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Posts Tagged ‘airports’

Zoe & Sophia Chair Dance for the Locals and Demonstrate Airport Etiquette as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being

January 27th, 2010 3 comments

January 27
Please send your ADVICE to two single women, whose lives are suddenly crashing in chaos! Zoe and Sophia, BFFs for thirty years, find themselves unexpectedly cast into the world of re-creation and redefinition after decades of being faithful wives to George and Marty. They need advice from anyone willing to help them. For instance, what advice would you give your BFF if she wailed, “HOW CAN I GO HOME WITH ALL THAT PAIN WAITING FOR ME? Any advice you can give to Sophia would be helpful, but this is what Zoe said.

Early on the morning of Zoe and Sophia’s last full day in Florida, Zoe found Sophia sprawled in a heap on the deck outside the guest bedroom, sobbing, of course. Zoe expected this would happen when Sophia realized the transitory nature of her escape from the searing pain of her broken marriage to Marty. Sophia stopped crying out the litany of harms, a morning ritual, when she saw Zoe’s shadow.
“Get up, Sophie. The sun’s out and we need to put the polish on our tans.”
“Jackson’s been such a good host. Oh, Zo, I’m dreading going back to New Hampshire.”
“Don’t waste precious time on that shit. We don’t leave until tomorrow. Today is today.”

“Okay. How are you doing?” Sophia asked as she struggled to her feet. Before Zoe could answer, Sophia reached out for a badly needed hug, but Zoe didn’t see her, and at that instant she bolted back indoors when she heard Jackson call her name. Consequently, Sophia wrapped her arms around air, leaned into the same then fell flat on her face. “Trust” was not a game to be played with Zoe if she was answering the call of the “nature.”

An hour later Sophia heard Zoe open Jackson’s bedroom door and heard the bathroom door bang. Fully expecting to find Zoe immersed in one of her too-many-to-count ‘afterglows,’ Sophia barged into the bathroom, boundaries being a concept they ignored with each other’s space. To her surprise, she heard Zoe weeping in the shower. Instead of letting Zoe cry alone, Sophia jerked back the curtain. Frightened, Zoe screamed and slipped on the soapy tub floor. On her way down, Zoe grabbed the shower curtain, and took both the curtain and fixtures down with her.
“Fuck sake, Sophie. Why did you scare me like that?”
“I’m concerned about you,” she said to the back of Zoe’s head, since Zoe’s face rested on the bath mat, while her legs and torso still occupied the tub. Since the curtain had lost its purpose, water spurted everywhere, not that either woman noticed.

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Zoe & Sophia Enjoy More Sexy Fun in the Sun but Sophia Wishes She Heard Less Heavy Breathing as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being

January 24th, 2010 2 comments

January 23

Thank you for the WONDERFUL ADVICE you’ve offered the two single women, whose lives are suddenly crashing in chaos! Zoe and Sophia, BFFs for thirty years, find themselves unexpectedly cast into the world of re-creation and redefinition after decades of being faithful wives to George and Marty. They need advice from anyone willing to help them. For instance, what advice would you give your BFF as she said, “HEY, SOPHIE, ARE WE “WORKERS” WHO TAKE THE BUS OR THE OTHER TYPE OF PEOPLE?” Any advice you can give to Zoe would be helpful, but this is what Sophia said.

As Zoe floated just beneath the surface of awake, she sensed things were not quite right. Where was the smell of Sparky’s nightly accidents, involuntarily purged from his rear end? Sparky was Zoe’s stoke-victim yellow Lab. Yes, he was incontinent and walked sideways, but he was the sweetest dog known to woman. Where was the cold, heavy air, sitting like a pall over her head? Where was the cough of the struggling furnace in her 1790s N. H. home? Wait a minute–who was that long, lean, gorgeous man lying next to her? Zoe’s smile awoke her. Not bothering to cover her naked body, she slipped quietly from the bed, aching to smell ocean air. She tiptoed past Sophia’s room, not wanting to wake her friend. In the soft darkness of pre-dawn, Zoe threw open the french doors leading to the deck, closed her eyes and stepped outside as the warm Florida breeze bathed her face.

