Bistro Bijou

[Angeline]

That's as agreeable and concise a definition of poetry as I've seen in here in a while.

So do we have a March Poetry Challenge yet? It's too soon to do a weird survivor project, if that's even a good idea. But I'm certainly up for something, and I'm going to dare Homburg to get in on it...

Where's Tzara with his fabulous challenge ideas?

bj

We don't. We need a challenge. We could do a same title challenge, but we can come up with something better (she said, looking at you lol).

ETS: Ooooh I'll ask darkmaas tomorrow. He always has great challenge ideas, too. But yknow, keep thinking on it, mmkay?

 

[Eluard]

My hair is thick, straight, almost black, uber-healthy and to my waist.

How 'bout that. Me too!!

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I have this theory that the more you like someone, the better they look to you. And the converse is also true.



(I like having my hair pulled, especially when he kisses on that little hollow between my neck and collarbone. *Shiver*)

Absolutely agreed.
I've gotten lucky in that for the most part my mates have fallen into my basic preferred type, but there have been some rather stunning exceptions that prove your point.

funny story: Years ago, my younger brother was coming to visit, and there was a chance that he'd be on the same plane with my new beloved. They hadn't met yet. I said to my bro, let me describe him to you, so you'll know him if you end up on the same flight. Brother, who has my number, said, 'no, let ME describe him to YOU. He's a big guy, long dark hair, dark eyes, full beard and moustache, weighs at least 200, and has a vocabulary like a Star Trek computer geek."

"Shut up," I said. "Just shut up."

We don't. We need a challenge. We could do a same title challenge, but we can come up with something better (she said, looking at you lol).

ETS: Ooooh I'll ask darkmaas tomorrow. He always has great challenge ideas, too. But yknow, keep thinking on it, mmkay?

Yeah, the last time I suggested a monthly challenge even I hated the idea. I don't think I've got the skills. But I'll keep thinking.

How 'bout that. Me too!!

LOL! No shit! C'mere and let me wrap my hands around it and yank on it for a while.

Bet it's hard to get meringue out of that.

bj

 

[Eluard]

LOL! No shit! C'mere and let me wrap my hands around it and yank on it for a while.

Bet it's hard to get meringue out of that.

bj

Ah I can hear that you doubt me! Here's me at 18 — and yes, that hair went down to my waist. (No, I'm the one on the left!)

*gone*

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Ah I can hear that you doubt me! Here's me at 18 — and yes, that hair went down to my waist. (No, I'm the one on the left!)

You are too fucking sexy and you need to move to Kansas right now.

and you look suspiciously like a poet.

bj

eta: I bet I can guess what she's thinking.

 

[Eluard]

You are too fucking sexy and you need to move to Kansas right now.

and you look suspiciously like a poet.

bj

eta: I bet I can guess what she's thinking.

Thanks hun, your av is pretty gorgeous too!

OK now your turn — let's see that goth gurl fresher! (Plenty of Kohl eye make-up!)

EDT: yes, I'd just had my first poem published in a big serious poetry mag called Southern Review. I was stoked!

 

[Angeline]

How 'bout that. Me too!!

We're related! Cuz!

 

[Eluard]

We're related! Cuz!

C'mon then — flash us tank-top-wearing, car-cruizin' 18 yr old Ange!

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I will look around for a suitable picture, I truly will. But at the moment I must leave the bistro for the evening. I'm all worn down like a 2-inch pencil and must go get my beauty sleep.

I don't know how to post a pic like you did there, though; I can only do links off the internet. Somebody will have to coach me through that... but I'll have one ready by tomorrow. Just gotta look around.

though I will lose on the fabulous brunette hair thing. Mine's sorta all over the place, color-wise. And not at all straight. (much like the rest of me.)

y'all are just too damn beautiful. Like I needed to have more crushes.

bj

 

[Angeline]

C'mon then — flash us tank-top-wearing, car-cruizin' 18 yr old Ange!

Hmmm. Lemme see. I'ma look on my hard drive and see what I have.

Sorry no car cruisin tank top photos. But here's a prom photo where I have a dress that sort of looks like a tank top.

And don't say a word about my hair! It took days to get it out of that do and back to normal!

ETS: How bout those glasses!

 

[tungtied2u]

Hmmm. Lemme see. I'ma look on my hard drive and see what I have.

Sorry no car cruisin tank top photos. But here's a prom photo where I have a dress that sort of looks like a tank top.

And don't say a word about my hair! It took days to get it out of that do and back to normal!

ETS: How bout those glasses!

Oy ! ee's even luckier than I realized !

 

[Angeline]

Oy ! ee's even luckier than I realized !

He's lucky I've graduated to better glasses.

 

[Eluard]

LOL! That's a prom photo to end all prom photos!

Very nice!

And you also look like a real poet chick there!

