Tuesday, February 16, 2010

An answer to danD too long to answer in comment…

posted by Bill Arnett @ 2:58 PM Permalink

This started as a response to DanD, but got a little out of control, as I often do when I'm with the love of my life, my heart, and the one to whom my heart eternally belongs:

I can quite legally smoke pot in California, but the opiates (and morphine is what, like one or two chemical processes from heroin, isn't it?) have wiped out any good, good, good, good vibrations I formerly enjoyed from it. I've done many heavy drugs in my day, but have always walked away after a little fun. The pain and level of insanity of the world in which I now live is more like Pink's in Pink Floyd's The Wall (in which it was proven positively that flowers phuck). I seem to always be hanging out there on a ragged edge, and now they have discovered a UFO in my left lung. THAT really cheered me up. But, retrospectively, had I the chance to do it again I would do everything exactly the same way for fear that any change might have meant I would not met my Warrior Woman, and I would rather drop dead on the spot than run that risk."In my life, I've loved you more…"(h/t the Beatles) and I can honsestly say when I am incinerated and my spirit released to the cosmos that I have known love, true, heart-palpitating, breathtaking, beautiful and complete love that makes even this hell in which I live a state of joy at just a glimpse from or at her, the brushing of our hands that stills sends almost overpowering electrical shock through my soul, and the tear that comes to my eye that I know I must one day leave her. But the tear from the other eye is of joy and celebration, for I will, somewhere in the cosmos, somewhere in time, beyond the bounds of reality and understanding, even possibility, somehow I will again find my love, for our love is eternal and can never die, and eternally shall our spirits intertwine.

Did I ever tell everyone here that in less than within two minutes of meeting Mila I grabbed her, hugged her, and told her she would be mine, forever. She looked up at my eyes, could see I was serious, hugged me tightly back and said, "O.K." It took me four months of scouring Angeles City before I saw her at the opening of a new bar but, alas! She was accompanied by a date. She asked him to get her a beer and the instant he was gone she shouted out for my phone number, I shouted back 25223 (the real number when I ran Animal Control 'cause I was apparently the only one of eleven hundred cops with sufficient balls to pursue a cobra to it's inevitable capture) and we parted ways with the certain knowledge that we had found one another's heart and spirit, but a couple of days later a very excited kennel man that worked for me came running out shouting I had to call the number he handed me, and a little annoyed 'caused a nine footer cobra had escaped me in the washout by the stables, I asked "Why? What the fuck is so important?""A girl named Mila ca----" (I was already gone) and minutes later had my life's mate on the phone. I asked her if she liked to swim, she did, so we made a swim date, and then asked if she was doing anything the night before the Saturday, September 14th, 1974, so I might take her to dinner and make sure I could find her house. She coyly assented, we went out that night, Friday the 13th, and were together ever after. Oh, an occasional dude would make a pass, but the instant the found out they messing with MY girl they quickly split, Had something to do with throwing people out windows when they got pushy, Reputions spread quickly there. And when I promoted myself out of animal control and demanded Town Patrol when my commander literally pinned my to the wall saying I was not leaving his squadron, I picked the most impossible section there was to enter, Town Patrol. The NCOIC there said no way, he hand-picked every troop so I picked up his phone (Do you mind?), called Tom Johnson, my commander and asked him if he had a minute to speak to an NCOIC refusing to follow orders and handed Tsgt "Rex" Peacock the phone who began by vehemently protesting but by conversation's end was practically at attention when the good major said he could just as easily relieve him of duty on the spot and put me in his place. It's sad to watch a grown man have to grovel, beg, and plead to keep maybe to third or fourth most important job there was for a cop there. By the time he escorted me over to the other office (where a pool was running on how long it would take for Peacock to blow me out of the job), I was an instant legend, and when I was assigned Rick Amparo, the PHil. Constabulary equivalent of their green beret and, even though my rank dictated I be a flight chief, peacock sent Rick and I into every bar brawl, gunfight, murder, and dangerous assignment possible, Rick and I bonded as true friends who always had each other back, my exploits and world records for requisitions for new uniforms (I'd come home-Mila would scream. wanting to know how badly hurt I was- and eventually got accustomed to the fact it was never MY blood, but a violent perp), and my legend grew, No one, No ONE every was less than polite to Mila. She had quite a legend to, knowing from the primeval snarl and bulging vein on my forehead that someone was gonna get fucked up, and it wasn't gonna be me, she would grab a beer, suddenly pop up between us, lean back and say "You kill him, I'll tell the cops I did it, they'll never arrest me!" The site of 4 foot nine, 90 pounds of pure wildcat always broke me up laughing, nd as the other guy was unceremoniously thrown from the bar and advised as to whom he had just challenged to a fight, every time I ever saw that guy again he was sending cold beers to my table and waving hello. Still my legend grew, to the point that the mere mention that I was on the way with Rick entire bars would empty out.

But my rock, my spirit, my heart, my every desire beyond all desires I have been living the last 35-years with my Warrior Woman, Mila. And, oh yeah, she's really 4 foot eleven and weighs in at a staggering 97 pounds. She is the only reason I have to hold onto this miserable existence, the racing of my heart seeing her, the dulcet tone of a lover's voice in my ear, the gentleness of her touch, and the way our love radiates each other just when we're in the same room, our breathing as one, the innate ability to read each other's mind, the sheer magic that is my beloved.

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At 7:02 PM, Blogger barry colvin said...

Hey Bill

You may remember me, we worked at Tri Agency Patrol together way back when.

Contact me at barry.s.colvin@irs.gov

At 5:05 AM, Blogger Bill Arnett said...

I emailed you with my home email, address, phone, etc.

After I sent it I remembered that Scottie Mundine drove that yellow jeep. Weren't you also a flight chief? or were you on my flight?

I'm beginning to form an image of a pretty big, nice guy, prematurely balding, but I just can't get my mind in gear. Sound like you?

Were you there the night some dumb ass that I had to bounce a hostile drunk off the walls of the holding cell actually spit on Rick Amparo? I dived across that lobby as fast as I could and got to Rick as he stood up and was gonna cut that dude in half with his M-16. I begged Rick not to shoot him and he finally said, "Only because you ask me not to, Sarge, but if I see him again downtown…"

Pleas do email me back here at home. I know if I wrestle with all the drugs I have to take long enough I'll remember you.

Thanks for contacting me, man. It is a small world after all. That's funny, but cool, that you wound up at Irs and I bounty hunted for fifteen years. I just couldn't stand the thought of working in a gov't organization and I liked putting people in jail. (You can take a man out of Town Patrol but ya just can't take the Town Patrol outa the man!)


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