Sophia was not asleep. No, she was sitting in good Buddhist meditation posture, legs crossed, hands on thighs, right outside the french doors. The serenity of the moment splintered once Zoe walked over Sophia, lost her balance and plunged, face first, on the deck. Sophia was knocked on her back when Zoe’s knees raked across her face. But Sophia, the bastion of focus, remained legs akimbo, hands still on thighs, breathing in and breathing out.
“Fuck sake, Sophie. Why there? Why right in front of the door? Not two feet to the left or right, but dead center in my path?
“Sorry, Zo,” said Sophia, swimming out of the open space of her spiritual journey, into the mired waters of Zoe’s scorn. “At least Sparky wasn’t here to pee on me. Hey, you wanna go to the Botanical Gardens today?”
“No. I want to lie by the ocean and get a tan.”
“You wanna go to the Collier County Museum?”
“No.”
“You wanna go to the Naples Information Center?”
“Fuck sake, Sophie. I want to lie on the beach all day roasting like a chicken on a spit. Anyway, go brush your teeth. Your breath is drowning out the sea air.”
“Well, you should consider doing something about your hair, Zo. Your bed head might be mistaken for a rat’s nest.”

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Zoe & Sophia Flee to Naples, Florida and Enjoy Sexy Fun in the Sun as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being

January 20th, 2010 2 comments

January 20th

Please send your ADVICE to two single women, whose lives are suddenly crashing in chaos! Zoe and Sophia, BFFs for thirty years, find themselves unexpectedly cast into the world of re-creation and redefinition after decades of being faithful wives to George and Marty. They need advice from anyone willing to help them. For instance, what advice would you give your BFF if she asked, “WHY HAVEN’T I LOST MY MIND ONCE SINCE WE LEFT NEW HAMPSHIRE?” Any advice you can give to Zoe would be helpful, but this is what Sophia said.

At 5:50 a.m. Sophia stood in the shower, her body lathered in soap and her hair full of Caviar Conditioner-the crème of hair products for “blond” women over forty.  The shower where she stood was in a hotel near the Manchester Airport. In exactly forty minutes, she and Zoe were due in the lobby to catch the shuttle to their terminal. Sophia’s mind was filled with the sublime lightness of being, knowing that in a few hours, she and Zoe would be lying in the sun that hovered over Naples, Florida. Zoe showered first and stood outside the bathroom rubbing her body with lotion and preparing to blow dry her hair. She looked at the pathetic hotel hairdryer, rejected it, and plugged in her own mammoth contraption. And that decision was how she plunged Sophia into darkness, leaving her flailing about with soap and “Caviar” in her eyes.
“Zoe,” Sophia cried, “Lights, Zoe.”
“Blew the fuse,” yelled Zoe through the door. “Can’t see a thing out here.”
“Fuck sake, call the front desk.”

Sophia was not especially coordinated in broad daylight, but she was lucky not to kill herself, blindly searching for a towel, which she couldn’t find because Zoe had used all four of them and then slung them across a chair, far from the darkened shower room. Shivering and dripping, Sophia felt her way out of the dangerous zone of porcelain surfaces. Thinking she could safely walk, by remembering where the beds were in relation to the furniture, she launched on her journey to find a towel. What she didn’t know was that Zoe had left open luggage in Sophia’s pathway, causing Sophia to trip, skid across the carpet, and hit her head on the table leg, just before Zoe opened the door to the maintenance man. Within seconds, Maintenance Man dazzled the room with light and discovered Sophia, naked and wet, lying on the floor, nursing carpet burns and a bumped head, and balling like a baby.
“Fuck sake, Zoe, get me a towel.”
Zoe turned to smile at the maintenance man then took her sweet time sashaying across the room, stepping over Sophia, and finally flinging a wet towel to her friend. The man neither moved a muscle nor uttered a word. Only when Sophia glared and hissed at him, did he snap out of his catatonic state and hastily back out of the room.

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