So, Stacy and I are returning from a bagel run....the almighty rite bestowed upon the lowly pledge to feed your Sisters......and we're late, as usual. "Consequences for sure", I'm thinking as Stacy ties her shoe and puts down the plastic bag jammed with a variety of toasted bagels and toppings wafting through the nippy city air with such potency it reminds me of my mom's kitchen. As she's tying her shoelace she begins bitching at me because, of course, this is all my fault, as it is whenever anything goes wrong.
As much as I endure..I mean..enjoy...her pep talks, I am, at this moment, distracted. Underneath a beat up '87 Buick is, what appears to be, a stray cat. My heart immediately reaches out, as does my hand. I'm a sucker for a stray animal and with the onset of the chilly weather and the drunks returning from a college bar night, I suspected the little guy wouldn't have a chance here in the bottom tier parking lot.
As I knelt down to execute my perfected, "Ssp, Ssp, Ssp", from years of owning cats, I am terrified to see foamy, pointed teeth emerge from underneath the bumper of the car. I immediately gasp and Stacy, underterred by my lack of attention and still speaking of my "weakest link" tendencies, stops for a moment and with that; The Emergence of the Raccoon.
Yes, a giant, growling raccoon, foaming at the mouth, emerged from under the '87 Buick with one thing on his mind: THE BAGELS! I, of course doing the only thing a proper Jersey girl can do when presented with such a situation, screamed, abandoning Stacy and ran up the hill to the second tier parking lot; on my toes, of course, as to not incur any unnecessary dirt on my Guess sneakers. Stacy, in an Olympic effort last seen in the Roman era, forged onward swiftly grabbing the Bag O'Bagels and tucking it under her arm like a football. Simultaneously, she began running down the bottom tier parking lot, Raccoon in toe, all the while screaming, "Son-of-a-bitch-pig-bastard-ass-slut"!
I wasn't sure if this was directed at myself for bailing or the rabid raccoon, but we hopped into the college security van and no one spoke a word other than to request which dorm we'd be getting off at. And that my friends, was the birth of the compound swear...
Pieces of Me, Pieces of Havana - *M*id 90s, Havana. With a little help from Allen Ginsberg *Howl * *(Cuban cover version of Allen Ginsberg’s original poem, with percussion, double bass, ...
1 week ago