it went. Twila was looking at trash like a child staring at a vending machine in the restaurant lobby. You know, the ones where you stick a quarter in and try and fetch a cheap doll of some sort out. Naomi bought her a Gucci knockoff purse. It was purple and the size of a football. From then on, whenever I needed to find Twila in a crowd, I could just look for neon purple football.

Don't judge a book by its cover

Alex spent the day with me in tow looking at yachts and other expensive boats. It was the same conversation over and over.

"Man, this one looks fuckin nice, man." Big smile as he gawked.

The sales-showman would try and avoid Alex, probably because he estimated a 6'6 Mexican in mulletino and brush popper backbrace would be unworthy of purchase would finally come over and ask me.

"Would you like to get inside, sir?"

Alex would say, "Yeah, can we look at it inside. How musch is it, man"

Then they would again look at me and say $35,000 or $110,000 or $500,000 and then Alex would whisper.

"God Damnit, fuck that man, thas too musch."

But Alex never got too disappointed, and he enjoyed looking at each and every boat. I don't know if he noticed the judgmental racism, if he did, he never complained or said so. I noticed and wondered if they only knew. I couldn't rub two dimes together and Alex could probably buy whatever he wanted. But I was white with short hair and I had a tie on. Looks can be deceiving.

On the way out, he finally admitted.

"I would have bought that one boat me and youzz wuz lookin at." I didn't know which particular of the 200 he was talking about, but I went along.

"Why didn't you buy it, Alex?"

"Motherfuckin pendejo, I didn't like how hez talkin to me. Fuck that guy man. I'm goin to buy my cousin Hectors boat and fix it up."

"Good plan, Alex."

I really liked him.

We walked to the car to leave, Naomi pulled me aside and gave me a big hug. She looked at me like I was one of her own. She didn't say anything at all except, "It was soo niice to meet yew." The way people hug you says alot, and it told me she liked me with Twila.



I'm joining the Mexican Navy

It's Hamburger Helper and Twila helped.

Smokey's on your tail

After being 5 hours late for work on Monday, I spent the rest of the afternoon dodging my Publisher, Mr. Burns, at The Hub magazine. Everybody in town refers to it as West Texas Monthly, it's original name but we got sued by a similar named publication and rather than fight in court with no money, they just changed the name instead.

A couple of times he glared at me harshly through the blinds in his office while I pretended to work on the computer. We were only 10 days to press and even though he thought all was well on my article for the month, I still haven't found anything worth writing about. In staff meetings, I made it habit of making up the most vivid and compelling story ideas without actually revealing any details. He wasn't the smartest man in the world, nor the most compassionate either, so fooling him each month as to my topic of work was a small measure of daily rebellion.

So while the rest of the staff took off early to pursue research and leads, I had to fore go that daily tribal ritual and stay and look busy. While browsing on the internet, looking at Sports highlights and reading blogs, I decided to take a look at the Renegades website. Twila's picture was there. All of the cheerleaders had biographies that had the layout of a centerfold questionnaire. This was my favorite.

Name: Tammie

Age: 22

School: Farnsworth Cosmetology Junior College (I'm guessing they haven't quite achieved regular college status.)

Turn ons: touchdowns and men and happy hour.

Turn offs: Closing time

Favorite place in the whole world to visit: Golden Fried Chicken in Brownfield and Beaver's in Amarillo.

Goals: To help the Renegades score.

Finally at about 4pm, my editor, we call him "Chief", rumbles over to my desk and asks me to come visit with him in his office. Chief is greatness! Chief hired me fresh out of college and took a liking to my work immediately. While I was in training, The Chief would often take me to diversionary trips to the Horse track in nearby Clovis, NM. He goes about once a week in season and has did no less than 4 articles on horse racing and gambling politics since the magazine began 8 years ago. Chief is the first to organize office pools, the last to leave happy hour, and the first one to work every day. I have never been to the Chief's residence, and in fact I'm not really sure he has one.

His office has always got clothes hanging all over, racing forms on the desk, and pictures of him with different football coaches and players. He started his career as a Sports writer for the local paper, but was let go after his failed marriage with the Senior Vice President's daughter whom was 10 years his junior. The Chief was a perpetual 25 year old in a 55 year old mans body. By far, I was his favorite staff member and closest friend at work. I kept his secrets and he kept mine.

