Blowing Up

I got all of the introductory stuff out of the way – it’s time to start having some fun again. By the way – The Cleveland Plain Dealer named The Moose in the Closet “Blog of the Week”. That’s what I call “dope”.

_____________________

I’m a bit drunk right now – I wasn’t supposed to be, Saul Colt’s in town and it was supposed to be one beer. About seven pints later I find myself at home, needing to write a story that I was supposed to write this weekend but the publishing side of POSTCARDS nailed me down. So now you get drunken story. A short one.

In-between the nice 100+ dollar a night hotel and our apartment on Connecticut Ave, Robin and I stayed in a dump of a hotel. We ran out of money, see – my two-grand relocation check didn’t cover the entire month we had no apartment.

I found a hotel we could afford – forty-five a night – at the Motel 50 in Rosslyn (now called “The Rosslyn Inn”).

Dump. Straight dump. That we needed to live in for a week. When the cab driver dropped us off we asked what Rosslyn was like – he told us not to cross Route 50 or else we’ll get killed.

That’s what he said – I shit you not.

Funny thing is - now I live about four blocks away from the Rosslyn Inn, our cab driver was either full of shit or that neighborhood came up real fast.

After a week of living at that shitty motel we moved into our studio on Connecticut Avenue – got the money order on the way up there (and the crooked ass cab driver charged us extra for the two minute stop at Mail Boxes Etc to pick up the money order).

Signed the lease and went up to our new apartment – all we owned at that point was the clothes within our suitcase. We went shopping – got some soda, peanut butter, ramen and beer. We made a bed out of rolled up clothes and tried to sleep – toss and turned the entire night, woke up with stiff necks and backs on fire.

We went to this outdoor store the next day - a wannabe EMS. Bought an air-mattress – forgot the pump. I sat down with a case of Budweiser and blew up a queen size air-mattress with my fucking mouth – by the time I was done I was blue, there was nothing left in me – no oxygen, no energy. Robin kept offering to help out, in-between black-outs, but being the macho man I was I kept blowing that plastic little phallic, slowly filling up the airbed.

We slept better that night.

Probably because I had fantastic “thank you for blowing up the air mattress” sex.

Anyway, I’m not in the proper state to end this right – so I’ll just salute you all and go to bed:

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