little chickens - Thursday December 24 1998    

Being the day before Christmas and the first real shopping day free from work, I suppose it's unnecessary to state my obligation. First, though, Kim took me down to the Loan Ranger, one of at least two Ocean Beach pawn shops, and had me check out the guitars. She heard me playing co-worker Al's acoustic the other day and decided it would be a good thing if I were to resume playing. I imagined she'd be getting me an acoustic guitar for Christmas, since acoustic is so much warmer and intimate. But we went straight to the electric guitars and Kim suggested I try out several of them. We'd coincidentally run across Al on Newport Street and he came along with us.

(Now that I think about it, as loud and obnoxious as an electric guitar can be, it represents more of a putting down of roots than an acoustic guitar. Think about: amps, cords and reliable electricity are not characteristics of the road.)

Some young dude with facial piercings came up to me while I was trying out the various guitars and suggested that I try a Santa Claus-coloured Fender Stratocaster knockoff manufactured by Epi (?). He indicated that the guitar I'd been trying was overpriced, had electrical problems and (worst of all) was probably made in Mexico. So I tried out the faux Stratocaster, plugging plugged it in and rocking the known free world (or that part of it within earshot of the Loan Ranger) with whatever riffs and patterns I could still remember. My fingers were weak and soft, but within me somehow there was still a dying ember of my previous guitar experience to cup against the wind and perhaps coax back into some sort of flame. I found the guitar acceptable, so Kim and I went to buy it. The guy who'd recommended the guitar I was buying turned out to actually work at the Loan Ranger, which made me suspicious, but unless it had termite problems, how could I lose?

Walking up and down Newport later on, Kim was pissed at me because I'd been shooting down all her ideas for a Christmas gift for herself. I didn't want to take her out to sushi, Thai food, or on a vacation. A gift that is instantly consumed (and for what?) was not what I had in mind. So then she wanted a ring, like the kind one puts on one's finger. I didn't understand this gift idea either, but I didn't actually have to, because the fashionable boutique were the ring could be bought was closed today. It's one of those super-cool places that has no set hours and is open "whenever."

We eventually went into a different fashionable boutique, and, on her suggestion, I bought Kim a coat that appeared to be made out of fake grey Schnauzer hide. It was the first time in my life I'd ever bought women's clothes. I was stoned and uncomfortable with the whole transaction, the whole elbowing one's self past all the trendly pierce-faced riot grrrls to get something nice for the girlfriend experience. And then of course, some blocks down the street, as I was getting Kim a smoothie at the hippie sandwich shop, she decided she didn't want this coat after all, so she doubled back to the store and selected a different grey coat which looked to be made from terrycloth. I'd decided not to even try to understand what was going on here. I have too many things to think about as it is.

Kim had made plans with her massage colleague, Heather, for a Christmas Eve dinner at Heather's place. Always on the lookout for a quality man in her life, Heather had singled out Kevin the Database Administrator as the only attractive single man at our Christmas decoration party and wanted him to come along. Back on Thanksgiving, when our database was imploding in just about every way conceivable and Kevin was pulling 24 hour days trying to set things right, his Thanksgiving dinner had consisted of a bologna sandwich. Needless to say, it didn't take much convincing to get Kevin to come with us to a dinner of Cornish hens. How was he to know what Heather had planned for him?

Dinner at Heather's place was pretty much unremarkable as Christmas dinners go. Heather's twenty-something son (a model, naturally) and his sexy girlfriend (with a face like Sara Poiron) were both there, and she was definitely the one receiving the bulk of Kevin's considerable supply of wandering eye. What with Heather's mild but repeated flirtatious innuendo directed in his direction, Kevin soon became aware of Heather's interests, but, as he told me later, he'd have to drink considerably more alcohol to be of a mind to follow the hoped-for program. I've known Kevin long enough to know his type: thin, brunette, dark hair, dark eyes, a nice ass and joyful evidence of mammalian heritage.

Frank and Genevieve, the wealthy couple from Point Loma, also came by. Sadly, Frank wasn't nearly as full of himself as he was for Thanksgiving, and Kevin missed out on what normally would have been an impressive show, though I suspect Frank is far more subdued when he's outside his natural habitat (a mansion).

Kim and I kept getting into little fights along the way. She was especially upset when I made light of her desire for a Christmas ring, and at other times she scolded both me and Kevin about the snide comments she couldn't quite hear us making. But it was all within the usual envelope. Towards the end I found myself nodding off and Kim assured me I was embarrassing myself with that too.

Kim's car is in the shop to get some exhaust system work (it's been all shaken apart since the drive across North America). So Kevin was our designated driver. I don't recall too many details about what happened after dinner. We all ended up back at the courtyard apartment in Ocean Beach, Al came over with a dozen Rolling Rocks, then Joe from next door came by, as did his former girlfriend, a tall attractive blond girl named Jeannette, upon whom Al proceeded to mack. Kim was still angry with me in the aftermath of my performance at Heather's house, so she was mostly off in the bedroom having a huff, but eventually she emerged. At a certain point she told me that she realized that ours was just a relationship of convenience. I've heard it all before a million times; all I can do is shrug and go on.