Monday, April 7, 2008

Little Wooden Men cont.

Ponytail was back.
“Would you like to order?” This time Ponytail directed the question
to both of us. Dorothy was preoccupied. She had no interest to lock
eye to eye with ponytail. She didn’t put the Busboy in a charm trance.
Dorothy fiddled with a ring on her left pinky finger. It was a ruby of the deepest, purplish, red. She slide the ring, slowly, up and down her little finger. Seeming to be in deep thought, she addressed busboy’s question.
“ Nothing for me. Thank you.”
“And you sir?” Ponytail asked me. He smiled an actors smile, a civil
“Just a muffin. Thanks.” My mind was speed reading my thoughts.
Ponytail/Waiter/Busboy took the menus and was off again.

“You don’t come here to drink or eat? Do you come here to infringe
upon strangers?” I had to ask. I had never seen her at the café before, and
I always visited. I finished the rest of the luke warm coffee.

“You consider this an assault?” She stopped with the ring movement.
“No. I was taking a stab at humor.” I said dryly. I lied.
“future2? What kind of music?”
I didn’t respond right away. Waiter guy was back.
He gave me a muffin on a black saucer, and refilled my mug with
hot coffee.

“Hard to say.” I answered.
“Rock? Dance? Rap? What?”
“Varies. A unique fusion, a blend.” I tried to find the right words.

Dorothy removed her long, strapped bag from her shoulder. It had a very
colorful and striking print of the late Bob Marley. She put her hand inside
The bag and pulled out a business card.
“How far along is your company?” She asked. Hesitantly, I started to speak.
“Basically….In the concept stage…A vision. It depends on me getting
Future2 on board.”

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Little Wooden Men cont.

“Well?” Dorothy looked dead into my eyes like she was looking for my soul.
“Well?” She repeated. Her green eyes were interesting to say the least. They made me want to pluck them out and cherish them. They were beautiful. They were wonderfully gorgeous, dazzlingly brilliant.
“Ok, here it is…you are awfully small.” My tongue stumbled.
“Awful?” She continued to bore tiny holes through my pupils. Trying to explain I said, “Not like a bad awful, it’s just an expression. A figure of speech.” My tongue didn’t want to move anymore.
“Small, yes, but cute aren’t I? would you say I was deformed or a midget,
maybe a dwarf?” She grinned that Mona Lisa look again. I looked away.
“No, I don’t think that….besides I don’t think midgets or dwarfs are deformed…just out of proportion.” My tongue was now twisted and ill.
“Look me in the eyes again.” She said. I did. She continued to speak.
“Yes I am in proportion. You should see me naked.”
If I was a European man I would have blushed a bright red.
There was a long silence.

During the dead time, a Busboy came to our table with a wet towel, a wet miniature towel, a rag of sorts. He cleaned the mess from our space.
Simultaneously, Dorothy and I said “ Thank-you”.
Taking the ketchup container with him, he swiftly, scooted away.
He returned a “ You are welcome”. The Busboy was gone.

“What do you do?” Dorothy quickly asked.
“Right now, I would like some coffee and a muffin.” Tired of her
Company, I didn’t think she really cared.
“Seriously.” No snap, just direct. “ What do you do?” She added.
“Entrepreneur.” I answered.
“Oh?” I questioned.
The same teenager came back to the table. He now played the role of waiter. His ponytail fit the part. He put two menus on the table, and then disappeared again. Dorothy spoke again.
“Entrepreneur. Look at the way it is spelled. Kind of sick, twisted,
and pretty corrupt looking.” She was pushing it. She kept at it.
She finished her opinion.
“What I meant is, most of the entrepreneurs I know sell pot
or something, and dump hundreds of thousands into legal enterprises.”

Invading people’s lives seemed natural and easy for her, almost a gift.

Ponytail / Busboy returned with glasses of water, silverware and napkins. He placed all into their respective places.
“Coffee?” He asked. His blue eyes locked with Dorothy’s green ones.
Dot to dot. Pupil to pupil.

“Yes, please.” I interrupted.
“No, thank you.” Sweetly like a tiny Hummingbird, Dorothy refused.
Her charm finally let him go. Busboy busied to his business.

“What’s your project of recent?” Dorothy continued to interrogate.
“A record company.” I revealed. “ Actually a company of companies.”

