The acoustics of peeing in a small bathroom without splattering her newly painted semi-gloss walls is an auditory nightmare and an excersize in restraint. When I left the bathroom hearing the last gargle of my pee cascading down into the East River, I witnesed her fingernailing up a cool scab of half burnt cheese off the recent cooling stove from tuna-noodle-caserole. The stovetop cheese-pry sounded uncannily like a nervous fingernail on a chalkboard miffed with the last gargle & hiss of her toilet when she said,
"Yo, baby...maybe the fondue wasn't such a good idea."
"Why," I asked,"people seemed to really enjoy it..." and they had - somehow the immediacy of spearing pieces of bread and dumping them in a hot pot of cheese had provided just the lubricant the party had needed to provoke some revealing conversation. But of course there were a few things that were said that she probably had not wanted to hear. Things I had not wanted to say...like, the carolous effect that my toungled, tingled M & M© colorised demographical theory about labor, technology, art, & love...
Or simply about my passion for duct tape, Fritos©, and more disk space. She was more than frisky amongst the former, in fact - she kind of strapped me to her newly renovated brick wall with duct tape, fed me Fritos© while interrogating me about non-Euclidian Geometric chaos-theory based cryptological computer clone passwords and scientific experimentation... well sorry, I must warn you that
She's trendy - or she has a point, is this a core of feminist debate?
A true Nicorette© slut, cool bookshelves, brilliant candle distribution, suburban manerisms, no-crab-grass mentality, english breakfast with strong expresso, a carport nook with cat litter to sponge up the oil leak from her used boyfriend's Honda Civic, a Mark Twain scandal nor the Norman Rockwell coux (sp?), lipstic proof wine glasses & coffee cups, wonder-bra©less nipples & cleavage, IKEA© leftovers, a toolbox left haphazardly in the corner dangerously close to her camera equipment, between the cat litter box and the tiny wine rack (half empty).
I look closer to the cat litter box while asking if I should open a bottle of Merlot. No response, I heard the toilet flush and gurgle. Upon further detailed inspection, I see a finely raked garden - a Japanese zen like garden of cat litter and turds spontaneously & unconsciously left in an I-Ching map (feng shui) kind of way.
She broke my gaze and diverted my attention to a large scrapbook like portfolio of photographs, mostly comprised of eye candied portraits of Amerika, yet had a bizarre liking for grilled food.