Friday, November 17, 2006


The TMK Story - Chapter One

First off, lick me thanks so much to y'all who felt moved to correct my German. I'm sure nobody appreciates your input more than I do.

And secondly, if someone has any idea how that chunk of paint got taken off the hood of my car, I'd appreciate your passing on the information.

And now I've gotten that off my chest, I shall continue with the Stories from Seattle.

Now, as many of you know, TMK is some kinda butch, and IMNSHO there's nothing nicer than a butchgirl. (No need to get your pants in an uproar, Ryan, I have a horrible girlcrush on all of the ladies who were there that evening, yourself included. My love is universal, and mostly harmless.)

So back to TMK. She's the kind of chick who, if her truck dared to break down on the I5, would make a rope, likely spinning it on the spot out of her own hair, fling it around the axle and then pull the truck home. With the rope held between her teeth.

She bench presses stuff and probably kick-boxes other stuff and can spin for seven and a half hours in one day without getting an embarrassing groin-pull which, in itself, is something to be admired. And if you saw her new wheel you'd know why. I'm having total wheel envy since my trip.

However, she has an Achilles' Heel, and I, dear readers, have discovered just what it takes to make her run about screaming like a girl and flapping her arms.

Work beckons, yet again ... tune in tomorrow for:

The Condiment of The Debbil

Yeah, well, I already tried to woo TMK away from Ryan with... um... the promise that she could buy ME Mata Ortiz pottery instead of Ryan, but it didn't work. Damn all that fidelity and stuff.
My word verification is impwsy.
I'm pwsy. I wonder how Blogger knew.
Ok, you gotta tell us what kind of wheel she has too, ya know.
Damn, girl, you can spin out blog material longer than anyone. Exactly how many moons ago was this Seattle trip? It's working for you, though; I'll be waiting anxiously for the next installment.
TMK was busy winding off some yarn so I read this page out loud to her. We both laughed so hard we peed. And then hiccuped a few times and fell silent. And then changed our underwear.

To the ladies who want to woo her away, TMK tells me the way to her heart is through Joseph Schmidt chocolate truffles. And now that you know that, I say, go ahead, try your damndest.

P.S. Although TMK looks butch and is butch, get a flock of pigeons--or any birds--to fly near her and she shrieks like a cheerleader. Oh, and don't even get her near one of the Giant House Spiders we have around here. Guess who has to catch them and put them outside? (She just whispered in my ear, "Don't tell them about the spiders! I'm not scared; they're just too big to squish." Um, yeah, sure.)

P.P.S. Her new (well, new used) wheel is a maple and walnut Schacht. She is thoroughly in love. Sorry, Pacalaga, but she says this Christmas she is buying the wheel a Mata Ortiz.
LMAO. I am with a butch of similar qualities. There are few, very very things that cause squeals (other than what we do in private, well it's usually private). I digress. Chocolate, eh?
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