Mustafa Bond, Oh Yeah.

Isaiah Mustafa should be the next James Bond.

The Agent

Julie Grey renowned script consultant is having a one page scene contest.

The premise: Write a one page scene, any genre, using the words Paramount, Agent, and Jelly Fish. Here's my entry.

Florida

My Two Moms

I got two Moms, but it’s not like you think… There’s the after 11 a.m. Mom, you know the 78 year old cougar wanna be. The Mom that just last Saturday night went to the dog races and was chatted up by a WOMAN. A really old one but I could still tell she was a woman. She stopped my Mom in the betting line and told her what an attractive lady she was, and how she kept herself so nice. For a minute I thought Mom was blushing and that I might end up with a new Mommy instead of a new Daddy, but it turns out the flush in Mom’s cheeks was from a bad mix of blood pressure medicine, Geritol and Ginkgo Biloba.

And then there’s the between 11 p.m. and 11 a.m. Mom, or as I like to call her… Yoda.

This is the Mom who takes her teeth out and dons a baggy robe and tattered slippers. She leans on her cane and barks insults and orders; I mean she enlightens me with pearls of wisdom on how to run my life. This Mother can move silently from room to room employing selective super hearing that can’t decipher what anyone on TV is saying, but will pick up the slightest disparaging remark, real or implied, that is directed at her form or institution.

I don’t think the old broad has a light saber, but I do remember one time when I was a kid she hit me with a broom stick. I cried like she had cut off my hand but soon recovered when she broke out the ice-cream. “Perhaps next time before you call your sister shithead, think twice you will, hum?” Yoda Mom softly chided as I sniffled my way through some Rocky Road.

Wayne is out of town this week so Mom has taken upon herself to make sure I get to work on time. Not that Wayne does that, but she feels in his absence she can wobble into my room anytime, unannounced. Yesterday I was sleeping just a bit later than usual when I awoke with a jolt to find the Master standing beside my bed, leaning on her cane, with a disapproving countenance. I don’t know how the same person who can make unloading the dishwasher sound like D-day can get into my room without so much as a squeaking hinge. Once I peeled myself off the ceiling and realized it was Mom standing there, it was like I was 17 again and late for home room. So I got up; what else can you do when it’s 7 o’clock in the morning?

OMG, I wonder if I could get cougar Mom a hook-up with Obi Wan? Darth Vader? Princess Leia???

Go Mommy!

Uh yeah, um… is there a word for a 78 year old cougar?

It seems that my mother has decided she wants to get back in the game and is looking for some young blood. Like 70 year old young blood. Hey it’s in the eye of the beholder right?

Anywho, she’s been taking the senior cab service to Weight Watchers where she dropped thirty something pounds, got herself a velour running suit, (sans the HOTTIE decal on the ass), a new hair cut and is constantly polishing her nails. Go Mommy, get me a new Daddy!!

But seriously what do you call a 78 year old cougar?

And you know, she just might do it. The Pharmacist at Publix was chatting her up last year when she visited, and the pizza delivery senior citizen (we’re in Florida, it happens a lot) practically gave her a tip, and she wasn’t even trying yet. But she is pretty cute even if I do say so myself. You know, there could be bennies to having either a pharmacist or pizza man for a daddy. They both got stuff that makes you feel better, even when nothings really wrong, they both are in high demand so they've got job security and both of them can still drive.

I hope my Mom can get her groove back while wintering in Florida, but I sure hope she doesn’t break a hip while she’s at it.


· Gramma Bear

· Possum

· Orangutan

· Tuna

· Aardvark

· Walrus

· G.I.L.F

Yes We Have No Bananas

A while ago I did a post regarding good words gone wild. Well, thanks to the pervert that sits next to me, it has come to my innocent attention that there are some foods that have gone wild as well.

Case in point; one day in my cubicle I became peck-ish. So I tuned in a Barry White song on my small desk top radio and began to methodically, almost in a slow motion fashion, peel a banana. I ate slowly so as to fully enjoy its texture and flavor, I think I may have even licked it before making a comment to my sophomoric desk mate, regarding my nutritious potassium rich snack, that it had a remarkable “girth”.

Is that wrong? It was a big fat long banana if I ever saw one.

Anywho, the young man, nay boy, made salacious and lewd comments about other things he would like to see me eat. Can you imagine if someone from HR had heard that… we may not be allowed to eat at our desks any more.

Never the less, I have learned my lesson about the phallusy of fruits being good for you and intend to stick putting more protein rich savories in my mouth, like beef cake, hot tamales, tongue, meat balls, assorted nuts, and maybe a side of hot cross bun.

After all I don't think my desk mate meant what I thought he did when he mentioned the size of my melons!!!

Lilith Hair

When Wayne and I first moved into our house it was ciaos.

His brother bailed out on helping us and his dad showed up to help us. The truck was too small and we moved on New Years Eve.

So around midnight, after Wayne finished moving in the refrigerator and washer and dryer all by himself, we barely managed a kiss, let alone “breakin in” the house like we had planned to do.

There was no sex in every room of the house, including a kitchen counter encounter ala the Glynn Close and Michael Douglas' romp through the dirty dishes in Fatal Attraction.

We were going to christen our sparkling new extra large tub, get our new shower dirty and test out the padding under the new carpet all in one night.

Well... yeah, that didn’t happen. If fact it didn’t happen for 3 days. And at that point I decided we were “breakin in” our new house even if we couldn’t find the bolts for the bed.

So I got in the shower, by myself, washed everything and shaved almost everything. I was just too damn tired for a full groom, so I figured if I just shaved the front of my legs we could get in a quicky and the pressure would be off till we could get everything unpacked.

Gawd I love Wayne.

Turned out it wasn’t a quicky and it turned out I shaved the wrong side of my legs!!!

He loves me mostly for my mind, which is a really good thing, because even though we haven’t moved in five years, there are the occasional times when my legs get a little fuzzy. I mean I definitely tried to keep them shorn below the knee but sometimes my thighs are just too much for me to tackle. But lately I have been working a lot. A full time job, finishing scripts, trying to get my book published, my mom is visiting from Ohio and maybe I have been letting things slip a little, just a little.

I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until Wayne told me if I didn’t shave my legs soon, he was going to make me wear Birkenstocks.