Sex in a Tool Shed

Years ago, I saw a movie I liked. Late at night. I was possibly drunk at the time. And recently, while making a list of my favorite movies from every decade, I wanted to add this film to it, remembering, at least, what decade it hailed from -- my beloved 1980s -- and a pretty blonde having sex in a tool shed with an older man, then pushing a baby carriage across a green field. I couldn't recall the title. I probably never knew it.

...

Last night, I couldn't sleep. I tried. I ended-up channel surfing. From nine PM 'til three AM, I watched several shows, including Man Vs. Food. Because watching a semi-attractive man -- or at least a man who has a boyish smile, pretty eyes, and an overall good personality -- gorge himself on hamburgers bigger than my head (though possibly the same size of his own head) is entertainment?

I don't think so, Fred Astaire.

It's NOT entertainment; it's killing him. People are watching this man, and paying this man, and cheering him on, just so he'll overeat, make himself uncomfortable, make himself sick, gain more weight, and look like a total pig. Does he WANT to be obese?

A LETTER TO ADAM RICHMAN

Dear Mr. Richman,

Please stop killing yourself for money. If you want to eat something until you can eat it no longer, I'd be willing to frame your picture and hang it on my bedroom wall.

Sincerely yours,
Ginger Ingenue

Man vs. Woman -- Man vs. My Thighs!

During one episode, last night, in the midst of eating out, he said he was glad the crowd was nice enough to fan him. I thought, "If he's hot, why doesn't he just take his jacket off?" And then I realized, he doesn't want to take off his jacket, because at this point, his smile is the only thing boyish about him: the man needs a bra!

Maybe I'll lend him one, should he decide to come over, and accept my challenge. Yes, I'm gonna bake for him lots of apple pies, and see if he can eat them.

What'd you think I meant? ;)

...

I am a lonely girl. And I can't sleep.

...

Tried to sleep. The child is whining. I get out of bed, and wander to the kitchen in nothing but white cotton panties. Eat Pringles straight from the can on the baker's rack. This is three AM. I go back to bed. Too lazy to make a sandwich. Too lazy to stay awake; to go to my office, and write something! "You go back to blogging like Frankenstein to his monster. Let it lay here cold and dead for five months, then suddenly, on a whim, shout (or did I whisper?), 'It's alive!'"

I tried to sleep. Heard cats screaming. Flung open the door, and twenty feet up my persimmon tree (or hell, maybe it's a plum tree), climbs a fat raccoon. "Damn you, Adam Richman, get the hell out of my tree!"

In the yard, grazing, a buck deer ignores me. I stand near-naked on the steps, shining a flashlight, cussing at the raccoon, cussing at the cats, and cussing at the world in general! Because everyone's asleep (in my mind) and I'm not.

...

Finally slept for a couple of hours, to wake up Thursday, and have a miserable day. Watched BOY SLAVES: the only highlight. Did chores. Turned off the lights, wept, and pretended I live in a cave.

Went to pick up my daughter from school, and two trucks nearly hit me. Another ran a stop sign, and then had the audacity to wave at me!

...

Tonight. The kid is in bed. I go to bed. I actually fell asleep! Before ten o'clock, then I had a nightmare, and woke up a little before two AM. Been awake ever since. Wandered to the kitchen in a blue flannel nightgown. Cooked waffles. Orange juice. Snuggled in bed with the one cat lucky enough to live in the house.

Was flipping through channels again, wanting to watch a movie. Saw the title, WISH YOU WERE HERE. Thought, "That's a good title for a movie..." Read the info, and what do you know: it was my long lost 'sex in a tool shed' movie! Gorgeous young blonde rebellious teen who lost her mother, and replaced her need for mourning and comfort with a need for sex, and plenty of it.

She ends up with an older man, which I always like on film: where the man is older, but not wiser. Though possibly better in bed.

I wish I would've had the guts to sleep with an older man, while I was young and hot. Instead, I wasted it! Now I'm some old cat lady, at only twenty-six, fixing-to-be twenty seven. Yelling at raccoons, and jackasses who run stop signs. There's got to be more to nighttime, than watching TV shows, and drinking orange juice. I want wine, dancing, and something special to happen!

Perhaps if I didn't live in the woods. If I lived in a big city...I could meet a man who wears suspenders and a fedora. Who daydreams, and watches old movies.

A Fred for a Ginger.

...

My soul is bored.

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