We gonna do what they say can't be done

Chief said, "Smith, where in hell were you this morning."

I said, "Chief, I was bed down with dolly after a late night at the Renegades party."

"Damn boy, give me the details, is she something?"

"Chief, I can't lie to you. I believe this woman has slept with 4 different men since I met her on Thursday."

"One of must be you, that has to count for something."

"Yeah Chief, it counts, but how high does the count go?"

"So she is a cheerleader or a groupie?"

"She works as a leasing agent in my complex, she cheers and dances for the games, and God only knows what she does during the rest of the time."

"No offense buddy, but what is she doing with you? Your kind of a stiff. Sounds like she needs a man like me."

"Chief, there is no doubt that that woman would become trapped in your web of intrigue, lies, and deceit. So what's up?"

"Burns is on my ass about you. He is concerned that you don't have anything and that you aren't spending enough time at your work. I told him you were on it as usual, but I just wanted to make sure. I assume you haven't done shit this month on an article, which isn't a big deal. As long as it is better than a Nursing Home sales brochure."

"Well, as long as the standards are high at The Hub, you can rest assured that I will deliver a cut above the rest. But that being said Chief, I don't got shit to print. I got nothing... really. Reynolds is already doing the story on the new football team, so that one is out. But I did have one idea I been bouncing around."

"What's that?"

"Well, this girl, she is a fucking mess Chief, I mean a real lost puppy. I was thinking I could do a progressive work on how a man changes a woman."

"Smith, you cannot undo what has been done by the good Lord. (Laughing) You want to change a woman, that simply cannot be done and especially by you."

"Well, maybe. But damn it would be highly controversial and fun to write and read. When was the last time we had some real fun around here? Let me do it, Chief. It will sell all over the County."

"OK Smith, and just to sweeten the pot, we wont tell Burns until its already been shipped and printed."

"Big Chief, that is brilliant. I will get to work."

Diablo Sandwhich and a Dr. Pepper

I came home and Twila was cooking "supper", as she would put it. I would call it something much different. My dog was laying on the mountain of a black man in the couch. Strut Strutters was asleep and snoring furiously. Maggie didn't even budge or offer a smile. She just laid there.

Twila came over and kissed me on the check and whispered, "Hi honey, me and Strut decided to surprise you with Hamburger Helper. I even got a salad at the store cause I know you like that shit."

The salad she pointed too had at least a cup and half of Ranch dressing with what looked like 5 pounds of salted pork on it. Is it the thought that counts? I immediately went into my room to change clothes. I noticed that the bed was made. That struck me as odd because I don't think Twila even makes her own bed. Of course, a bolt of emotion and pain coursed through me. Could it be that Twila had worn ole Strut out on my bed, felt bad about it, so she decided to run to the Quik Mart across the street and fix some Hamburger helper? Well, the salad came from the store, so that wasn't exactly the correct details. But I bet they had a nice romp even so.

I stood in the closet for a moment and the mantra was coming back, Your such a.... and then I heard Strut speaking to Twila.

She yelled, "Russ, get the fuck out here, Struts leavin and wants to say bye."

I went to greet Strut as he said, "Thats a nice dog, dawg."

"Thanks Strut, what you doin over here?"

"Me and Twila were looking for me a place, I made the team so I needs a place, she showed me yours. I hope you dont mind, I made the bed jus to see whut it look like neat."

I actually believed him when he said it, but as soon as he left I felt violated again. In fact, I was wanting to pick a fight. But that all changed. Twila stopped cooking and started violating me. She sripped the strip that is somehow encoded in her DNA. Deep inside my brain Joe Cocker was singing You Can Leave your Hat on.

Baby take off your coat
Real slow
Take off your shoes
I'll take off your shoes
Baby take off your dress
Yes, yes, yes

You can leave your hat on
You can leave your hat on
You can leave your hat on

Go over there, turn on the light
Hey, all the lights
Come over here, stand on that chair
Yeah, that's right
Raise your arms up in the air
Now shake 'em
You give me reason to live
You give me reason to live
You give me reason to live
You give me reason to live

She's a good timin woman in love with a Lazy Boy Man.


