Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Wink Martindale Got Me laid, epilogue
I’ve been wracking my brains, trying to find a tidy wrapup to this story. Some sort of climax that puts a nice cherry on top of this autobiographical sundae. But just like a death or a breakup, all that happened was eventually other things happened, life went on, and eventually the game show and its ramifications were no longer the main event.
I finished vocational school, having produced an excellent promotional video for the City of Tacoma’s anti-gang efforts, and completely failed to find any work in my chosen field.
My tally to the IRS, after all that drama, turned out to be around a grand and a half or so. There was enough left over to buy my first camcorder.
I tried several times to rid myself of Miss Hell, and for a long time came to think of my relationship with her like a scar, or a longterm illness; ugly and debilitating, but permanent. It wasn’t until 1997 that I finally managed to tear her talons out of me.
I lived at home until 1993. Once the game show was no longer a factor, we simply found other things to scream at each other about; in 1991, it was the Gulf War, then my inability to find a job. In 1992, it was her cultish adoration for Rush Limbaugh. Once I moved out, though, and were no longer forced to co-inhabit that tiny little house, our relationship got better, before her death in 2003.
I donated the Cosby Sweaters to a high-school drama department.
Wink Martindale is still at large.
And what about the title of this story?
Well, I won three trips on that game show. The trip to Palm Springs, I gave to my parents. The Caribbean Cruise, I took to celebrate my 20th birthday. And the trip to Vegas, that was for four people. I took my parents and Miss Hell. And it was on that trip, in room 1009 of Bally’s Grand Hotel, that I had sex for the first time. And the second. And on up to the seventeenth, by the time we went home.
So there’s your cherry on top. Or rather, there goes your cherry. Or mine.
I’ll stop now.
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen
I finished vocational school, having produced an excellent promotional video for the City of Tacoma’s anti-gang efforts, and completely failed to find any work in my chosen field.
My tally to the IRS, after all that drama, turned out to be around a grand and a half or so. There was enough left over to buy my first camcorder.
I tried several times to rid myself of Miss Hell, and for a long time came to think of my relationship with her like a scar, or a longterm illness; ugly and debilitating, but permanent. It wasn’t until 1997 that I finally managed to tear her talons out of me.
I lived at home until 1993. Once the game show was no longer a factor, we simply found other things to scream at each other about; in 1991, it was the Gulf War, then my inability to find a job. In 1992, it was her cultish adoration for Rush Limbaugh. Once I moved out, though, and were no longer forced to co-inhabit that tiny little house, our relationship got better, before her death in 2003.
I donated the Cosby Sweaters to a high-school drama department.
Wink Martindale is still at large.
And what about the title of this story?
Well, I won three trips on that game show. The trip to Palm Springs, I gave to my parents. The Caribbean Cruise, I took to celebrate my 20th birthday. And the trip to Vegas, that was for four people. I took my parents and Miss Hell. And it was on that trip, in room 1009 of Bally’s Grand Hotel, that I had sex for the first time. And the second. And on up to the seventeenth, by the time we went home.
So there’s your cherry on top. Or rather, there goes your cherry. Or mine.
I’ll stop now.
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen
