Saturday, March 14, 2015


*Written in early 2011

Alright, alright.

The kryptonite capable of melting me is and has always been the babe known as the Punk Rock Chick (PRC).

There’s something about a woman who is comfortable enough with herself to alter her own appearance to suit her whim. VERY few can get away with it. Okay, hardly any. They either look ridiculous (they wear doily-laced gloves, cut at the knuckles, knee-high socks, and have awful-looking tattoos) or incredibly slutty and burnt out (the whole tweaker vibe KILLS any attraction). But when the PRC does it well, tasteful, she could probably get me to consider invading Canada. Hahahahaha. I am an absolute sucker for the PRC.

I did a favor for Wendy, a certifiable femme fatale, a PRC of badass proportions.

At the time I didn’t think of it. I could help, so I did. Smoking hot babes don’t phase me much. I make a deliberate effort to not give them attention. They often get too much attention, and I find my ignoring them, for the most part, makes them a little more tolerable (the smoking hot babe tends to also come with an attitude due to getting whatever she wants). 

At least that’s how I see it. 

And while Wendy IS smoking hot, she does not have the hot chick ‘tude. She always is the first to greet me, never giving me a chance to initiate, and always waits for an answer if she asks, How are you? I can tell she is the kind who is DOWN, a good, good person. She’d take a bullet for you, … if she cared about your well-being. There’s something radiating inside her that screams solid woman. Such women are almost extinct these days.  

Wendy is a white gal, pale skin tone. She’s got blonde hair with a dark, blood red streak, and GORGEOUS cobalt blue eyes. From time to time she’ll ever so slightly add eye liner as if she was part of an ancient Egyptian burial ceremony -- little lines at the end of her eyes, and they make her appear almost Asian. She sports a small nose ring, a hoop. She often wears pleated skirts with a Ramones t-shirt top, ripped in all the right places. Tonight, she wore a Nirvana shirt – the one with the Dante circle of hell drawing. Black, low top Chuck Taylor All Stars. 

Need I write more? Holy fuck.

From what I can tell, there isn’t a man in her life. I’ve yet to see one lurking about, though it is impossible to not imagine her getting hit on in every circumstance throughout her day. I did overhear her talking to a friend about how no guy is worth her time, and how she has so much to do anyway that searching for a dude is totally impractical. I looooooooooooooooooooooooove a confident, driven woman. She is, especially when combined with a PRC, like crack-fucking-cocaine to me. Being so allows her the freedom to let her yes be a YES, and her no be a NO. The stereotypical flightiness of most women (sorry, but it’s true) doesn’t just trouble me, I loathe it. I hate it. I detest it. Give me a woman who is scrupulously HONEST at all times. No games. No hidden agenda. Wendy is not the kind of chick who would spam text you Good morning, for example, in order to see which guy would respond. She would text YOU, personally, and she’d really want engagement. She would never collect a stable of Sanchos, keeping each one in the dark about the other. Those type of women I toss aside like the trash they are, and I’ve told more than one in my time to get to steppin’ … cuz I ain’t havin’ it. But most guys have such low self-esteem, they’ll take anything they can get (the old “hole and a heartbeat” calculation).  

Anyway, the favor involved minimal effort on my part, but she was appreciative because of my thoughtfulness, my noticing (it is the bane of my existence, to be honest, that I notice EVERYTHING … it’s a disease). I saw something needed to be done, that’s all. I did it. No big deal.

As I was leaving, she ran after me. Damn she looks great running. She was beaming. It has been a while since a woman has looked at me that way. Nice. She hugged me, and I turned to avoid weird body parts colliding. And then … then … then … she did something that lifted me off the ground for the rest of the night.

She kissed my cheek.


She paused, kissing me thank you, and I could feel her nose ring nestling against my face as she moved way too slowly back to reasonable facial distance. A faint breeze from her breathing brushed against me. Fucking coolest thing that’s happened in a long time. She smelled wonderful, and I could tell she pays a lot of attention to her personal appearance (NOTE: that is NOT shallow; no; in fact, a woman who takes pride in the way she looks, who gives it careful consideration, is optimal; she no doubt takes other aspects of her life seriously; and that’s the pattern I’ve found over and over again; show me a slovenly, fat chick and I can predict the rest of her lifestyle almost to a scary exactness; there isn’t a 1-to-1 connection here, but it’s pretty close). Not too much perfume, and so you had to be close enough to take her personal waft in. I counted it a check in my favor how I was someone she allowed to breathe her aroma. As I type, I can STILL conjure the scent and invoke the image. Gulp.

I looked down at her Chucks for a solid thirty seconds.

She was like, You okay? I just kept looking at her feet, smiling to myself. Seriously, I am retarded.

Yeah, I am a sucker.

And I mean it.

Craig Edward Kelso is the author of Anarcho-Capitalism (2014), a primer on the philosophy of peaceful, stateless cooperation. His curriculum vitae include a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science from San Diego State University, and a Post-Baccalaureate secondary education credential in both Social Science and English Language Arts. Kelso taught for nearly a decade in the American public school system, and was voted by colleagues Teacher of the Year, twice in his short tenure, earning numerous accolades from chambers of commerce, mayors, state assembly persons, governors, congresspersons, senators, and even Wal-Mart. Currently he struggles to earn an opportunity to be employed, working as a laborer, dishwasher. He is deliriously happily married to Myra Kelso, living in Southern California with their adorable children.

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