Hamburger Helper with drenched salad and Arbor Mist wine never tasted so fine. I was just sitting in my chair wondering why I get suckered into these deals with this type of woman. Twila cusses like a sailor, loves like a whore, and cooks like first day clerk at McDonald's. I was beginning to dig it. For all the wrong reasons of course. I guess nobody wants to be alone. If there is no Coca Cola in the fridge, an orange Shasta will sometimes have to do, especially if Twila can reuse the can for an ashtray afterwards.

Twila sat there across the room just staring at me for great lengths of time. It was annoying me, be I dare not be rude. I haven't had that kind of smiling in my direction in a while. She interrupted the television spewing non stop updates about campaign finance and Iraq and stated firmly,

"I liiike yew....your so awesome to me."

"Thanks Twila, I appreciate the nice dinner you made for me after a long day of nothing at work."

She laughed, "Yer sooo funny! I just can't wait til Naomi and Alex get to meet you. There comin in tomorrow for the boat show cause Alex hurt his back at work and got a settlement. He's my mom's husbend. He's Mescan but you will liike him. Thare gettin a boat and I can't wait to go this summer. We're going to have some fun."

"Alex doesn't sound Hispanic." Ignoring the future invitation I hoped I would never have to accept.

"He aint no Spic Russ, hes Mescan. It's short for Alejandro. Wes jus call him Alex. He used to shoot dice at my old dads dice game and that's whare he met my mom. Alex has a job so mom went with him. She met my second dad on the internet, but he was a letdown to her and the house turned into a bar."

"Good times." Concealing the orgasm of surprises brought forth.

"Will you please come with me to the boat show tomorrow? I will be nice to you all night."

"OK Twila, but you have to promise me one thing."

"What's that."

"Don't bring random people up to my apartment and let me know when your going to be in here. It freaked me out a little bit when I got home and there was a black man on the couch loving on my dog. I don't have anything against Strut, but damn we just met on Thursday."

"Well fuck you then, I'm fuckin sorry I wanted to do something nice fer you motherfucker."

"No Twila, it's not that, that was nice, it's just that I was a little freaked. Imagine if Rodney was over on your couch rubbing on Buster's balls asleep while I made you Frito Pie. You would feel awkward i bet." I thought that was funny as hell to think about but I dare not laugh.

"Bullshit, you just don't like that Strut is a friend and you are jealous. You were bein a pussy at the party last night and ever one saw it. So what, I got alot of guy friends, I can if I want to."

Busted! Twila can read minds it looks like.

"Fine Twila, if that is what you think then I'm sorry. It's just that we just met and it has been a whirlwind with you. Your cool and all, but I like to take things a bit slower and deal with less craziness. You can understand that, right?"

"Well, your just not use to hot women that like to party I guess. Lighten up and quit being a pussy all the time."

"We'll do."

So I just sat in my chair uncomfortable for the rest of the evening. Twila spent all evening on the phone making plans with her mom, she called her by her first name, Naomi. The name would screech in my brain every time she said NaaaaaOmi, and she held nothing back.

"Well Russ, you know that guy I wuz tellin you about that wupped Duhgs ass the other nite. He wants to go with us to the Boat Show. Aint Alex comin, Naomi? Well ya'll better get ya'lls happy ass up her after werk, I like to eat before all them people pick throught the Golden Corall buffet." On and on it went. I tried to think of something I could say or do to get Twila out of my apartment, but I could never come up with anything besides hurting her feelings and then having to endure the shit, fuck, damn insult hurls. The mantra re-emerges, I'm such a pus... but then in the nick of time, I push it back down.

"Twila, get off the damn phone."

"OHKAY, HOLD ON! Love yew Naomi, bye and tell Alex adios fer me. Bye"

Throwing the phone down she looks alive.

"Whut?"

I get the courage up and ask,"Do you like those makeover shows?"

"Yeah, I especially liike the won whare they take them fat pepple and make em skinny and buy new clothes and have that big ole party."

"Great, what would you say if I said that you could do something like that too."

"Well, I aint no fatass Russ." Slapping her ass and shaking her breasts again.

"No, not like that one, but maybe do something where you change everything about yourself. Maybe go to school, get a degree, get a better job, learn new things, and make yourself a better person."

"Shit, I aint goin to college. Them people dont do shit anyway. I leased all them apartments to them kids and they dont do shit cause they got Daddy's money and sit around and smoke dope all day."

"Sure Twila, but I'm talking about actually learning and going to school. I am talking about making yourself like those high class models sorta. You know like the ones on that Runway show you like. They are refined, some are smart, and others have alot of class. Does that sound good to you?"

