Sarah Jessica Parker hooks up with a twenty-something over at his place and spends the night. She wakes up blissful in the fulmination of twentysomething love, only to have her high hopes dashed when she comes to the realization that she's woken up in a twenty-somethings apartment. And the apartment is hideous. Shit laying everywhere.

This comes close to describing my new digs. Its not necessarily that dirty. But it is not Clean.

This will change.

On a lighter note, Woody got laid on Sat. night. With a girl.

He was remarkably chipper and has been mostly absent for the days since. It was corroberated that he did hook up. Good for him. Hopefully this will spring him from whatever depression in which he's been languishing and refusing of which to come out.

However, I am somewhat skeptical. One, I have the feeling that he sold her some sort of personality that is not really him. He goes for a macho-I'm-in-control-know-it-all-resposible-yet-happy-go-lucky type of personality, which is difficult to pull off when you weigh 130lbs, have difficulty with hygiene on occaison, been severly depressed for the last decade, and have serious issues with responsibility.

I can see him cloistered around this girl until she finally freaks, and goes after him with a claw hammer. Probably by next weekend if he tries to skate on all the drink tabs.

He actually tried to get out of paying utility bills last month by saying he doesn't use electricity. wtf?

But this is petty. All that matters to me is that he gives me some space while he sorts his shit out.

And I have images and feelings yet to sift through. There's still Santorini to discuss, on this cold, cold day. And at some point, I want to discuss the kids I left behind at the residential treatment center at which I was a groupleader. This will be valuable pertintent stuff to me, because I think I have a lot of emotion I have yet to address from that period.

Right out of college, I graduated with a double major. Psychology/Pre-Law.(Now I work with computers...go figure.) I wanted to give back for all the fine blessings that I had grown up with, so i went to work at a resedential treatment center for at-risk kids who'd been adjudicated by the juvenile courts. It was one of those things in life that I had no idea how it would all turn out.

I also did family work for the Agency, which involved going into these seedy-assed communities and attempting to perform assessments and therapy for the parents of the incarcerated youth.

I'm not exactly up for talking about it right now, but I will some other time. I learned a lot about myself, people and the way the world works.

But let the idyll continue.

If I left my soul in Venice, then my heart belongs to Santorini.

Ahh, Santorini, island of the greek Cyclades in the deep blue azure of the Adriatic.

The only way in is to climb a three hundred foot cliff. White stucco buildings cover the cliff tops like snow. There is a cable car, steps, or you can ride the donkeys up and down the steps.

I took the cable car up.

There are very few more laid back places on the Earth. No one is in anything approaching a hurry. The bus is often fifteen minutes to a half an hour late, and no one even says anything. Imagine that in New York, Chicago, or Denver.

I sauntered through town, which lays at the top of a caldera of a long ago sunk volcano, being warmed to the extreme by the intense heat of the sun, and not really caring. Shopkeepers came out, yowling and jeering to entice me in for a drink and some food.

Eventually I gave up on the taxi service, 'cause there were too many with me, and rode the bus.

The bus was, of course, late.

We took off and meandered to the black beach through the island. No problem. The island is small. Impossible to get lost.

Plenty of white stucco buildings around, and some parched fields of grapes.

And while standing on the bus, packed in like sardines where I almost cuddled with the people around me, the ticket checker started to go down the aisle, collecting fares.

How he managed it I don't know. He was like the Amazing Creskin. One minute in one spot, then, presto switched with someone else.

He makes it through and takes my money, then makes his way back to the front of the bus.

I stop, and for a moment dislodge myself mentally, surveying the scene, when my animalistic nature rears its head.

"There's a lot of cute girls on this bus. I want to see her naked." I think wistfully.

I've been hearing some chatter for awhile now, in greek, and I turn to see some greek girls sitting around, being girls, and giving me some curious looks. So I turn and catch one of the girls eyes, and I wink and smile with a frindly/perhaps provacative smile. And all the girls immediately turn on the one at which I smiled.

"Awwwwwwww! Awwwwwwwwww!" they chorused with girlish charm.

They spoke in greek, but the intonation was something along the lines of 'look out for the American'.

We have quite a rep for a nation started by puritans.

So although I'm not embarrassed, I have no command of the greek language whatsoever. No follow-up.

We get out of the bus and head to the beach, which is black volcanic pebbles worn smooth by the sea. There is a stark white cliff that breaks down to the blue, blue, blue of the Adriatic. And everywhere there are barca lounges with umbrellas staked over them.

I march down the beach, looking for a spot, when I'm approached by a swarthy looking medetiterannean soul.

"Lounger for you sir?"

Well...why not?

"Umbrealla for you sir?"

Of course.

I thrust a bunch of dracma at the attendant and he went away. I settle in with my companions, and feel serious relaxation. Someone passes me a bowl, and I puff heavily, until all I can do is lay there and whimper, a puddle of pure sonorus ease. The crash of the waves. The heat of the sun. The breeze off of the water. Oh.

Hey, I recognize those girls, they were on the bus...and they're topless.

All the women...topless. Some bottomless, too.

My God. I've died and gone to heaven. Everywhere I look, gorgeous beautiful breasts, of all shapes, nationalities and sizes. Every girl that was on the bus, plus many, many more.

Talk about all my juvenile fantasies fulfilled.

And I started flirting, almost instinctively with these Nordic beauties a few rows ahead. Gorgeous, tall, blonde haired hotties from Sweden, I believe. (It was their time for spring break.)

Passing glances. We make eye contact. Smiles and giggles. I wink and blow her a kiss. Subtle. Friendly. She in turn sits up, arches her back, and displays her tasty c-cup sized breasts.

I stayed back in my chair, trying to look inconspicuous.

She's staring.

I am wearing something like stretchy-tight briefs for a swimsuit, and haven't gotten laid in forever.

I stay in my seat, and she starts to scope my bod. She licks her lips and leans forward leaning on her friends chair(who left for a swim) to see...and the chair promptly folds up and smacks her on the head. Hard.

I tried not to laugh, but failed. Human comedy fucking kills me. She left shortly after that.

So I smoked some more pot as the day wore on, went swimming in the Adriatic, and lay above those smooth black stones,hot to the touch, and listened to the waves roll in, gazed at the water and the stark powder white cliffs, and achieved the ultimate in relaxation, sans fellatio.