Mr. OB and Irrational Fears

It has been quite a while since I have shared any conversations with my geriatric boyfriend Mr. OB. Since I can now type again, I can’t think of a better way to get back into the swing of posting than to give you some more disturbing pictures of his character. If you don’t know who Mr. OB is (short for Mr. Outback), I’ll tell you now, you won’t ever get an accurate bio of him. Here or anywhere for that matter. But you can infer what you will about him from my series of stories here and by reading the rest of this post.

Look closely, this is the most you will ever see of Mr. OB

I had the pleasure of another long overdue dinner and visitation with Mr. OB a few nights ago. It is yet to be determined if he was or was not stoned. Not that that serves as a logical reason that the following conversation occurred, but he seemed bit… paranoid.

We said our hellos first:

Mr. OB: “What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Nothing?”

Mr. OB: “Oh, you look funny”

Me: Well my arm was swallowed by a first aid kit, but other than that…

On topics of medical experiences, needles, and the like. 

Me: “Wait, so you think if you put a needle in your leg that you will accidentally pull back on the syringe and suck out your insides?”

Mr. OB: “Well yeah, I don’t know what is in there!”

Me: “You mean, in your body?”

Mr. OB: “Yeah! And I don’t want to know.”

Me: “You know, I don’t think needles work like plungers and turkey basters. Wait, why are you stabbing yourself with needles in the first place?”

Mr. OB: Mumbles something about bees and tractors running into trees

On blenders:

Mr. OB: “When that thing comes on at Outback, I am ducking behind the register. The blade is coming out of that thing and it’s flying across the bar and straight into my neck.” making dramatic throat slicing motion

Me: “Because that blender blade has had it out for you since it found out you only drink wine, right?”

Mr. OB: “I’ve seen it happen.”

Me: Well I am sure a lot of people “see” things that would never happen. Ever heard of intrusive thoughts? Hallucinations? Paranoia?

Mr. OB: “You just wait. I’m telling you. It’s gonna happen. I just hope it won’t be me. But it will probably be me.”

Me: to the bartender “Can I get a frozen margarita? Well blended please?”

Check out my latest vlog in the sidebar on the most obvious topic of all. The internet.  ———————————————————————————->

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More From Mr. OB

Do you remember Mr. OB? You should. Catch up here and here. I often wonder about the interpretation of our friendship from afar. A twenty-four year old girl enjoying drinks and conversation at a restaurant bar with a sixty something year old man. Maybe it is an odd friendship pairing to outside eyes, but I do firmly believe in the notion of age only being a number. I know some of my friends who are still in their twenties that are older than Mr. OB. Not only does Mr. OB provide me with continuous entertainment with his quirks and no-fucks-given attitude, but he also has some pretty incredible stories to share.

Why, just last week I had dinner with Mr. OB after an extended period of not having dinner with Mr. OB for no particular reason. He told me the hilarious story about the time that he hitch hiked from Mississippi to Illinois to stay with a friend when he was just 19 years old. He was kicked out of his college for being in a girl’s dorm after hours and decided to get out-of-town to avoid the heat from his parents. Shocker.

We began to discuss the differences between the times. Hitch hiking was common place and not surrounded by the qualms of abduction back then. At least not as much as now. He told me about the people who picked him up along the way.

Me: “So what were the people like? How many different people picked you up?”

Mr OB: “I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember this one hippy chick who picked me up”

25toFly 2.0

Photo by Lane Pelissier

Hello and welcome to 25toFly version 2.0. It is finally 2013, which not only marks a new year for clean slates but also my second year in blogging. It also marks the year in which I originally planned to move away from Louisiana. Thinking back upon the birth of my blog, I started to realize how much it has evolved over my first year. What began as an inspirational blog about moving away, quickly became a humor blog on everything from travel and frogs to the sexual encounters of my dear friend Mr. OB.

How I have evolved has also changed over the course of that year. My goals are different. I am different. What I concluded from all of this was that writing this blog was what I needed more than a uHaul. I just didn’t know it at first. I don’t know where I will end up by this time next year. I haven’t ruled out a move, but the urgency for moving away that I felt at the beginning of 2012 has subsided. Just like the many blog posts here that began without the slightest idea or outline, I know I will figure it out. And it will be good. Just keep doing.

Now that my blogging induced awakening has been shared, I can get back to what I have come to love to do here: write stuff that I think is funny and hope you think it is funny too. Here are some updates for the new year.

Mr. OB and The Champagne Bath

I tweeted yesterday that I was going to have an interactive post today. I had a really dope idea, but then WordPress slapped me in the face and said, “You can’t do that, lol sry”.

Instead, and to make up for the intended dopeness, I will give you another sexy story straight from Mr. OB  himself. This one doesn’t include cat S&M, but there will be ducks. This is probably the first story he ever told me that crossed the line of what is considered to be a normal conversation between two bar guests of a forty-year age difference. Or, more accurately, the moment when too much information lost all meaning and an atypical friendship was born:

Less normalcy, more figurines!

Sitting in our usual positions at the restaurant bar.

Mr OB: “Where are you going tonight?”

Me: “No where. Home.”

Mr. OB: “Yeah, sure. You’ll be at [secret bar name] smoking all those cigarettes.”

Me: “No really. I am going home to relax, may even take a bath.”

Mr. OB: “You got any champagne?”

Me: “Uh… you’re not invited.”

Mr. OB: “It’s not for me. It’s for the champagne bath.”

Me: “What the fuck is a champagne bath OB?”