Bet You're Wondering...

What I'm gonna blog about... well, I dunno. Let's just go along and see what happens. See, its not that I don't have ideas its, well, there's just too many. Or they're just short. Or they sound good in my head but don't transfer to paper well. So, maybe I'll just talk out of my head. My topic right now is 'Ted.' Ted came up in conversation last night and I just thought of him again. There are some famous Teds. Ted Bundy, Ted Koppel, Ted(dy) Roosevelt, Ted Kennedy, Sr./Jr., Ted(dy) Pendergrass, Ted... Ted... ummm... Ted-d-d-d-d *pbbfffbbbtt* Okay, enough Teds. Ted and I met by accident. He thought I was someone else, and I thought he was someone else. We were at the big band festival in a town nearby but he lived quite a distance away where my parents live now! We exchanged addresses and became pen pals. I was very, very sweet on Ted. He was my first love. No, he didn't love me back. He joined the service, met some other chick, and buh-bye Nanna. We had a terrible falling out over that (he called and said, "Hey, I'm getting married." Ever feel your heart drop to your feet? I didn't take it well and I think my next letter was full of pain and anger and he wrote back that I was inconsiderate and immature) and eventually I threw all of his letters away. You know, for some reason, I would really like to read those now. It would be like a time capsule in a way. I remember we used to find new ways to say good-bye in foreign languages at the end of our letters. But there is something else I remember about Ted. He was a FUCKING TERRIBLE KISSER!!! Oh my God!! HORRIBLE!! Let me explain... he had very thin lips, which is fine, BUT, he didn't use them, he used his entire mouth. Have you guys seen the commerical where the cartoon dude is brushing his teeth and he opens his mouth to get the back teeth and its like his face just flattens out and its nothing but teeth? That always reminded me of Ted. He was like a fucking python, unhinged jaw, dark beady eyes... YIKES!! He would use his teeth to scrape from under your nose and part of your chin up to your mouth with plenty of tongue, but it never went IN your mouth... it just kinda slimed around on the outside. Damn, I had some serious chapping problems. Its like, you get a tube of Chapstick © and use it on your whole face, right out of "House of Wax" with Vincent Price. (Killer flick - Muwhahahahahaahaa) Lemme tell 'bout the Meatloaf Man. My girlfriends, Beki, Kelli, and myself, were out running around one night and stopped off at another friend's house, where I promptly fell alseep. Kelli woke me up and told me it was late we needed to get back to her house where we were all spending the night. It was probably about 2:30-3:00 a.m. Now, Kelli was older than us but lived with her dad and stepmom after her divorce and she had two kids to raise. Her step-brother and step-sister lived there as well so we didn't want to disturb anyone coming in. Kelli lived in the ritzy hill section above the city where there is never any parking. I found a spot about four cars down from her place and as we got out of the car we saw a figure standing under the streetlight. He raised his hands like a grizzly bear and came towards us mumbling about something. Beki told me later what she heard, but I didn't really hear shit. I had it in my mind that we three could take him. Problem is, the girls had a different idea. Flee! When Beki grabbed my hand the phenomena of what I called "transference" occurred. Before she touched me I was perfectly calm and ready to take this son of a bitch on. The moment her hand touched my arm though, she transferred all of her fear through it and into me. I froze. The next thing I remember Kelli and Beki are dragging me behind them down the sharply inclined driveway with Meatloaf Man in hot pursuit. The space between the car and the carport was barely big enough for a normal sized person to walk and they bounced me between the two like a pinball. As luck would have it, the front door was unlocked and we got inside and shut the door in Meatloaf Man's face. He started pounding on the door, cussing, telling us to let him in. The most incredible thing is... we had not murmured a sound up to this point because we didn't want to wake up Kelli's dad and get in trouble! So, we got Meatloaf Man at the door. It was one of those with the three diagonal windows. Kelli is on the phone, or rather she picked the phone up and asked, "What's the num-ber? What's the num-ber?" I stage whispered, "9-1-1! 9-1-1!" Beki is holding her shaking hands out in front of her almost hyperventilating. As soon as she had let me go, I was back to, "We can take him!!" I grabbed the nearest weapon, a 14 " cast iron skillet, and told Beki to "open the door." She just stood there shaking. "Beki, open the door, open the door, open the door." I had the skillet drawn back like a Louisville Slugger and all I needed was for her to open the door and let him in so I could nail him. Instead the door to the basement opened and scared the shit out of all of us. It was Kelli's dad and he had a shotgun. He walked over to the door and parted the curtains with the barrel. Meatloaf Man began apologizing and ran away. There were 50 cops on the hill within three minutes yet they couldn't find this dude, dressed in 'grunge,' who looked like a very dirty, nappy haired version of Meatloaf. Um, excuse me... wrong Meat Loaf! Can I get some help here?? Geeez Louise, gotta do everything myself. Here he is. Hey, he looks good here. Anyway, seems that Meatloaf Man and one of his buddies had walked into the house and were eating my friend's fried chicken!!! This was about 30 minutes after we left so Kelli's dad was already on the look out when he heard us in the kitchen. When the cops asked us for a description the three of us said, "He looks like Meat Loaf!" Then we continued with the, "nappy hair, nasty, foul, dirty" description. Not long afterwards, I read an article in a local gossip rag where a guy had pulled a knife in a club. He was described as, "a very nappy haired dude who looked like Meat Loaf." Indeed, our Meatloaf Man.