I thought I was all through being amused by the porn at work. "Poon-packed pages!" really cracked me up, though.

The stupidest stuff always makes me laugh hardest. Don't even get me started on "naughty vampire god" or "hot throbbing" anything. Hmm. Hot Throbbing Naughty Vampire Gods! Hee.

OK, I think I'm almost through making inside jokes that no one will get but me. Oh, wait. One more. "I'm gonna call you Speak, cuz that's what you do!"

Hee.

***

So, Sunday, I had a flat tire. I'm not totally sure what I did, but there was a visible hole in the side of my tire when I got done with work at the bookstore. I drove to the nearest gas station.

They had no puncture repair kits, and the Can o' Tire didn't seem to be working for me. I cursed, and went to get my spare tire out of the trunk. There was detergent spilled all over the inside of the trunk. I thought several unkind thoughts about the people I'd driven to the LARP the day before.

Then, I found the cork from one of the bottles of fake wine. (For reasons far too complicated to get into here, there are a half dozen bottles of assorted brands of red nonalcoholic wine that have been living in my car for three months. Don't ask. Lynne asked once, and she was really frightened when I explained it. Just let it go.) Then I found the bottle. I cursed a bit, and threw the half full bottle into the back seat. I paused and reflected a minute, and then I cursed even more.

I know how to change a tire. When I was still driving the little silver shitmobile, I was changing flat tires five or six times a day. Well, it seemed like it, anyway.

I got the spare. I got the jack. I got the screwdriver I always used to use to turn the handle of the jack. I got the magical tire iron with the footlong retractable handle.

I quickly established that although the Gorilla Tire Iron had saved my ass a couple million times in my old car, it wouldn't do a damn thing for me now. The smallest socket it had was too big for the current situation. I wondered how on earth I had mananged to drive the purple car for two whole years without ever even thinking to check this, and then I cursed some more.

I dug through the trunk some more, and eventually found the tire iron that had come with the car. (It was under several books mysteriously soaked in NA wine, but that is neither here nor there.)

It was very small, and it sucked. I couldn't do a damn thing with it. I smoked a cigarette, cursed, and considered my options. I was not strong enough to loosen the bolts. I had the knowledge, but I simply did not have the ability.

That's OK, I reassured myself. I'm a girl. I'm realistic enough to accept that sometimes, there will be things that I cannot do, that maybe a man could do. Or, maybe a really strong womyn, I reminded myself, guiltily. Well, yes. But not me. And that's OK.

The next car that pulled into the gas station was driven by a guy, maybe 40 years old.

Gloria Steinem screamed in my brain, but I said, "Excuse me, sir? I need a little help, please."

His name was Steve. Steve couldn't make the sucky tire iron work either, but he just lived a couple blocks away. He'd go get his tools, and be right back.

Steve and I spent two hours in the gas station parking lot. At first I was strangely comforted that The Guy couldn't change my tire either, but then I realized that meant I was still stranded 20 miles away from home with a flat tire.

Steve completely bent the hell out of my shitty tire iron. He also busted two of his tools. That tire wasn't going anywhere. In between rounds of Steve straining at the bolts till sweat literally streamed off his face and puddled on the ground beneath him, he told me all about himself.

Steve's got a temper, he won't deny that. He once got in a bar fight with eight people, and sent them all to the hospital. Just don't piss him off, is all. And this tire? It's pissing him off. Had I considered dynamite? Ha ha ha, Steve likes to joke around. His ex-wife just couldn't understand that. He treated her right, he always treats ladies right. But she wasn't no lady, pardon his French. Steve gave her a dozen $140 roses once. She liked them ok, but nothing he did was ever enough. Steve spent time in prison. That temper again. Just don't piss him off, is all.

Finally, Steve drove me over to WalMart, so I could buy a smaller socket for my Gorilla handle. With the right tool, Steve was able to change the tire in a matter of minutes. I'm so glad the tire didn't really piss him off.

***

Just because I'm feeling benevolent, I decided I will explain what the hell I was talking about in that first paragraph. I do it because I care.

Maybe a week or so ago, Jake and Paul and I were doing laundry. Jake wanted to tell us all about his hot throbbing cock. (If you know Jake, this makes total sense. If you don't, he really is one of the sweetest guys I know. He just enjoys saying random bizarre things sometimes.)

Jake: So, did I ever tell you guys about my hot throbbing cock?

Me: (thinks) Nnnooo.... I don't think so.

Paul: Uh, there are ladies present.

Me: What? Where?

Jake: I wish there were some ladies present. They appreciate a nice hot throbbing cock.

Me: You don't mean me, do you? Aren't you the same Paul who's constantly telling me exactly what he would do to random people he sees on the street?

Paul: Yeah, but--

Jake: You're so tense. Do you need some hot throbbing cock?

(20 minutes later. Jake is folding a shirt that says "Nantucket Island")

Jake: You know, I once knew a man from Nantucket.

Paul: Oh, no...

Me: Really? What was he like?

Jake: Well, he had this HUGE hot throbbing--

Paul: Enough! ENOUGH!

Me: Hee. I love you, Jake.

Jake: Yeah, you just love my hot throbbing--

Paul: ENOUGH!!

Jake: My hot throbbing t-shirt. I was gonna say my hot throbbing Nantucket t-shirt.

Paul: What??

Jake: I'm gonna get a soda. (beat) A hot throbbing soda, that is.

Me: (Giggling too hard to stand up) Jake, you rule.

So, pretty much everything is hot and throbbing in my world lately. But in a good way.

***

A long damn time ago, a bunch of us were talking about the LARP, and Hans said something about wanting to be a naughty vampire god. I cracked up. Later, he said it again, and again, I burst out laughing. I have no idea why I find that phrase so amusing. But everyone is finding ways to work it into the conversation now, and every single time, I laugh. It just keeps getting funnier. Say it with me. Naughty. Vampire. God. Isn't that the best??

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