Fire Fire! Big Black Smoke! Fire Fire! Ain't No Joke!
I was at work on the teevee show that I am a real honest Production Assistant on today, and I was wearing my fire department teeshirt. I was asked whether or not I had been a fireman with the small Eastern Oregon town advertised thereof. Oh hell no, went my response: I dated the fire chief's daughter.
Thus hitting upon another uncomfortable theme in my life: my unquenchable desire for fire chief's daughters. Well, not quite, but I have dated two of them in my life. Both of them had long, blonde hair, and basically judged all men by the template of their daddies. Eeersh.
Mind you, I understand. Daddy's an astronaut? You better be the Earthly equivalent of that, too. Or, for the menfolk in the crowd-My Mother Was A Saint! And She'd better be, too. Still though, eersh. Gross.
In any case, the one who gave me the teeshirt was the daughter of Dick Hopper (that's his name; I didn't make it up), who is also the mother of my two children. He is probably not the only fire chief ever who burnt down his own house while fire chief, but I bet that he's the only one who retained his job thereafter. (Oh, how'd he do it? The way they always tell me is the most easily avoidable: leaving a smoldering pile of leaves in his backyard.) She gave it to me with the warning that I must never wear it on the streets of that town, lest I be mistakenly pulled into a fire truck, were there to be an emergency, and then have to relate the embarrassing details of how I got the shirt, as I try to negotiate my way out of the situation.
The next one was the daughter of the ex-fire chief of Olympia, Washington. He had carton upon carton of light cigarettes in his freezer. This was his version of following doctor's orders after his heart attack, a few years before I entered the picture. I am told that he was lecturing the EMTs on the proper administration of CPR, as they dragged his ass away on a gurney.
What have I learned from this? Absolutely nothing. I just think that it's weird that two of these so strongly similar types (long blonde haired, daughter of fire chief-ed, manipulative and awful) would just happen to enter my life...Unless that's not weird at all, and you can basically set your damn watch by it. Every few years, I'll date one or another basically recognizable type of woman, and she'll both look and act like any, say four of the previous ones. I think for the moment that I'm over the ones that are skinnier than me, taller than me and are vegetarians...I'll never touch another Scorpio in my fucking life (short of giving my brother a hug), and...I sorta have my eye on this girl who runs a camera on the show. Then again, for all I know, she's a lesbian, another mistake I've made at least once.
Thus hitting upon another uncomfortable theme in my life: my unquenchable desire for fire chief's daughters. Well, not quite, but I have dated two of them in my life. Both of them had long, blonde hair, and basically judged all men by the template of their daddies. Eeersh.
Mind you, I understand. Daddy's an astronaut? You better be the Earthly equivalent of that, too. Or, for the menfolk in the crowd-My Mother Was A Saint! And She'd better be, too. Still though, eersh. Gross.
In any case, the one who gave me the teeshirt was the daughter of Dick Hopper (that's his name; I didn't make it up), who is also the mother of my two children. He is probably not the only fire chief ever who burnt down his own house while fire chief, but I bet that he's the only one who retained his job thereafter. (Oh, how'd he do it? The way they always tell me is the most easily avoidable: leaving a smoldering pile of leaves in his backyard.) She gave it to me with the warning that I must never wear it on the streets of that town, lest I be mistakenly pulled into a fire truck, were there to be an emergency, and then have to relate the embarrassing details of how I got the shirt, as I try to negotiate my way out of the situation.
The next one was the daughter of the ex-fire chief of Olympia, Washington. He had carton upon carton of light cigarettes in his freezer. This was his version of following doctor's orders after his heart attack, a few years before I entered the picture. I am told that he was lecturing the EMTs on the proper administration of CPR, as they dragged his ass away on a gurney.
What have I learned from this? Absolutely nothing. I just think that it's weird that two of these so strongly similar types (long blonde haired, daughter of fire chief-ed, manipulative and awful) would just happen to enter my life...Unless that's not weird at all, and you can basically set your damn watch by it. Every few years, I'll date one or another basically recognizable type of woman, and she'll both look and act like any, say four of the previous ones. I think for the moment that I'm over the ones that are skinnier than me, taller than me and are vegetarians...I'll never touch another Scorpio in my fucking life (short of giving my brother a hug), and...I sorta have my eye on this girl who runs a camera on the show. Then again, for all I know, she's a lesbian, another mistake I've made at least once.
Labels: my personals
posted by rich bachelor | 11:41 PM
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