"Why the hell is no one reading Ginsberg at this damned prom? Quick, the Kerouac conga-line, someone! Anyone! Dammit — now I have ennui!"

 

[tungtied2u]

He's lucky I've graduated to better glasses.

I love the Buddy Holly look.....specially for such a swingin' chick !

 

[Angeline]

LOL! That's a prom photo to end all prom photos!

Very nice!

And you also look like a real poet chick there!

"Why the hell is no one reading Ginsburg at this damned prom? Quick, the Kerouac conga-line, someone! Anyone! Dammit — now I have ennui!"

That photo was taken at a place called The Hawaiian Cottage, which nowadays would be called kitsch, but in reality was an incredible tacky tiki bar near Philadelphia. Everyone who was "anyone" went there after the prom to drink near beer and non-alcoholic umbrella drinks in pineapples. Then we went to the beach until sunrise. I'm surprised Springsteen hasn't written a song about it. lol.

I tried to quote Ginsberg, but they all told me to shut up. Story of my life.

 

[Homburg]

That's as agreeable and concise a definition of poetry as I've seen in here in a while.

So do we have a March Poetry Challenge yet? It's too soon to do a weird survivor project, if that's even a good idea. But I'm certainly up for something, and I'm going to dare Homburg to get in on it...

bj

I totally do not respond to dares. They're juvenile. Not at all.

*glares*

----------

I have this theory that the more you like someone, the better they look to you. And the converse is also true.

*snip*

I have to agree. Such blindness to glaring faults is certainly the only way some of us get anywhere. That and alcohol.

(I like having my hair pulled, especially when he kisses on that little hollow between my neck and collarbone. *Shiver*)

Exactly what I was talking about.

I have met exactly one woman that did not like having her hair pulled. She had an absurdly sensitive scalp, and it hurts quite a bit. Yet when she was excited, it was fair game, and still got such lovely reactions.

Ah, I endorphins. They make life so worth living.

 

[Homburg]

Aaand I missed all the photos. Damn.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Now look here this is not fair you post your piccies in the middle of the night but by the time I get online they are all gone. Mines here on my avatar for the world and his wife to see!!! And as for our SO ... my fella is putting on weight is 70 years old still has all his hair would you believe is charming to women and they all love him. When we are out with friends I have to beat a path through the ladies to be with him! He is loads older than me and I adore him and don't know how the hell I would cope without him. All my life I have (so I thought) fallen in and out of love with anyone who showed me the least bit of interest ....... then I met him didnt even like him much at first certainly didnt intend to fall in love with him but when it happened I suddenly found out what love really felt like

 

[Angeline]

One for Eve

and the girls.

Bad Day At The Beauty Salon
Maggie Estep

I was a 20 year old unemployed receptionist with
dyed orange dreadlocks sprouting out of my skull. I needed a job, but first,
I needed a haircut.

So I head for this beauty salon on Avenue B.
I'm gonna get a hairdo.
I'm gonna look just like those hot Spanish haircut models, become brown
and bodacious, grow some 7 inch fingernails painted bitch red and rake
them down the chalkboard of the job market's soul.

So I go in the beauty salon.

This beautiful Puerto Rican girl in tight white spandex and a push-up bra
sits me down and starts chopping my hair:
"Girlfriend," she says, "what the hell you got growing outta
your head there, what is that, hair implants? Yuck, you want me to touch
that shit, whadya got in there, sandwiches?"

I just go: "I'm sorry."

She starts snipping my carefully cultivated Johnny Lydon post-Pistols hairdo.
My foul little dreadlocks are flying around all over the place but I'm
not looking in the mirror cause I just don't want to know.

"So what's your name anyway?" My stylist demands then.
"Uh, Maggie."
"Maggie? Well, that's an okay name, but my name is Suzy."
"Yeah, so?"
"Yeah so it ain't just Suzy S.U.Z.Y, I spell it S.U.Z.E.E, the extra
"e" is for extra Suzee."

I nod emphatically.

Suzee tells me when she's not busy chopping hair, she works as an exotic
dancer at night to support her boyfriend named Rocco. Suzee loves Rocco,
she loves him so much she's got her eyes closed as she describes him:
"6 foot 2, 193 pounds and, girlfriend, his arms so big and long they
wrap around me twice like I'm a little Suzee sandwich."

Little Suzee Sandwich is rapt, she blindly snips and clips at my poor punk
head. She snips and clips and snips and clips, she pauses, I look in the
mirror: "Holy shit, I'm bald."

"Holy shit, baby, you're bald." Suzee says, finally opening her
eyes and then gasping.

All I've got left is little post-nuke clumps of orange fuzz. And I'll never
get a receptionist job now.

But Suzy waves her manicured finger in my face: "Don't you worry,
baby, I'm gonna get you a job at the dancing club."

"What?"

"Baby, let me tell you, the boys are gonna like a bald go go dancer."

