Showing posts with label JoJo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JoJo. Show all posts

Saturday, November 10, 2018

World Cup




It is never a good idea to go into a pub at 10 am on a Sunday morning. Especially when you are allegedly old enough to know better. But I had watched a few soccer matches leading up to the final and had found a nice Public House that catered to soccer fans that was open that early on a Sunday. In I went to Kill a few Kennys with a couple of friends. There were a few overconfident Eastern European types in the pub as well and after a bit a few friendly wagers were made. The rest of the daytime hours are history. A big lunch after the match and pockets full of gambling largess I was released into the wild to fend for myself.




The night time hours were near, but not near enough. Where should I go?




I made my way cross town to Slammies.




It had been a while since I had been there. A mere matter of months this time rather than years for a change. I confess my slightly liquored and age addled brain almost admitted to itself that there was an irrational exuberance and audacity of hope that JoJo would be the barkeep this evening. Not being enough of a frequent flyer patron to know the schedules it was a crap shoot at best. But hey, this had been my day for being on the right side of the crap and besides it was still early. JoJo always did wonders for both my mood and libido, if for no other reason that she exuded exquisite energy on all spectrums.




Well when I arrived the the place was busy with World Cuppers who also had been sporting since the early morning hours so entertainment was to be had in conversation and camaraderie. Not to mention since when does anybody in the US care about soccer. But Rodney was slinging the drinks and truth be told he was much more 
adept with soccer ruffian speak than JoJo would have been.




But with a day of imbibing and visions of JoJo and other ghosts of Slammies gibbering in my head; plus ill gotten gains in my pocket left only one thing to be done.




I went to long forgotten but dark corner of many a man's past and headed further afield out to the airport strip clubs.




Dark. Expensive. Reeking of unrequited male lust after the unattainable dreams and transactional commerce of the most basic and ancient kind. Knowing that I was stimulating the economy and myself in a manner that will only result in a trip down memory lane of what a naked woman of a totally inappropriate age for me looks like, I was on a splurge. The visual enticement would certainly charge my batteries. Polite, but never wanting to waste a dancers time when she could be transacting commerce, left me with plenty of time to enjoy the dancers lithe bodies from afar. Not dark lurking corner afar. More midway between drooling stage side tipping range and creeper corner where the bouncers watch for the first whiff of trouble.




The dancers are delightful. All ages and body types. Lovely to the last jiggle. I am mesmerized at the bounty displayed. Some eliciting illicit memories. Others merely long held fantasies. Much to the dismay of the women's bottom line I am too frugal to invest too much of my liquid capital on things other than my liquid hobbies.




That is when it happened. The stage went dark. The MC announce the next performers name. I don't even recall what it was. Your stock in trade strippers name. It was clever. It was enticing. It was not to common. Not to abstruse. It was just…...JoJo!




Okay. I admit I thought about skulking out. For her ? For me? Considering the number of faces she has to see across the weathered bar of Slammies was I kidding myself that she would even recognize me? With the stage lights could she even see beyond the leering laddies stage side with their mitts full of lucre?




I stayed. I confess. The thought of seeing JoJo naked, strutting, and shimmering won the fantasy soccer day prize. Yes I’m that guy. My unreasonable expectations were taking a step that my wildest hopes would have dismissed just moments before. Naked strange women was one thing. My favorite bartender whose imagined visage has roiled my monkey brain for months was a horse of a different color.




I was transfixed as her goth girl inspired clothing became a melting pathway to paradise.




Then our eyes met.






Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Unreasonable Expectations




I rolled into Slammies one weekday afternoon for a large draught of unreasonable expectations. There she was on the other side of the bar staring me right in the kisser. The only thing to do was to stick to the irrational exuberance script that has served me so well and soldier on.




A decade of Slammies separation meant the woman behind the bar did not recognize me as the regular I once was. Now was not the time to dissuade her. I ordered a pint. There was a CUBS hat on the bartenders head and Chicago CUBS Baseball was on the shiny new multitude of flat screen TV's that now littered the saloon. A far cry from the ancient flickering cathode ray tube corner mounted box that once served as the sports center of this one time corridor of a bar.




On the plus side I could not drink enough pints of unreasonable expectations to have them overtake me as I watched the energetic bartender reach for libations on the top shelve. Each reach exposing more of her well toned reasonably bared daytime mid-drift. Framed in what to me appeared goth inspired basic black attire. Modest but well fitting and well suited for the bars expanded and updated facade.




Her exposed belly bling sparkled and rewarded my irrationally exuberant countenance with a glint of rational promise. Then she rolled up with two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack and said, " I drank too much yesterday and if you don't do a shot with me now I might die."




Her sincerity and my gentlemanly tendencies coaxed an extra exuberant, "Bottoms up!" from me. That was our cue for the ritual downing of the booze. Even fueled by Jack Daniels the unreasonable expectations jet stream would not drag me along today.




He who drinks, then runs away will live to drink another day. Ball game was over and the end of the work day crowd was shuffling in so I bid the bartender ado, tipped her and my hat and out the door I went.




That was the first, but lucky for me, not the last time I would have a JoJo sighting,






Friday, June 8, 2018

Vegan Adventures




One minute I'm having a cold brew at Slammies.

Next thing I know I am in JoJo the bartenders bed.

She is stuffing the business end of a Cauliflower floret with an asparagus spear chaser up my rear.

I didn't know she was a vegan.

Just another early 21st century night.

About Me

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Purveyor of paralogical compliance to verbally mediated reality, artisanal smut, with a pinch of full time flâneur tossed in to taste.