Monday, January 12, 2015

FISH DINNER IN SAN FRANCISCO

Years ago I lived in a residential hotel in North Beach, which had very thin walls. For a brief four month period, my immediate next door neighbor, whose window opened onto the same airwell, was a blonde woman with big hooters and an ever-changing roster of partners.
Most of her boyfriends were nice men. Bland, inoffensive (except for their affection for sports on teevee) and altogether regular guys.
Consequently I cannot remember any of them at all.
Her, however, I do remember. Oh boy yes.
No, not because of her hooters.

In actual fact, while like many males I do like hooters, they are not the be-all and end-all of a woman's personality. If the hooters exist, that is enough. The possessatrice of said appurtenances should above all have something to say, and say it well. Crucially, there has to be something there to keep you wide awake; not bore you into a coma.
That said, enormous hooters are somewhat ghastly.
Big-breastedness is such a butch thing.
Elderly old farts in a sauna.
Sumo wrestlers.

Now, having seeded your mind with that appalling mental image, I wish to mention her sexual habits. Which I presume were quite normal, and very healthy, judging by the sound effects.


SOMEONE SHUT THAT WOMAN UP!


[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nv1MG_ya7lY.]

Precisely so.

Possible humorous comment: people who live in glass (or cardboard) houses shouldn't throw screaming sex.
Sad, but true.

I heard that nearly every evening. Consequently I would often hang out at the Caffè Trieste, or City Lights Bookstore after work. Most of the time, she and her paramours would be simply mumbling at each other by midnight, so the rest of us could get some sleep.


Watching that video reminded me of those days.

It also reminded me how stultifyingly uninspirational conversation with many of the North Beach "intellectuals" can be, such as the creative types who often infest the Trieste or City Lights, both of which are exceptionally fine establishments despite the vampires.


If you are visiting San Francisco, do go to both of those places.
Just refrain from getting roped into conversation.
And don't have sex with the patrons.


I seldom go to either place these days.
Conversationally, I have improved.
I never liked screaming.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

No comments:

Search This Blog

A DUMPSTER FIRE OF TWITTERY

Often while at work I get to hear the sour old dingbats in the backroom spouting Republican drivel and venom. Which does not leave me positi...