Monday, April 14, 2008

"Aloha Pillow Talk"

I often trudge, stone-faced, through the hours of 9 a.m.-8 p.m.

At 8:01 p.m., however, I go all Tom-Cruise-On-Oprah's-Couch.

Without fail, once darkness falls, the quarter slides into my internal jukebox, and I light up, song lyrics tumbling from my lips; spontaneous-yet-well-choreographed musicals high kicking it in the kitchen; animated one-way conversations with the creators of The Wire perking out of my mouth; grocery lists for the Girl's quinceanera party (in seven years) scritching on to paper; Scrabulous tiles, particularly the "q" without a "u," pouring onto the board; slates of enemies receiving a well-deserved in absentia back-stabbing; blog posts sliding out of the birth canal, still slathered in vernix.

If I were a Magic Treehouse book written by formulaic-yet-educational children's authoress Mary Pope Osborne, I would be entitled Mania in the Moonlight. You would not buy me, even from the clearance shelves at Barnes & Noble. Instead, you would back away slowly, refusing eye contact (How dippy are you for that? I'm a book, you twittering fool. I don't have eyes), easing the blow by feigning an interest in the gnome calendars, magnetic poetry kits, and color sudoku books that lodge up front by the cash registers.

Fortuitously, my night-time energies play nicely into the fact that I'm one of the twenty-nine married women in Minnesota who still look affectionately at their husbands and think, "Yea, I could hit that." Indeed, once I've stretched out and folded up my leg warmers after the high kicks, jazz hands, and pas de bourrees by the refrigerator, I often still have enough steam to go tackle My Man.

As it turns out, when I'm really in the throes of the Night Time Happies, I can also get giggly. Loopy. Babbley and burbley in the boudoir (take that, Mary Pope Osborne).

The other night, my state of laughing gabble just about derailed us. As we lay there, working into an esprit d'amour, I just could not stop yucking and yacking, blicking and blacking. Every time I'd move in for the kiss, a snortle would come blowing out my nostrils.

Yea. I know. Hot.

Finally, I did a few slow breaths and announced, "I just have to stop thinking of things that crack me up. I need a change of mental scenery. So, okay, we're going to..." I stumped around, looking for an appropos locale, "...Sexy Island now."

When I get snortley, I also get prodigiously lame.

Ever my willing playmate, though, Groom joined in. "So what's on Sexy Island?"

"Well, there'd be monkeys, for sure."

Cuz, you know. Monkeys in a Love Fantasy imply, welllllllllllllll, swinging and peeling.

Groom knows my brain; he free associated right into the peeling. "Yea, monkeys. What else?"

Upping the ante, I noted, "I'm pretty sure there's buried treasure on Sexy Island, from some pirates. They're a bad, bad lot, aren't they? Very naughty?"

Groom was with me: "Yea, okay, treasure. I can dig that. And I'll be more than happy to lay hands on your booty and shiver your timbers. "

After that, it was quiet for a beat.

Another beat.

Then the Hot Mess that is Groomeo queried, "But is there poi on Sexy Island?"

Afternote, to be read while smoking a cigarette and running a hand through your rumpled hair:

Yes, yes, there was poi bubbling over the fire that night. And what a way to find out that the consistency of poi is often described as being either "two-finger" or "three-finger."

I am a fan of life-long experiential learning.


SQT said...

Ewwww, poi and vernix?

My hubby would like to know if there are any naughty pirate wenches on that island...

Glamourpuss said...

Without my glasses, I thought the monkeys were swinging and peeing and frankly, I was disgusted. Monkeys are perverts.


lime said...

i say as long as the snortle erupting through your nose isn't accompanied by a giant snot bubble it's all ok.

Diana said...

I suspect that I'll never be able to think of poi in the same way, again.

Bob said...

my wife is a giggler too. her sexy mode is linked directly to her sense of the ridiculous.

so - lots of giggles, no hot, steaminess here either.

furiousBall said...

I don't care how much you write about it, I am still too bitter and jaded to admit there is such a thing as a loving marriage. Just like the easter bunny, santa, and anything worth listening to written by Nickelback

Hammer said...

Monkeys throw poo. They need to be relocated ;)

flutter said...

mmmmm swinging and peeling, Yeah baby yeah!!!

Shieldmaiden96 said...

I now have a place to tell this story.
We too departed for a secluded spot on 'The Island' last night. And we were enjoying it heartily. Until the cat jumped up on the bed and curled up across my legs. And started purring. Then we had this:
"Get him out of here!"
"No! Just...just ignore him!"
"I can't!"
"C'mon...we're almost...."
"Oh, I guess its over."
(With that, the cat makes a little grunt/coo, jumps off the bed, and walks away.
I felt dirty.

Claudia said...

Pirates ROCK. But my question is, why is all the rum gone? ;)

liv said...

you know, you don't have to be married to go to sexy island. just sayin'...and you can shag more than one pirate.

Amy said...

Am I the only one who thought "middleschmertz" after reading the whole poi/finger bit?

Jamie said...

Only twenty-nine? But it is so cold up there...what else do you do?

Dorky Dad said...

My wife is barely awake these days at 8 p.m. But she does have her share of snortie problems.

And, as Puss noted, monkeys ARE disgusting. You do know that they throw poo in territorial fits, don't you?

Just so you know.

August said...

Here I was, innocent me, thinking I was going to Gilligan's Island. I must've accidentally changed the channel.

For the rest of my life Poi & vernix will be linked. Thanks. Thanks a lot.


Theresa said...

I giggle too, which my hubby doesn't quite get. Maybe I'll try thinking of hot, naughty pirates next time. But the monkeys don't quite do it for me. Now if only we could get our schedules worked out. Somehow early birds and night owls like their fun at different hours. :)

urban-urchin said...

poi and monkeys are better than a paper cut on the eyeball. You have a very ehm.. rich fantasy life my dear J....

Dave said...

Does this happen during a full moon as well? I often wonder if ol' Cruise regrets that jumping incident? I wish I could! :-)

pistols at dawn said...

One day, I may get to that island, once I finally use a sextent for its intended purposes.

chelle said...

hahhaa sexy island ... classic!

Calamity Jane said...

Glad to see you're back on form again. We often have "soap powder" moments similar to what yo have described - just about to get down to the business when something will pop into my head that just cannot be left unsaid for if not it would eat away at me and totally ruin the mood

geewits said...


(My word verification is "ikeoicfl," That's actually what people from New jersey say when they get to the bottom of I-95.)

heartinsanfrancisco said...

I feel obliged to announce right here and now that I have never known the pleasure of a post-coital cigarette.

At least you didn't say "oooftah." That one is a real deal-breaker.

choochoo said...

ah, nighttime happyness. If I had something really good in my fridge, my joy would be complete.

Claire said...

What? You have small children and can still have sex with your hubby? That's amazing! So there is a distinct advantage to being a nightowl...