BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…Geriatric Fetish Dominatrix Hooker.

Yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it? And, no, it’s not just a ploy to get you to read this blog. Well, not entirely, anyway (wink wink, nudge nudge).

So, what am I babbling about?

Well, you see, about a week ago I was in New Orleans to attend, and support, my good friend Dorothy Morrison’s book release for Utterly Wicked: Curses, Hexes, and Other Unsavory Notions. Now, a book release is a big deal. It is a party where the book is first rolled out and made available for purchase, usually a week or so prior to the official “street date” set by the publisher. So, Dorothy arranged for her release party to be in NOLA–in the French Quarter, in fact, at a wonderful store on Dumaine called Esoterica. Mimi, the owner, had her annual soiree in conjunction with it, that way there was a really huge party with Champagne, Caviar, and tons of other food & drink. A host of wonderful folks attended, all decked out in Witchy costumes, from downright scary to, dare I say it, sexy.

This is where the Geriatric Fetish Dominatrix Hooker comes in…

The thing is, Morrison wanted this to be a big deal (which it was) and since the title of the book is Utterly Wicked, well…ummm…Okay, let me break it down-

Morrison, as I have explained before, is OLDER THAN DIRT. I doubt I need to provide the calculation here again, but suffice it to say she is what you’d call Geriatric. So, anyway, she plans out this whole outfit for the release. Imagine if you will, Dorothy Morrison decked out as follows:

Black silk peasant blouse with lace cuffs, black satin boned corset, black leather miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, black Steve Madden boots (ostensibly named “The Sergeant” because they are patterned somewhat after combat boots- but, only in that they are made of both canvas and patent leather, and lace up in the front) with 5 inch stiletto heels, and a black hat with a lace thingamajig hanging down her back.

Yeah…Like I said… Geriatric Fetish Dominatrix Hooker. All she needed was a cat ‘o nine to complete the ensemble.

Anyway, she got herself all decked out in this getup, then pranced through the quarter, a walk spanning about 10 blocks from the St. Louis Hotel down to Mimi’s shop. Horns were honking, there were catcalls, whistles, near collisions from people craning their necks, and even a few disapproving stares from the hotel staff. (I think maybe they thought I’d been keeping a hooker in my room)

I know there are pictures because flashes were going off all night. Hopefully some will get emailed to me so I can show you this getup, because I’m not kidding.

However, geriatric or not, I have to admit that Morrison looked sharp and definitely had it going on. Hell, when she was getting ogled as we walked down the street I just couldn’t help myself- I told all of the panting guys to back off, because I had already paid her and secured her services for the evening.

More to come…

Murv

…And an E…BOOZE RUN!

Okay, so I’m not so good with songs, but that was the best I could do with the word booze since the song BEER RUN was going through my head.

Now, in reality I had intended to blog about Jane (aka The Bitch in the Box), because yes, I really do think Jane is kinda hot. Even if she is simply a box of electronic components with a sexy voice that sits on the dashboard and barks orders. (turn here, turn there, take the motorway, etc…)

But, Morrison beat me to it. Go figure. (But, what with Morrison getting on in years and not really being quick on the draw, I guess I should just let her have that one and call it good ) If you want to read about it, go here: Bitch In The Box.

So…Anyway, back to the Booze thing. What I am about to tell you is a little known secret about Morrison. She’s a bootlegger. Well, actually, I don’t suppose she’s a bootlegger in the strictest sense, but that’s what I like to call her. Why? Because it’s fun to pick on Morrison.

Anyhow, here’s the deal. New Hampshire has no sales tax. They also sell their booze in State owned and operated, discount liquor stores. So, wine and spirits are much cheaper there than in most other places throughout the US. Anywhere from a few bucks to even 20 bucks per bottle, depending on what you are buying.

So…Whenever we are on tour through New England, and have a need to pass through New Hampshire, or near New Hampshire, or within some secretly prescribed spitting distance radius (to which I am not privy) around New Hampshire, we go liquor shopping.

Not for just a couple of bottles, mind you.

Morrison fills a suitcase.

A big suitcase.

Really.

There have even been threats of leaving me and my luggage on the side of the road in order to fit the bounty into the vehicle.

I’m serious.

Now, lest you think wrongly and assume I am telling you Morrison is a drunk, let me dispel that. Morrison rarely drinks. I’ve known her for years and have seen her take maybe three drinks that entire time. She’s just not a drinker. No kidding.

Smoker? Well, that’s another story entirely, but she already lives in a place where cigarettes are cheap…And, of course, there is always the coffee.

(Yes, folks, that is REALLY just coffee in that cup…I know it for a fact. I’ve made enough of it for her when she’s stayed with us…Hell, I even have a 2 burner, 3 minute Bunn™ that I keep going at all times when she is here. Note, that when she is staying with us is the only time that piece of equipment actually sees action. We affectionately call it “The Morrison”. as in, “Hey, did you get The Morrison out of the basement? Morrison is gonna be here any minute,” and “Hold on while I fire up The Morrison. If she wakes up and there’s no coffee we’re all gonna get killed.”)

So, nope, Morrison is definitely not a drunk. But, she still fills a suitcase with assorted bottles of booze. You see, whenever we are going to be within the secret spitting distance of New Hampshire, Morrison’s husband and friends make out a list, check it twice, and then send her on a mission to return with good booze at discount prices. So ritualistic is this practice that I have now been on three separate “booze runs” with Morrison. It’s a good thing the folks in New Hampshire put several of these liquor stores right out on the highway near the state line. You almost have to wonder if they are doing that just to lure folks in.

Anyway, this tour we did a booze run. As usual, while Morrison was in the parking lot tossing things everywhere in order to fill the suitcase, I stood by with my diminutive personal stash– a bottle for me, and a nice bottle of Scotch as a gift for my wife.

Now, here’s the sad part of the story. And, it actually has nothing to do with Morrison, as amazing as that may seem.

I flew home on Saturday (6/2)…I had left behind my open bottle at Morrison’s place because I drink enough of their booze when I am on the road with her that I am sure I owed them at least that. Probably more. Unfortunately, I was so wiped out from the 15 days on the road, (yes, from the time on the road, not from the drinking) that by the time Saturday rolled around, my brain was firing on only one cylinder and it had a bent valve at that.

Yes…Without thinking, I put my wife’s gift– a rather expensive (even by New Hampshire discount standards) bottle of 16 year old, French Oak Cask Aged, Reserve, Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch– into my carry-on. I know better than this. I have logged more hours in the air than some flight attendants, so I know what I can and cannot take in a carry-on.

But, I did it anyway…Like I said, without thinking. Most likely because my brain simply wasn’t up to thinking.

So…At Dulles International airport, there is now a TSA official with a very nice bottle of Scotch. They told me they were going to throw it away, but I argued with them about that, insisting that at least ONE of them HAD to be a Scotch drinker, and that if they were going to confiscate it anyway, they needed to do me the kindness of keeping it as a gift, with my compliments, and raising a glass to me as they enjoyed it.

I’ll admit, it was my mistake stuffing it into the wrong suitcase…This certainly qualifies me for the idiot of the year award…

…But, if those TSA folks threw that bottle of Scotch in the trash, then I think I am in no danger of winning, because that would make them bigger idiots that me.

More to come…

Murv