Another New Girlfriend … Ziploc Bag Of Ice Cubes Wrapped In A Towel

So as I convalesce this now reminder of my creaky back 20 years later and 15 years or so before that, per doctor’s orders, I have been asked to step away from my new girlfriend, Heating Pad, take a time out, and instead embrace Ziploc Bag Of Ice Cubes Wrapped In A Towel.

Tell ya the truth it’s been difficult. Heating Pad and I were getting along so well. I had my cute nickname for her, “Heating Pad”, and she had hers for me ”         “, an almost symbiotic unspoken thing.

But I understand. Doc’s orders are doc’s orders.

Though Ziploc Bag of Ice Cubes Wrapped In A Towel appears as nice as Heating Pad something is missing. I just can’t put my finger on it but this is a bit more, I don’t know, dramatic and definitely more immediate, a little colder too, but Ziploc Bag of Ice Cubes Wrapped In A Towel does still seem to care as much for me as Heating Pad so I’ll take it. I haven’t been much for having a girlfriend in quite some time so, to have two, in such a short period is certainly … well … something.

And I can’t be mad at Mimi the Quirky. She was just looking for company, something more than my simple lap could provide, and Heating Pad was on the rebound. Who hasn’t been there?

I also have a friend who owns a couple of smoke shops here in the area, he records his radio spots with me. They feature all the latest smoke shop type hemp infused stuff with initials and ominous names, “Release the Kratom!” None of that is my gig but he was kind enough to give me a cream … Peppermint tinged. It’s like I just left a pizza joint that imagines itself something more and grabbed a mint out of their seeming fancy wicker basket on my way out, only on my back.

But I will say it has worked better than Icy/Hot and hey, I love pizza and if my back is high? Why the hell not?

Well, I have found a somewhat contorted “sit” spot that doesn’t hurt (finally) so I think I’m done. I’ve got NCIS waiting on demand, as long as FIOS doesn’t piss me off and charge me for it (fuckers) or it’s just the last episode of season one of “Messiah” on Netflix (fantastic so far by the way).

Little Bella eschews all this nonsense and simply hangs with her pal Space Heater, Mimi the Quirky continues her affair with my kinda ex and Cricket the Blind chooses the middle ground on comfy sheets.

Ok then. Ziploc Bag of Ice Cubes Wrapped In A Towel and I have a date. Here’s to hoping I don’t say the wrong thing again and she throws another melted drink on my pillow.



My New Girlfriend … Heating Pad

Heating pad - Walgreens 2

So, after too many years I’m finally in a relationship again. Her name is Heating Pad, Heating Pad for short.

She’s very nice.

I met her at Walgreens last week after popping my back but good this past Tuesday.

Affectionately known as Heating Pad (nicknames are cute in the early stages huh?) she and I have been getting along quite famously. Though she’s not much for conversation I can tell she cares. We were introduced by a new acquaintance of mine with a Walgreens name tag who slyly pointed her out with a wink and a nod just past the aspirin.

My little Bella and Mimi the Quirky know a friend of hers, Space Heater, so the introductions here at the apartment have been pretty seamless.

Mimi-Bella space heater

Everyone gets along. Mimi the Quirky and she even “talk” on occasion when I’m not in the room, though I fear Mimi may be taking advantage of her affections while I’m away. It’s too easy a lay I fear.

Mimi Heating Pad #1

Anyway, as Heating Pad and my relationship “heats” up if you will, along with a fling with Ibuprofen (I’m a bit of a floozy I’m afraid) I have scheduled another appointment with a doctor of the chiropractic arts for tomorrow after yesterday’s visit went spectacularly unwell.

Here’s to hoping. This shit hurts.

“What’s that? Yes, you can call me Pokey. What? Hey, Ibuprofen is just temporary, a fling, you’re my real girl. Muscle relaxant? She’s not even in the picture, doesn’t complete me like you. Can I still call you Heating Pad? … Darling? … I know … we’re WAY too cute”


“Yield – A Short Story”

Yield sign w pleasant clouds

Once upon …

I was gonna post a version of this earlier yesterday, after I had gotten in to work, while my annoyed pet peevy-ness was still fresh but the day ended up a being a bit of a bear, and time ran away from me screaming. Damned work getting in the way of a good post.

Anyway, I drive the on-ramp/off-ramp then on-ramp/off-ramp dreaded loops of the Mid Hudson Bridge/Route 9 every morning and then return home the same way, small, I’m sure, compared to big cities but still…

For those not from this area I apologize for the place specific but maybe, in general, you’ll get where I’m coming from.

So I thought, as a public service, I’d offer to help define that red triangular sign that you often see at points of roadways where they merge. A sign called “Yield”. Confused? Yield? I know.

“Steve, we ARE confused. But from where is there such a sign? We know of many road signs, “Stop” and … uh … and … ummmm … there’s a school one we think … and so many others but the one of which you speak is alien to us”
(Future reference, don’t say “alien”, I don’t even have papers readily available).

Maybe it’ll help if I said it’s the “upside down red triangle sign thingy with a word you don’t recognize and pay no mind to.”

“Oh yes … that one”

It’s meaning? “Let other road users go first. A yield sign assigns the right-of-way to traffic in certain intersections. If you see a yield sign ahead, be prepared to let other drivers crossing your road take the right-of-way”

For example in Illustration # “A” the “YOU” driver has a decision to make. You could actually heed the “upside down red triangle sign thingy with a word you don’t recognize and pay no mind to” and slow down or even stop, or you could just, instead, la-la-la-la song in your heart, phone at your hand, knuckle in your head, loop around and merge blindly while pissing me the fuck off as you almost catch my nose in your ass. Sorry, I should rephrase that.

Illustration A

This wasn’t yesterday morning though, that’s just my often evening commute. No, yesterday morning’s pet peevy-ness tips the annoyance scale a bit more as it involves the almost every day car behind me as I attempt to navigate an on-ramp/off-ramp then on-ramp/off-ramp while actually paying attention to this particular sign and the concept of “Yield” but in front of that person who views it merely as that “upside down red triangle sign thingy with a word you don’t recognize and pay no mind to.”

“Why are you stopping me?” the car behind me honks increduously while I offer a nice flashy bird. “ii1ii”. Damned birds.

Refer to Illustration # “B” (bear with the storytelling artist that I am not).

Illustration B

I wait, deferring to the Yield with clueless, honking eyes boring a hole in the back of head, and then move forward, though often thinking of putting BB (my car) in park and stepping out just to point, silently, with a Death’s cliche’d bony finger at that “upside down red triangle sign thingy with a word you don’t recognize and pay no mind to”.

… The End.

Ok, BB and I realize this isn’t much of a short story. There’s nothing to it other than the general circumstance of annoyance.

So … after a fender bender at a Yield sign, where their cars met nose to ass (re-phasing to come in the rewrites) a guy meets a girl, they exchange info (the cop at the scene was nice) they go out to dinner, they date, they move in together, they discover they moved too quickly, the girl calls the nice cop for help with an unwarranted restraining order, the guy grabs his stuff off the lawn, the girl and the cop date, they move in together, the girl gets bored and moves out but only after calling the cop’s ex-girlfriend, the guy writes a famous novel called “Yield”, the girl calls the newly famous novelist, the guy answers the phone, the girl winks, three families bond over their differences and a long lost Billy finally comes home, though he’s changed.