Vacation Diary, day 1.

Wednesday, August 1st 2007.

8:07am

I awoke to the crisp chime of my Bulova alarm clock, as is custom in my morning rituals. Focusing my eyes I gazed the Baltic Panel ceiling, “Virgin Glow” I believe the sales man had described it as. With a deep sigh I extended my limbs, letting the Sferra sheets caress my arms and legs with the velveteen touch and the maternal warmth that the poets can only describe as love. Placing my right then left foot on the Strip Bamboo Smoke plank flooring, I draped my naked body in the most exquisite Terry Waffle Robe that I had stumbled upon in Munich some years back in one of my frequent international shopping sprees.

Exiting the master bedroom I seemed to levitate down the hall, passing the guest bath, my entertainment room; which entombed the Samsung Dynaflat TX-R2035 20 Flat Screen TV, a mighty treasured and coveted piece in my collection, and finally the mahogany pantry (built board by board with my own hands.)

With sun flooding the parlour I took a moment to reflect where I was, where I had come from and where I was going. As my eyes detailed the room, I noticed the Alma-Tadema looked especially marvelous with a beam of light helped accentuate the Brazilian Cardinal wood making the rich grain of the grand piano seem so much like a preadolescent boy’s facial-pores oozing puss on to his acne ridden face. Then my eyes gazed upon the crown jewel of the household, or to put it more succinctly, jewels.

Arissa was born to Kelly Labrock and the always stunning (and grossly underrated) Steven Seagal. After a brief flirtation with College in New Hampshire, she traveled extensively through Europe with a Tiffany Goldenbleu storage bag and her fathers Platinum VIP Discover Card. We met in the Chocolata Coffee Shop in Amsterdam, struck up a conversation it was only four joints and a half O of mushrooms later, we where headed to my place. Anchorage Alaska.

Milou arrived only six weeks ago. On holiday from Norway she had only expected to visit Alaska for no more that two weeks. On her final day of rich Alaskan soil we had graced each others acquaintances at Humpy’s, an all to “Jonny F***in America” for my taste, but if played the right, the trim there was par-to-none. I won her attention when I started a fight with the bouncer. With some strong words, two shoves and one hell of a sweeping uppercut I was being escorted out of the building tripping over the unconscious “Host” with the broken jaw. As first suspected Milou enjoyed the “Ruff” boys, I grasped here Lat muscles thrusting her body to my abdomen, where as Humphrey had done to Ingrid Bergman, I laid a kiss so hard, so passionate that it rivaled the ecstasy of stars, the majesty moonlight and the holy glory of our universe. As the obvious states, she has yet to return home.

Finally, my precious Jade, five years she toiled in the Gentlemen’s clubs of New Orleans. Thrusting and grinding her way to an MD at Louisiana State. To be honest I don’t know if any of that was true but what I knew, and know is I love her. With atramentous skin tone she seemed a frozen silhouette draping the love seat from the Bonaparte collection. (As tacky as it may seem it reminded me of a boring Ipod commercial.)

The girls in turn each greeted me with smiles soft good-mornings and a right palm in my Brooks Brothers Slim Fit Golden Fleece Boxer. With my day to a euphoric start, I stood arms dangling behind my back and I smiled while thinking to myself, “This is where I am. This is what is what I’ve become.”