Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Diamond Earring Product Shotphoto © 2009 Spotlight Forest | more info (via: Wylio)

Hello, you little Earring, you! How are you? Look at you, so damned cute and tiny! A little diamond stud, with a "butterfly" back (even though you don't have wings), rolling around in my vanity's drawer for almost four years. My, my, my. I must confess, Earring, that you weren't a welcome surprise for these tired eyes of mine. I know, I know, I'm sorry, but it's true. Am I being rude? I don't think I am, but if you'd let me finish, perhaps you'll see my point.

It took me a minute, Earring, but I finally puzzled out who your owner was: her name was Florence, and she was a nurse who liked to drink a lot of white wine, and she didn't care if it was from the finest French château, or just good old-fashioned swill. Indeed, one afternoon, on a day that had many secrets, she and I were laying around nude, passing a bottle back and forth, and, after taking a long, sensual swallow, she said something to the effect that "if it had the kick, then (she) was in it."

An oenologist she most certainly was not!

Florence, your mama, was introduced to me via a mutual friend who has now gone the way of the Crazy. Yes, "crazy:" it means that the mutual friend is no longer a friend, because she went crazy on me, as I've never had the patience for lady-friends who kick in with the demands. Why demand things from me that my guy-friends don't? Why this special treatment? And why am I even talking about the mutual friend? Quit distracting me.

Right. So, Florence was a couple of years older than me, and if god protected fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise, then god must have been pulling overtime protecting that clumsy-dunce of a woman. Doubt me, do you? Well, for starters, and this is only a comment on aesthetics, Earring, she didn't need tattoos (and I happen to like tattoos, mind you) to decorate her body, because she had an almost-infinite number of bruises and scrapes all over her skin, direct results from her drinking, and yet worked as an Emergency Room nurse! Didn't her supervisors know about her bumbling boozy ways? It makes me wonder about the sanity of the system, Earring. It makes me think that there is no line to cross, that nothing is protecting us; I now see that the Plan wasn't to include humanity (yes, and jewelry, too) in the Heavens cosmos at all. But now that we are here, why, we're feed for Universal Yuks. Fodder for the Cosmic Crack-up. Big Fun with Billions of Fools.

Holy Light, but I'm rambling! Okay: your mama and I, in the beginning at least, found each other to be fun-drunks. She lived in the Central California region, and she'd drive down after her final shift of the week to stay at my place for a couple of days. This arrangement lasted for a few weeks. We'd sit around, nude (yes, I know I mentioned the nude thing before, but I actually liked seeing her nude, as she was athletic, and had the whole tanned-and-toned thing going on, scabs and gashes notwithstanding), snapping scenario-photos of my Star Trek action figures with our cell phones' cameras. She was partial to Picard, while I like to give Kirk all of the glory poses: here we were, Earring, grown adults, drunk as lords, taking action shots of dolls! Not my shiniest of moments, my little diamond-studded friend...

At any rate, I don't remember the exact details of our calling it quits. Truly, the specifics are fuzzy, but I know that I called my buddy Sven to come over, to help me get rid of her, as she was a graceless lush, and had knocked over my bookcase (!) for the last time. I vaguely remember me telling her that Sven would be a better romantic match for her — oh, the look she gave me, Earring, with so much surprise and pain — and that after she kissed him in front of me, he complained to me in sotto voce that she tasted like "rusty nickels." That I remember clearly. More wine was poured, and promises were given. He left after she fiendishly feigned control over her maladroit mannerisms, but then she immediately started up again, shouting at me with the force of someone who has been shouting at people for so many years (and for so many reasons). I shouted back at her, and so on and so forth, and roll end credits.

No, no, I don't know what your mama is up to these days, but you know what? I bet your sister is here somewhere, Earring— let me see if I can find her for you. Would you like that? Thought you would.


  1. I read that after I just sent you a little vid of my Kirk/Spock/Pike ornament. LOL At least I wasn't nude.

  2. I see this tale in my head in black & white old film reels grainy with still pictures at points.