"Well, I guess so, but I don't see whut yer talkin about."

"Give me a few days, and I will come up with something and let you decide. If you dont like it then you dont have to do it."

"I aint doin shit I don want to do." Shaking her head like a Supreme as in Gladys Knight.

Off to bed I went, wondering just how much I was going to regret my hungover makeover idea.

Then I decided to be the lizard king, as well all should know, the lizard king can do anything. Twila's doors were about to be opened and all I had to do was figure out how to change her perception of reality. Besides, if she can conquer Hamburger Helper, she can conquer anything!

Oh Mickey your so fine...

I've been to the desert on a horse with no name

Well a girl with a stripper name anyway. After our fine cuisine at Casa Ole', we headed to the strip. Twila emerged from the beer store with 2 4 packs of Strawberry Wine coolers and a pack of Virginia Slim lights. We proceeded to my place where to complicate my stomach issues, I had the revenge of badly fermented fruit. Twila sang the hits all the way home. One was some rap song I heard before called Smack That. She loved it, Flipped again and stumbled onto Every Rose has its Thorn. It was American Idol on Turkish hashish. Twila doesn't roll down the window when she smokes because she fears she might start a fire on the side of the road, never mind the 4 alarm blaze inside the Cougar.

Cops, Cheaters, and Project Runway

Uplifting television at it's finest. I have nothing of substance to report other than it gave me great joy to see the thousands of looks on Twila's face as she guzzled alcohol and commented on every single camera shot for what seemed like 10 hours. I finally feel asleep next to her on my couch. Then I began to fake it. Twila got a text message then went in my bathroom and placed a call.

She shook me but I did not budge, I wasn't leaving and I damn sure wasn't going to answer any more questions or partake in Chances R.

Two Doors down there laughing and drinking and having a party.

I regained some strength with a nice granola flax seed breakfast, topped with ground gourmet organic coffee. Maggie and I went for a walk to the nearby park right after. It was a great spring morning and I could feel Maggie's pleasure in sniffing the left overs from other nearby dogs. I just do not get it.

I felt Twila's presence as I noticed her car parked near her door facing the park. I deliberately hid our excursion behind the trees. I just couldn't let my peace be interrupted. As soon as I thought that, I caught a glimpse through the brush and saw Twila outside of her door in a short pink satin nightgown with a terribly silk screened purple butterfly on it. She was hugging two men that looked like they were the size of NFL linebackers.

I can't lie, I felt a little bit jealous. As Maggie started to finish her business, I thought of all the sexual positions the three of them had been engaged in throughout the early morning. I was angry that she would leave me for an orgy with the Denver Broncos, but what is there different to expect. She is a single sexually active young woman in the community. I really don't like her personality, vocabulary, interests, or appearance in the least. Well, maybe I like her a little bit. Otherwise I wouldn't be feeling jealous.

I can't get her out of my head

So all morning and into the noon hour I stewed around my apartment chain smoking and running through all of the things I would say to fucking Twila. Why do I care? I can't explain it in the same way I can't explain why dogs need to sniff on dog shit. About that time, the knock on the door comes. It's Twila. As soon as I see her, I cannot believe my eyes. She is dressed up in a black and purple cowgirl outfit reminiscent of a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. It was evident she had spent the better part of the morning getting her hair and makeup just right.

Twila said, "you want to come watch me cheer? I get free tickets and I want you to bring your dork friends to watch all us hot girls wiggle."

I said, "Wow, I didn't know you were a cheerleader! So you are a cheerleader for the Renegades?"

Twila starts twirling her pom poms and begins to shack her breasts quickly to give me a taste of the action in store for the day. I can't believe I said yes, but I just had to see this side of her. I've already seen the breasts, but I haven't had a cheerleader dig my chili since high school and I just can't get enough of that action. I also wanted to check out the new Arena football team in Lubbock. The Renegades are like a Double A minor league baseball team. If you have ever been to anything minor league, its always fun.

Fun because, my friends and I can criticize everything from the stadium announcers, to the groveling children yelling for freebie souvenirs that are just a cut above carnival prizes. The play of the game is not very interesting I must admit, it is all about the shitty side show and drinking beer in a public place. In Lubbock, you would think the Cowboys were playing because everyone has on Cowboy jerseys and the like.

