----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ghetto Onion I have two stories for you today about my ass. Howdy, Neighbor! I was on the sidewalk and up a couple of stairs when I heard, �DAMN!!!!� The driver of the piece of shit car actually stopped his car, breaks squealing. �DAMN!� he yelled again and then proceeded to watch me ascend the stairs. My back was to him the whole time. I can only assume that it was my ass that caught his eye. When I went back in the house, I told Ryan the story and he laughed saying, �I guess that�s how you say �Howdy, Neighbor!� in our neighborhood.� Girls From the Train As luck would have it, both men exited the train at St. Louis�s Union Station along with me and my friends. The young hip man left first and walked swiftly into the building. The greasy older man walked slowly behind us either limping or swaggering, I really can never tell the difference. As we hit the stairs to enter Union Station, he cried out slowly with increasing volume, �Damn. Damn! DAMN!!!� We turned to look back at him. �You girls look GOOD!� he said to the three of us. And then directly to my ass, he added, �Especially you!� We giggled and rolled our eyes at each other and rushed into the building, making fun of him like bitchy girls do. Amazingly, among all of the souvenir and fudge shops in Union Station, we managed to find a bar with a pool table and spent the afternoon playing pool with the staff and drinking beer. Side note � we watched a guy hit the eight ball in on the break three times in a row. Crazy! Anyhow, it was nearing time to get back to the airport, so we said goodbye to our new friends and headed back towards the train. We were almost to the doors when we heard a man�s voice say appreciatively, �Girls from the train!� We looked back to see the young hip guy transformed into a janitor pushing a mop with a wide grin on his perfectly stubbled face, his long thin braids peeking out of his cap. Que the giggling and eye rolling of bitchy girls. Back at the airport, we were working our way through security. I had walked through the metal detector and was pulling my carry-on bag off of the conveyor belt. A young security guard stepped forward to assist me, his gold tooth glistening in the bright fluorescent lights. �Are you married?� he asked. �No,� I replied. �Well I could take care of that,� he grinned. This was too much. No amount of eye rolling and giggling was going to brush this off. The girls decided that it was me who had attracted so much attention for the men of St. Louis, and that specifically, it was my ass that had them all over the three of us. From that day on, my ass has been referred to as a Ghetto Onion � so sweet it make you cry. 11:50 a.m. - August 18, 2005 |
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