That said, she whips out some clippers, shaves my head smooth and insists
I'm gonna love getting naked for a living.

None of this sounds like my idea of a good time, but I'm broke and I'm
bald so I go home and get my best panties. Suzee lends me some 6 inch pumps,
paints my lips bright red, and gives me 7 shots of Jack Daniels to relax
me.

8pm that night I take the stage.

I'm bald,
I'm drunk,
and by god,
I'm naked.


HOLY SHIT I'M NAKED IN A ROOM FULL OF STRANGERS THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE
RECURRING NIGHTMARES WE ALL HAVE ABOUT BEING BUTT NAKED IN PUBLIC, I AM
NAKED, I DON'T KNOW THESE PEOPLE, THIS REALLY SUCKS.

A few guys feel sorry for me and risk getting their hands bitten off by
sticking dollars in my garter belt. My disheveled pubic hairs stand at
full attention, ready to poke the guys' eyes out if they get too close.

Then I notice this bald guy in the audience, I've got a new empathy for
bald people, I figure maybe it works both ways, maybe this guy will stick
10 bucks in my garter.

I saunter over.

I'm teetering around unrhythmically, I'm the surliest, unsexiest dancer
that ever go-go across this hemisphere. The bald guy looks down into his
beer, he'd much rather look at that than at my pubic mound which has now
formed into one vicious spike so it looks like I've got a unicorn in my
crotch.

I stand there weaving through the air.

The strobe light is illuminating my pubic unicorn. Madonna's song Borderline
is pumping through the club's speaker system for the 5th time tonight:
"BORDERLINE BORDERLINE BORDERLINE/LOVE ME TIL I JUST CAN'T SEE."
And suddenly, I start to wonder: What does that mean anyway?

"LOVE ME TIL I JUST CAN'T SEE"

What?

Screw me so much my eyes pop out, I go blind, end up walking down 2nd Avenue
crazy, horny, naked and blind? What?

There's a glitch in the tape and it starts to skip.

"Borderl...ooop.....Borderl....ooop...Borderlin.....ooop"

I stumble and twist my ankle. My g-string rides between my buttcheeks making
me twitch with pain. My head starts spinning, my knees wobble, I go down
on all fours and puke all over the bald guy's lap.

So there I am. Butt naked on all fours. But before I have time to regain
my composure, the strip club manager comes over, points his smarmy strip
club manager finger at me and goes:
"You're bald, you're drunk, you can't dance and you're fired."

I stand up.

"Oh yeah, well you stink like a sneaker, pal." I peel off one
of my pumps and throw it in the direction of his fat head then I get the
hell out of there.

A few days later I run into Suzee on Avenue A. Turns out she got fired
for getting me a job there in the first place. But she was completely undaunted,
she dragged me up to this wig store on 14th Street, bought me a mouse brown
shag wig, then got us both telemarketing jobs on Wall Street.

And I never went to a beauty salon again.

 

[WickedEve]

and the girls.

Bad Day At The Beauty Salon
Maggie Estep

Oh, hell no! You did not write this.


Did you?




It's the best thing I've ever read! Better than the bible.

Shampoo, hot curling brush, can of hairspray... hair is under control.

 

[Angeline]

Oh, hell no! You did not write this.


Did you?




It's the best thing I've ever read! Better than the bible.

Shampoo, hot curling brush, can of hairspray... hair is under control.

No. No! I wish.

Maggie Estep wrote it. Isn't it brilliant? I knew you'd love it. The lines about her spike of pubic hair looking like a unicorn horn--lol!

 

[WickedEve]

No. No! I wish.

Maggie Estep wrote it. Isn't it brilliant? I knew you'd love it. The lines about her spike of pubic hair looking like a unicorn horn--lol!

God... didn't even pay attention to the name. lol
The unicorn pube nearly killed me.
Ah... I feel better about my hair.

 

[Angeline]

God... didn't even pay attention to the name. lol
The unicorn pube nearly killed me.
Ah... I feel better about my hair.

No matter how bad your hair story is, there's always some woman out there with one that's worse.

I knew you'd feel better.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Eve aren't you supposed to just use one of those Affro combs and tittivate it a bit NO combing through or you can end up looking like a pom pom on legs

 

[Homburg]

I am in a state of total body auralgasm. In the past to days I've picked up complete discographies for the Pogues, Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros, and the Clash. My iTunes library is truly a more joyous place now.

I'm so happy I could cry.

Barkeep, a shot of Mescal in memory of the Warlord of Punk, and some cheap rotgut in honour of brother Shane. I feel good, and seek to share it, so a round for anyone who'll raise a glass in tribute to brilliant music of my youth.

I'll be over here listening to "Peace and Love" and remembering good times with friends long gone.

And, no, I'm not kidding. This is as simply joyful as I've been in a while. And I figured this is the spot that would appreciate my happy love for the art of these great outfits.