"I have a ton to do here today, but I will be there, what time does it start?"

She said, "It starts at 3, but I have to go now. I haven't practiced the routines all week because I was an alternate, but they called me and said I was on because Becky got put in jail for getting in a fight at the Koko Inn. Can you believe it, I get to dance in front of everyone."

I said, "I can't wait to see you, your uniform looks awesome." (Lie)

She goes, "I bet you like it, maybe I can wear it for you later."

I asked, "I bet you had it on last night."

She said, "No, I got tired and went home to bed."

"I bet you were tired. We had a long day and you probably had a long night." In the I know what you did last night tone of voice. She missed it by a mile, or at least she pretended too.

Her eyes rolled and she punched me in the chest and said, "Well if you weren't so god damned old, I could have kept you up all night. I got to go, here are the tickets. See you there. And tell your friends ya'll can come down and meet some of my friends on the team. They are sooo cool."

"I bet they are. Okay."

All my rowdy friends

We got excited about a couple of plays, but otherwise we just drank a few beers and commented on the pathetic display of everything minor about the minor leagues. I pointed out that Twila was the girl that couldn't keep up with the perkier and more experiences dance team members. My friends all thought she was hot, and one of my friends Ron said she looked familiar. He asked what her name was.

I reply in curiosity, "Twila Barr, you know her?"

Ron smiled weirdly and said, "Yeah, we met."

Noticing the odd smirk, "Oh yeah, how do you know Twila?"

"Umm well, she use to hang out with a couple of buddies of mine up at the golf course bar." (In guy friend translation that means he has had sex with her before after a long night of drinking.)

"Orly?"

"Yeah, she's cool I guess. How long you been seeing her again?"

"On and off for the past couple of days. It's funny really. I don't like her at all but there is something about her."

"Yeah, I know what you mean man, she can be a really cool chick."

"I guess so. She seems to be really cool to half of Lubbock County, and that's just since Friday afternoon."

Now the entire gang is laughing, and some are really laughing at me in that your are so pathetic cackle.

Rodney asks shyly, "you think I can get her phone number?"

Pointing to the team bench "Sure, how about I just introduce you to her and her boyfriends on the team."

Ron said, "Damn, Twila has a boyfriend on the team and your messing around with her. That cannot be healthy."

"It probably isn't, it's not that I'm afraid of them, it's more that I'm worried my health insurance doesn't cover a trip to the clap clinic."

The jokes and jibes continue until the local domed gridiron heroes go down in defeat. We proceed to go meet up with Twila. The boys really wanted to see if I could get an in for them with the other sex pandering ballerinas. I do what I can for my boys.

Meet the Renegades

Rex O'donnell is a 6'6 350lbs lineman and the spitting image of Dan Blocker on steroids. His buddy on the team is Mickey "Strut" Strutters, a 6'2 200lbs wide receiver. Rex said he played his college ball at Florida Atlantic, he blew out his knee during last year's NFL combines and is trying to get back into shape to make another run at the NFL. Strut, he insists that you call him that "Dawg", grew up in Louisiana and played football at some directional state school near his home. They were all smiles until Twila said.

"Hey ya'll, this is my boyfriend Russ."

I felt like I was pissing razor blades, in fact that might seem better after the look of humorous pity the two football giants had on there face. They looked like they had discovered a silver lining in their defeat all of the sudden. They didn't know that I knew at that instant that they had violated Twila 16 ways to Sunday morning, and they had revealed that in their look of amazement. Just embarrassment, please someone remove me from the planet until I can regain some dignity.

Strut said, "Hey Dawg, you want to come to our party. Twila's coming." Then he immediately slapped Rex on the hand and they shared that sinister look and enjoyed the moment all over again in an instant.

Twila unfaded said, "Ya Russ, come on, ever body will be there and ya'll can bring them friends over too. It'll be funner than sitting at home watching Histery Channel like you prolly want to do."

I didn't ask for this. I felt like I was 7 years old again when my Aunt made me get on a roller coaster at Six Flags and I was so terrified I threw up before, during, and after the ride. That was supposed to be fun too. I had to play with the Renegades. My pride was on the line for the wrong reasons, so true. But again, like Woltz in the Godfather, "I aint no band leader!"

