The freaks come out at night

STU WARNING: This entry, has little to do with Team Tinsley, and some might find it offensive. If you want a good Team Tinsley Team Tinsley story, go here. if not, well, read on...

You remember that song by Whodini, Freaks come out at night. I used to think they were singing the Flintstones come out at night. Then one day, someone said, Stu, you dumbass, the freaks come out at night. Oh, I said, I was never that well versed in the electric boogaloo.

However, I was and am still good a spotting a freak as easily as I could spot Fred Flintstone, and I spotted one rolling up to our Casa a few Saturday's in the rearview. I was across the street in my neighbors yard, giving him our house key. We were preparing to leave for a week, as we were having our hardwood floors redone. The freak I spotted, as I asked Eric to pick up our mail, and watch the casa, was the lady who worked for the floor company that was doing the job. She had come by last minute to finalize the price.

I knew this lady, let's call her Floory (you'll see why she needs an alias in a bit,) only from My Lovely Bride. She had done all the dealings with Floory on our floors, most recently the tile in our kitchen and den. I don't think my Bride had even met her face to face. So, watching her from across the street she didn't know who I was, yet, I knew who she was, and my freakar was going off, full tilt boogie. If that wasn't enough, Eric even asked, who is that, in a tone of voice that suggested he too, thought she looked a bit freakish. He didn't want to say to much though, as Floory could be a friend of the family. I doubt he thought she was family though, unless of course our family had a colorful history, with a strong emphasis on color. You see, Floory was an african american. For those that haven't seen our pics on the right side of this here BLOG, and even though we did send out a Happy Kwanza card last year, and fight the power every chance we get, Team Tinsley is white. Honky. Caucasian. Feel free to call it what you want in this PC world of ours. The point, I wasn't the only one picking up the freakar on Floory.

Fast forward, a few hours later, as I was preparing to move things out of our house (having your hardwood floors redone while you reside in the home is a tremendous beating,) I found a digital camera in MLB's closet. Strange. It wasn't our camera, and I had a pretty good idea that it wasn't one my wife had purchased on the down-low, so, playing an Okie version of Sherlock Holmes, sans the pipe, I deduced it must be Floory's. I walked into the Little Warrior's room where MLB was moving things out for the floor job and she confirmed, that Floory had in fact, had a camera with her. She promptly got on the horn and called Floory to let her know where she had left it. A few minutes later (Floory is worse than me, she never answers her phone, you have to leave a message and she then will call you back later) Floory told MLB to simply leave the camera on our bar/counter and that her crew would pick it up on Monday.

W.W.J.D.? Not sure, they didn't have digital cameras back in the day, but what I did, after a few beers, was to grab the camera off the bar and see what Floory had on her memory card. Boring stuff. She had about 10 successive pics of floors. Hardwood. Before, after, that sort of thing. At about the 11th picture, I got some cute kid pics. In front of a house, next to a truck. Then I'd get another pic of a floor. Kids. Floor. Co-worker (or so it appeared.) Floor. Kids. Floor. Kids. Kids. Kids. Floor. Kids. Floor. So on, etc. I was about to put the camera down, and head to the beer fridge (in our garage)and quit my invasion of Floory's privacy when I finally (about 20 pics in) hit the shit. In front of me, on the small preview screen was Floory, wearing some nighty type outfit. Very tasteful. No nudity. Posing seductively. I promptly forgot about the beer, and with anticipation scrolled to the next shot. Guess what. It was a floor. Hardwood. Before shot. I quickly scrolled to the next shot. Kids. Followed by Floor. Kids. Floor. Floor. Kids. Then, again, my efforts where rewarded with another seductive Floory pose, her on all fours on a bed, looking seductively over her left shoulder at the camera/photographer. Ruff. Next shot. Floor. Kids. Floor. Floor. Floory's in a new nighty, with her left breast hanging out of her bra, looking seductive again. I guess Floory fashions herself a Playmate? I guess I'll use that as my segue into describing more of Floory. Aside from her being a black woman, you don't know much about her appearance. Let's just say this, if Floory did fashion herself a Playmate and wanted the centerfold, Hugh would have to redesign Playboy to be the size of say, your city newsapaper. To the point. Floory wasn't fat, but she wasn't thin either. My Mom would say Big Boned. I'd say (MLB hates when I say this) she was thick.

Wonder what my Lovely Bride would say? Well about this time, my laughter at the pics he got her attention, and she quit packing up The Little Warriors room and came into the kitchen/den area to see what I was doing. As soon as she rounded the corner into the kitchen from the hall and saw the camera, she knew. Shaking her head, she asked, "what are you doing", to which I promptly held up the camera's small preview window and showed her Floory flat on her back effecting a Playboy-esque pose, Floory could have well been Medusa, as MLB was frozen, aghast by what she saw, but unable to turn away. I kept on scrolling offering up the strangest juxtaposition of images. Floor. Floor. Truck. Kids. Kids. Floor. Floory Playboy-esque pose. Floory Playboy-esque pose. Floory's friend (it appears, at least based on her photography, that Floory had a proclivity toward the type of women who worshiped Sappho of the Island of Lesbos, if you dig that mythology reference) in a Playboy-esque pose, Floor. Floor. Kids. Floor. Kids. Floory in a Hustler-esque pose. Floory in a Playboy-esque pose. Floors. Kids. Floory in a Swank-esque, I don't really want to see you do that with your underwear type pose. Followed by the exact same pose but with a different color of underwear - wadrobe change. Followed by what else, Floor. Floor. Kids. Floor. Kids. Floor. On and on and on.

After 150+ pics, I grew bored and decided to turn off the camera. MLB was still fretting over my invasion of Floory's privacy, but I wasn't really listening to her complaints. I was wondering if I had the ability to download Floory's pics. Her camera was a different brand than mine. I was also wondering how big her memory card was because she had a lot of pics on her camera.

As you can see, I didn't download the pics, otherwise you would see Floory on the right side of this page doing her let me make me underwear disappear trick. Alas, I was busy trying to vacate the house so they could start the floor job, so I forget the camera and the pics, drank more beer, and packed up all of our stuff in our POD thing, and then we headed to Houston Town. That's when the story got interesting, for me at least. MLB who was aghast at my invasion of Floory's privacy, promptly told the story to Jerr and Joyce (my parents.) Horrified when it was going down, Floory has now become one of Cart's favorite go to stories, the one she'll trot out at parties, or when a good friend asks about our floors. She's even prompted me to tell it at one point.

Me. Well, I really haven't told the story to anyone, except the time Carter asked me too, and well, now. It was fun at the time, but, funny shit happens to me a lot, so it's not necessarily top of my pops, like say this story.

For those that wonder if have any regrets? For invading poor Floory's digital camera, and privacy. Yes. I do. You see, upon our return from Houston Town, our house was much dirtier than we were told it would be from the job. They came up short on cleaning up as promised. This caused us a tremendous amout of extra work. The floors did look good. We were pleased with them. Well, not the entire Team. Ethan had a hard time with them actually. But, it was more, the change, and not letting go sort of hard time. He actually fell on floors when he saw them for the first time (we changed the color of the finish dramatically) crying, "I want my yellow floors!" The rest of the weekend, he'd say, "I want to go home," which in Ethanese meant, he wanted his old floors back. Regret. My regret is this. I should have downloaded the pics and emailed one to Floory as I commented on her lack of follow through on clean up while asking for a significant discount on the job.

Until I BLOG again...Floor. Kids. Floor. Floor. Kids. Floory on all fours on her bed. Kids. Floory doing the undies trick. MYFloor! Kids. etc. I hope!