So, yeah. Another Saturday gone by, with most of it spent in the prescence of Salsa Legs (nickname given to Larkin by horny Mexican construction workers). And they are that. Larkin's been going to the gym and doing some crazy routines with her lower body, and I must say, she's got some ninja quality legs. She does some freaky yoga tricks now too.
We went down to Left Handed Monkey today with a huge yard trash bag of my ancient clothes. Of course, it consisted of really old cargo pants from when I was 11 or so, so evidently they were too small to be of any use for the crazy employee. He had a hat. But he bought three of my items, giving me ten dollars in store credit, with which I promptly bought Larkin a new pair of red pants.
There happened to be a World Market just across the street, so we decided to make another raid, and engaged in staring at all the colorful products in the store. We sat in their chair, too. And, while browsing the rack of Thai spices, I looked one shelf over, and behold! I found the Japanese spice, togarashi, which many of my Japanese cookbook's recipes call for. It's neat shit. Larkin got some caffeine mints.
So we went back to Larkin's house, and much to our delight, the house was practically uninhabited (her mother still walked around, but as we stepped in, decided to take a nap). We took advantage of the silence and cooked some waffles (with the Hello Kitty waffle iron, of course) and a big omelette.
You know, I can't convey to you how wonderful it is to know someone else that enjoys (and doesn't royally suck at) cooking. We cook for each other on almost a regular basis- mostly weird Asian shit, today's breakfast-for-dinner a small exception. It's great. Cooking is the best hobby one can have.
So eventually, Larkin's watchful father and the rest of the noisy siblings returned home, so we grabbed Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and a DVD player and drove back over to my place. As nice as Larkin's place is, I'm not fond of her father (who's going away tomorrow- score!), who's always running around with his evil, stern tone and prohibits most forms of snuggling. And snuggling is important. Very important. More important than Hello Kitty waffles.
She left around midnight, as usual, so here I am once again, writing too much shit in my blog and chatting on AIM. This is the life. I'm also attempting to salvage my story by completely wiping the second chapter. I think I forgot how much it sucks to have a writer simply explain shit monotonously and not develop characters through actions and dialogue. So like I said, there was going to be Mr.Fujiyaki's daughter, and she was going to be cool, and Jim was going to like her. I'll start out like so-
A tall, slender Asian woman with shoulder-length, silky black hair pushed open one of the two glass doors of Mr.Fujiyaki’s little karate school and quietly stepped inside. She moved with a feline grace, taking silent, short steps and sharply swinging her arms at her side, which gave her an intriguing aura of elegance. The woman’s hair was so straight it came to a very neatly trimmed point at her shoulders, and as she glided over the wicker welcome mat on the floor, the late afternoon sun gave that hair a remarkable sheen that fluctuated and bounced around her neck. That head of hair could’ve been made of licorice and spider silk. In that orange glow that sweeps across the flatness of central Texas at the end of a summer day, she looked like a black cat in moonlight.
“Hello, father.” She said to a drowsy Mr.Fujiyaki, napping in a wooden armchair. Her low alto voice, surprising when considering her size, resonated in the gymnasium, giving the old man quite a scare. He quickly sat up, knocking a box of teabags to the floor as he was torn from a bad dream by this angel.
No comments:
Post a Comment