Clammy hands?

When I was 17, that was 1982, and I was incarcerated in a detox/psych ward/inpatient rehab kind of place, a very surreal situation, I met a girl with clammy hands. When she touched my hand the first time and I felt the strange sensation of her clammy hand in mine, the first thought that went thru my mind was "oogy." (Pronounced like loogy, not like boogy.) When I think back on it, I can't remember exactly where oogy came from. I think it was a childhood word I made up to describe something icky or slimy, like a handful of nightcrawlers.

So here I was, in this very weird place, filled with very weird people, with the only common theme being drugs and alcohol, and the only thing I could focus on was this cute brunette with oogy hands, and how I wanted to find out how the rest of her skin felt. (Especially the skin beneath her bra and panties.) Whether or not that ever came to fruition, and where and when, and certain intimate details such as her name, etc. shall remain private and personal, out of respect. I don't know what ever became of her, or if she might have a family of her own, and I don't think she would want to air her laundry online, so I'll keep it vague and incomplete.

I recently tried searching her name on facebook, and found that there are a lot of women with the same name, and maybe I don't really want to find her, maybe I was just fondly reminiscing, and maybe I should just leave the memory be. Besides, if her life turned out well, I don't want to be a blast from the past careening and banging into her world, disrupting the calm. And, if her life did not turn out so well, and she ended up like so many of my friends did over the years, then maybe I'm better off not knowing about it. After all, why taint a precious memory with reality, right? Right. ...Moving right along.

I don't know what this blog post is really about. That makes it more interesting, and more funner.  I've always been attracted to petite brunettes with long straight hair. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's genetic. I don't know. I've had a lot of interesting experiences with all kinds of women, but my mind always goes back to the ideal petite brunette. And if she's neurotic, psychotic, or crazy as batshit, she's all the more appealing to me. Especially if she is in a situation from which I can swoop in and rescue her in some way. That kind of seals the deal for me. I've gotten myself into some sticky situations like this, several times. I'd like to believe that I always learn from my mistakes, (usually the hard way!) and won't repeat them, but yet all that goes right out the window when it comes to a petite brunette in some kind of trouble. There could be bells and whistles, red flags, sirens, flashing signs that read "Warning, trouble, run away!" and I will tend to ignore them all and go right into the "Don't worry, babe, I'm here to rescue you." mode. Again and again and again. Kind of surprising that it hasn't gotten me killed yet. That's all good, it might be a good day to die today, but I'm in no hurry to meet death just yet, if I can help it. No point really in trying to figure out the why, I suppose. The next time a petite brunette in distress pops into my life, I'll be there. Interesting note: even if she dyes her hair another color, somehow my 'Spidey-sense' seems to know and I'm there.

They don't call me Crazy for nuthin!