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painful operations in the robot farm
Tuesday, December 29 1998
I laboured extremely hard at work today implementing a system whereby the DBA (Kevin) can bring down pages on the web servers in order to maintain the databases that support them. In the process, of course, I brought down the whole website several times. It was rather embarrassing and extremely stressful. It was exactly like being a brain surgeon who has drunk entirely too much espresso. But the work needed to be done. It was like God installing an immune system as an afterthought. It's an internet startup, what can you do?
I happened to think tonight about the most erotic thing that ever happened to me. A few years ago, my usually long-distance girlfriend drove many miles to visit me. She wasn't beautiful, but she was cute in her own memorable way. I recall a scene of us devouring each others' faces for several minutes, then scaling the ladder into my Shaque's bunk. When I pulled off her panties, I found a thin little rivulet of vaginal juice tracing a diagonal line across her thigh. It was the clearest, most pristine fluid you can imagine, like fresh rain water. I'm certain I immediately gave her oral sex. I don't always do that, you know.
Kim taught her NIA dance class this evening, and by some circumstance, both of the new Brazilian Girls were among her handful of students. The plan tonight is for Kim and me to go over to the Brazilian Girls' place later tonight. They're cooking up a big dinner, and all we have to do is bring a little wine along.
later...
The Brazilian girls lived a few blocks south of Newport Street in tidy apartment complex ringing a turquoise-watered swimming pool. Giacomo was there, as was Al from my workplace (who lives only a block further south). Today we met the third Brazilian girl, this one buxomly beautiful like Milla, but with longer hair and (tonight at least) paying obviously less attention to fashion.
The rumour mill is easy to access when its chief millers barely speak English. To them, things they say in our language are almost as if they've never been spoken at all. Consequently, Kim and I knew all about the latest little scandal, that Giacomo has just fallen in love with this third Brazilian girl.
For her part, Milla (the "first" Brazilian girl) was busy preparing salad, pasta and dessert in the kitchen while the rest of us sucked down the beer and vino and socialized. As usual, Milla was attired in an extremely tight-fitting dress, revealing every intriguing curve of her buxom body. Her breasts seemed on the edge of leaping free of their bondage out into the room for all to enjoy (in a way that only the guys behind the Simpsons can imagine). American girls with Milla's figure would wear looser clothes to conceal their wares, but not Milla. She's obviously proud of her body and isn't afraid to flaunt it. I've heard that in Brazil, the most common plastic surgery is breast reduction. In the United States, of course, it's breast augmentation. I wondered about the psychological and self-esteem issues attending the move to a land with more complimentary beauty standards.
Later on, Jeffe, the stocky owner of an Ocean Beach body alteration parlour (whose television marketing slogan is "we'll pierce you so good!"), arrived with his Chow-mix mut and an thin, attractive blond girl. The second (thinnest) of the Brazilian girl has fallen madly in love with Jeffe, and since the story is that the blond girl has nothing going on with Jeffe, this second Brazilian girl stands a real chance with the piercing king of our community. This particular batch of Brazilians seems to have a strong interest in Anglo "alternative" culture and fashion, including everything from David Bowie to body piercing to the smoking of marijuana.
After dinner, we all sat around and watched the Doors (1992). Since all three Brazilian girls came to the United States specifically to learn English, the close captioning was on. Consequently, I got to learn the actual words to familiar Doors songs.
I was sitting on the couch next to Jeffe's dog. He's the mellowest dog in the entire world, behaving more like a cat than a canine. I've seen the dog often, walking loose on the north side of Newport Street. He's extremely well behaved and never causes problems. The occasional begging he does at the barbecue place is orders of magnitudes more subtle than the panhandling done by the gutterpunks and other transients.
I was fairly tired, so after Jeffe and his dog departed, I stretched out on the couch and took a nice drunken nap.
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