Busboy didn’t have to go far. He was back. He put a mug in front
of me and poured a dose of Caffeine from a Kraft.
“Thank you “ I offered. He smiled, and then scurried off to tend to other

“A record company?” Ms. Oz pressed on with her calm assault.
“Yes.” Came from my mouth as I sipped a bit of coffee.
“Why?” There she went again, she pushed my GET DEFENSIVE
button. She tugged at my LEAVE ME ALONE string.

“Because of a band called Future2.” I forced a human response.
“Oh.” She looked at me like I was joking.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Little Wooden Men cont.

“Hello my name is Dorothy.” Like a blink she just appeared at the table.
She stood right next to me and went on.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you. I noticed you eying me as I spotted you.”
She sat in the seat across from me, getting her dress just right.
There were salt granules loose all over the tabletop. A condiment
Container with ketchup was lying on its side, spilled in front of her.
“Are you a little pig or you just have a nervous tick?”
She grinned like Mona Lisa, a crooked, strange kind of a smile.
“What do you mean?” I quickly returned. I was shocked.
“The mess.”
“It was this way. I just got here a few minutes ago.”
“I know.” She stood up and began to speak rather loudly.
“Can we get a table cleaner here please! ”
Not a yell, more like a polite demand.
“Please!” She took her seat again, getting her dress just right.
“Are you married?” she inquired like a detective.
I didn’t answer. It was none of her business.
“You are pretty blunt….was it Dorothy?”
“On occasion.”
“Blunt or Dorothy?”
“Your name is Dorothy? Right?”
“It depends on what manifestation I am at the time.”
“Alright.” I was already mentally exhausted. She turned from me and
waved at a woman who came through the entrance of the café.
Her manner was so forward, so I decided to be too. We all know the old saying, never ask a lady her age. I decided to ignore it.

“How old are you?” I investigated, trying not to sound like an FBI agent.
Showing no intense or negative reaction she responded quite gracefully.
“Right down to it. Why?”
“Being that you come on so strong, I’ll just come out with it.”
I was nervous.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Little Wooden Men

Little Wooden Men

Not any of them can be Gumby with a pointed head and made of rubber clay. None of them can sit on a chair and feed their needs like a majestic, Redwood tree. Nor can they mold themselves or be molded by others to adapt to the ever-changing breeze.

Gumby and a marshmallow have one thing in common. No matter how much someone may misshape them with their fingers, both eventually return to the original self. It is enjoyable to squish a marshmallow between forefinger and thumb. They spring back, unless they are stale.

I first met the “Little Wooden Men” through a mutual friend. Her name is Dorothy Rene Oz, like in the wizard of. She is a petite woman of about four feet and eleven inches. She seems more of an “Alice in Wonderland ” than a Dorothy Of Oz.
Dorothy loves to wear long gown like dresses. They are nothing close to evening glamour gowns, but are one-piece garments that aren’t skirt like at all. She believes that they will make her taller or at least look that way. Physically, she reminds most on lookers of a woman trapped in a girl’s body. Her breasts are basically nipples. In dresses she doesn’t seem to have any hips or any curves. When she sits, like a lady, she moves her hands slowly from lower back to the end of her bottom. She always makes sure that her dress is placed just perfect before she sits. Dorothy has very defined butt cheeks. When she does wear pants, which isn’t often, she exhibits a nice ass. On her feet she always wears some sort of slipper shoe, like Cinderella with puny feet. She has no time for shoelaces, buckles, or straps. Indoors Dorothy goes barefoot, unless she is in a public place that demands footwear. However, she owns a pair of Doc Martin work boots which contradicts the previous statement. Dorothy Rene’ Oz is one of the most unique individuals I have ever met.

The past. A switch backwards to my first encounter with Ms. Oz.

Here I am again, me, I, you, we and us.
Please explain to me the difference.
Spirit over mind and matter seems to be the fuss.
Maybe, we are all one of us!

- Dorothy Rene Oz -
UNIVERSE (yoo ne-vurs) n. 1.All existing things, including the earth, the heavens, the galaxies, and all therein, regarded as a whole; The cosmos; macrocosm. 2. a. The earth together with all it’s inhabitants and created things. b. All mankind. 3. The sphere or realm in which something exists or takes place. 4. logic. The universe of discourse (see).

The Universe Of Dorothy Rene Oz


By Bobbo