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All posts for the month January, 2015

The Star of the Porno Downstairs

Published January 25, 2015 by Sandee

I was nervous about who might be moving in after the neighbors under me moved. They were quiet.

I listen to hardcore. But I have rules. I listen for only an hour at the level where somebody might hear it, and not before 10am or after 10pm. I also walk barefoot, and lightly.

We have to be reasonable about apartment life. You expect to hear vague rumblings of movement. Maybe you’ll hear people screwing.

People would tell me how they heard neighbors screwing. I never did, until now.

Finally, a month after the great neighbors below me moved, someone moved in. After a week I thought, Gee, he masturbates loudly.

While exercising lying on the floor, I heard his usual loud crying out. I pressed my ear to the floor. Gasp! I heard the woman!

This couple below me fuck almost every day!

And he’s loud for a dude! Usually you just hear the chick. I had a guy once who screamed like he was being murdered. The inflection of his screaming wasn’t sexual where it trails off ecstatically. It was more like a blood curdling scream.

I had to know what this new couple looked like.

But the nerve of this guy coming up to my apartment at 9:30pm on the weekend to complain about my music. It wasn’t that loud, for chrissake.

He knocks on my door. I’m naked and can’t open it.

Yes, I say through the peephole.

I’m your neighbor downstairs.

It’s the “fucking” guy! You need me to turn my music down?

Yeah.

Okay. I’m sorry. Goodnight, I says.

I tried getting a look at him through the peephole. I saw he was wiry. I had missed the opportunity to meet the star of the porno downstairs. Hey – I’ll throw on clothes and go down there – apologize about not opening the door – I’ll say I want to properly introduce myself.

So I knock on his door — and the “fucking” guy – he did what I had done and didn’t open his door.

Hi, just wanted to say I didn’t mean to be rude by not opening the door. I was getting ready to shower before, which is why I couldn’t open the door, I lie.

He tells me through the peep hole, Oh yeah, me too, now.

Uh, okay — have a good night, I says.

The “fucking” guy was probably naked and getting ready to fuck again.

I did meet him in the elevator last week and properly introduced myself. It was great! He wasn’t bad looking.

I think I might’ve finally met his girl too. Yesterday I got on the elevator with a red head. We said hello then she got off on the floor below mine and walked in the direction of the line I’m in – that had to be her!

Now, it’s white noise to me – sort of – I guess – unless I’m having a spell, you know.

I suppose I should “get a life.”

 

 

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VIVA LA PAPPA CON POMODORO!

Published January 12, 2015 by Sandee

Rita_Pavone_1965

I wanted to know what the song was from the Heineken commercial. I detected that the language was Italian, and that it was probably from the 1960s.

I imagined an Italian Ann Margret type, hair all over the head, hip gyrations, mini dress, heavy mascara – that sort of a thing – oh my god I want to sing this! Anyhow, I found the singer. Rita Pavone! Damn she’s so fucking cute I can’t take it. The opposite of what I expected. ~Swoon~ I tried deciphering the translated lyrics — something to do with soup and tomatoes and a revolution or somethingorother. ~Shrug~ Hope there’s no evil underlying meaning or anything like that ’cause I love this fucking song! Yay! Eeee-yahhh papapapapahhhhhh!

Tallulah Bankhead!

Published January 7, 2015 by Sandee

Tallulah

I had the flu, so I stayed home and watched Cary Grant movies and this Tallulah Bankhead movie, “Die! Die! My Darling!” I know Tallulah Bankhead had done worthier films and in fact, I had always been intrigued by her, so I looked her up. We all know Wikipedia is “iffy,” but if the basics stand, Tallulah was completely deranged, someone I’d like to party with. Here are excerpts from the page:

…During these early New York years, she became a peripheral member of the Algonquin Round Table and was known as a hard-partying girl-about-town. …[She] began to use cocaine and marijuana, going as far as saying, “Cocaine isn’t habit-forming and I know because I’ve been taking it for years.”

…She didn’t like Hollywood either; when she met producer Irving Thalberg, she asked him, “How do you get laid in this dreadful place?”

Her 1932 movie Devil and the Deep is notable for the presence of three major co-stars, with Bankhead receiving top billing over Gary Cooper, Charles Laughton and Cary Grant. It is the only film with Cooper and Grant as the film’s leading men. She later said, “Dahling, the main reason I accepted [the part] was to fuck that divine Gary Cooper!”

In 1933, Bankhead nearly died following a five-hour emergency hysterectomy due to venereal disease. Only 70 pounds (32 kg) when she left the hospital, she stoically said to her doctor, “Don’t think this has taught me a lesson!”

She rented a home at 1712 Stanley Street, in Hollywood and began hosting parties that were said to “have no boundaries”.

Bankhead circulated widely in the celebrity crowd of her day and was a party favorite for outlandish stunts, such as doing cartwheels in a skirt while wearing no underwear or entering a soirée stark naked.

Rumors about Bankhead’s sex life have lingered for years, and she was linked romantically with many notable female personalities of the day, including Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich, Eva Le Gallienne, Hattie McDaniel, and Alla Nazimova, as well as writer Mercedes de Acosta and singer Billie Holiday. Actress Patsy Kelly claimed she had a sexual relationship with Bankhead when she worked for her as a personal assistant.

Bankhead never publicly described herself as being bisexual. She did, however, describe herself as “ambisextrous”.

She had been investigated by MI5 during the 1920s amid rumors she was corrupting pupils at Eton. The documents alleged that she seduced up to half a dozen private schoolboys into taking part in “indecent and unnatural” acts.

On December 12, 1968, Bankhead died in St. Luke’s Hospital in Manhattan at 7:45 a.m., aged 66. The cause of death was pleural pneumonia, complicated by emphysema, malnutrition, and possibly a strain of the Hong Kong flu which was running worldwide at that time. Her last coherent words reportedly were, “Codeine … bourbon.”

Hattie McDaniel? The Hong Kong flu? Even her death was extravagant.

Well folks, my next post may be about how I had to quit Clark Gable for Cary Grant. Until next time!