I'm the greatest wingman ever

We all pile out of the Ron's truck after a trip to the beer store, my second consecutive in as many days. I go to bars, I do not go to the beer store unless its the holidays. I am doing this for my friends, I kept telling myself. But in my mind, I kept picturing scenes from Revenge of the Nerds, where all the football players are groping cheerleaders, especially my cheerleader, and I was being hazed down stairs like the gay rape scene in Pulp Fiction.

Evidently some hot cheerleader named Skye was hosting a party at her parent's home just on the outskirts of town. The house looked like it was built during the dust bowl back in the thirties. The couches were at least 30 years old and the carpet had stains from spills of days past. The home smelled like a mold convention, but all over the house were pictures of Skye in cheerleader outfits and Glamour shot layouts with tiger print vests and shit. I learned the parent's were vacationing. I asked Skye if they were in the Hampton's, but she said shrugged that off as if she didn't know. Probably because she didn't and told me they were in Turner Falls for a wedding.

It's been 12 years since I remember going to a keg party. It all came back to me now. Accept this one was different. There was danger lurking and I could feel it. Sure enough danger came into the house with her stripper cowgirl outfit still on from the game. Twila was the only girl there with it still on. The other girls had swapped out their clothing for a different brand of sexual trash.

Twila worked the room like a professional at Score's. Sitting on the Running back's lap. Kissing bruises on the Quarterback's chin and giving him a sip of beer. She would come around me occasionally and say, "I'm so glad your here. Isn't this fun? You got any extra beer, Strut says the keg floated."

So I would walk out to Ron's truck to get into my stash thinking it was for my girl. Duped again, she promptly kissed me hard then proceeded to Strut lounging by the scum filled kiddie pool. I watched as she sat in his lap then handed him my fucking beer.

During this episode, I made up a chant.

I am such a pussy.
I am such a pussy.
I am such a pussy.

I'm going to Jaurez.
I'm getting steroids.
I'm getting pumped.

And gosh darn it, people will like me.

Rodney and Ron

They were there just talking it up and getting drunk with all of the girls and players. They were having a blast. I wished I could be like them, but I just couldn't. I tried to fake having fun, but that lasted for about 10 minutes until Twila came back to make an announcement to the room.

"Everybody shut the fuck up a second..God damn it! Me and Rex and Strut are going to go get another fucking keg at the Strip before it closes."

Rex chimes in, "Everybody better fucking pony up, we aint buying this next one. We also need a truck."

Immediately Ron does the unthinkable and hands Rex his keys. I looked at him like he just lost his mind. This is not a Ron move. Drive them? Sure, no problem. But give them the keys? I can't believe it happened.

I was in such a panic, I handed over $20 to Rex like a baptist getting tithed. Can this possibly get any worse? In an instant they were gone. Then it did get worse, they left with my girl and my beer. She is wearing a stripper outfit and I was sure there was a pornography film crew at the ready should the trio decide to have another fling. Why don't you kick my dog while your at it?

Rodney said, "where's Twila? I thought she was with you?"

"Fuck off Rodney!"

Rodney laughed the laugh of condescending, in defeat I retreated outside.

So I decided to lounge where Strut had been before, seeking the power of the chair in hopes a scantily clad drunk gal would come over and kiss on my wounds. Wishful thinking.

3 hours later and 5 before I have to be at work. The mantra repeats itself until I fall asleep.I get awoken by Twila with my foot drenched in kiddie pool scum. I faintly hear the deep giggles of gladiators in heat.

She said, "your friends done took off with some of the girls. I tole em you could ride home with me, so you better get that shit washed off yer shoes. I don't want you getting that shit in my car."

Oh kindest and fairest maiden, come rescue thou and let me seek travel in thouest chariot.

Twila looked like she had been riding the mechanical bull at Gilley's and been bucked off 15 times. She was drunk and in no condition to drive. The guys all escorted her to her car and each of them gave her deep hugs and lifts. I could hear the mutterings that I were sure were the "can I come over" and let's try to get eight seconds together type pleadings.

I can't remember anything else after that. I awoke in the morning with a cheap fish net half way choking me and 4 hours late for work. Twila was gone but I knew that she had slept there. I was just hoping I could wash it all off and avoid a trip to the clinic or perpetual pharmaceutical purchases. Even still, I smelled the scent of drunken girl in my bed, and I wondered why I liked it so much.