Duchess.
Friends with iPhones tell me that the auto-correct function changes fucker to duchess. I have to take their word for it, as I am a Crackberry user (for the moment) and I do not use auto-correct. I use spell check, but no auto . . . None-the-less, when fucker becomes duchess it turns to a point of humor. Snickers abound about "That duchess stood me up!" "That duchess lied to me!" or "I saw that duchess in traffic."
Yesterday I schlepped out to Stony Brook to see an old friend, and in the course of my life a short little venture "out East" couldn't be crazy free. Out on the depths of Long Island, not within the comfort and restless (yet peaceful) noises of my 'hood and devoid of the Manhattan backdrop along the East River, I always feel like I am putting my memories and sanity into the hands of reckless agents of wary laden moments of self-destruction. We already know I have seen a certain ex in traffic twice now, and yesterday made for round three. This time he waved and honked at me. I, flabbergasted and befuddled, just sat there with my mouth falling agape and shaking my head. Luckily, this incident occurred after seeing my friend and eating a delicious asparagus brie soup at The Dish (formerly known as The Golden Pear).
Driving back to the relative security of Astoria I kept thinking to myself. "Why in the name of god would that fucker wave at me?" As I walked down my block and did a run through the park I mumbled this to myself . . . Don't forget that some crazy Greek lady decided to stop me to tell me she wishes me the best. I don't have the energy for her right now. None-the-less, he's crept into the folds of my mind again. I wonder if calling him duchess will make me feel better.
Duchess!
[momentary pause]
Nope.
It's slightly amusing though.
Yesterday I schlepped out to Stony Brook to see an old friend, and in the course of my life a short little venture "out East" couldn't be crazy free. Out on the depths of Long Island, not within the comfort and restless (yet peaceful) noises of my 'hood and devoid of the Manhattan backdrop along the East River, I always feel like I am putting my memories and sanity into the hands of reckless agents of wary laden moments of self-destruction. We already know I have seen a certain ex in traffic twice now, and yesterday made for round three. This time he waved and honked at me. I, flabbergasted and befuddled, just sat there with my mouth falling agape and shaking my head. Luckily, this incident occurred after seeing my friend and eating a delicious asparagus brie soup at The Dish (formerly known as The Golden Pear).
Driving back to the relative security of Astoria I kept thinking to myself. "Why in the name of god would that fucker wave at me?" As I walked down my block and did a run through the park I mumbled this to myself . . . Don't forget that some crazy Greek lady decided to stop me to tell me she wishes me the best. I don't have the energy for her right now. None-the-less, he's crept into the folds of my mind again. I wonder if calling him duchess will make me feel better.
Duchess!
[momentary pause]
Nope.
It's slightly amusing though.
Comments