It’s hard to believe it’s been two years since I last talked to my good friend. She appears to be happy, and looking well. She’s looking more and more like a biker chick, too. She’s been spending some time at the tattoo parlor. Are they still called parlors? I can’t help but think of some dive a stone’s throw from a Navy base, with a grizzled guy smoking a cigar, surround by sample pictures of dolphins, sunflowers, naked women, and the word “Mother,” as some drunk sailor in a crackerjack uniform and a dixie cup hat, with an anchor on his forearm gets a new tat’. That’s a run-on sentence. Fun. Maybe my view of tattoo parlors is stereotypical because I live in a Navy town. Another stereotype… biker chicks hang out in towns named Sturgis with gray-haired, overweight hippies wearing ripped jeans, leather vests, and smell of Harley exhaust. And when a biker chick takes off her shirt, you have to really look and see if she’s wearing a tight-fitting t-shirt or if she’s actually naked. Okay. Wow. Thanks for treats, Maryanne! It’s been quite some time… Hey! Weed for 10,000 Days… think about it. Okay, what was I talking about? Oh yeah… she got some new tattoos she was showing off… and one on her arm that was started yesterday. And even though she says “I don’t ride a bike… and I ain’t a chick,” the next time I see her, she’ll probably have the full-on biker chick thing going.
Anyway, she was in town to visit her son’s grave. I left work and met her down in the cemetery. I visited with her for a little more than a hour. Her youngest son Kyle is almost seven. Seven! I can’t believe it’s been that long! When did seven years start feeling like two? As a kid, I was going to be old like Dad in seven years. Today, I have shoes older than seven. Hell, I have dull pains and bruises that last more than seven years. This turning old shit kinda sucks. Ben Franklin was right when he said the only sure thing in life is death and taxes.
Okay… I’m growing tired of writing a blog entry. It’s harshin’ my… fingers, man. It was really nice to see Maryanne. I didn’t realize how much I missed talking to her ’til today.
