Various Items Of No Interest
07.28.05 (4:00 pm) [edit]1.) I can pay the rent this month. Now all I have to worry about is paying...uh...everything else. I'll write the check tomorrow, have about 20 bucks left, and hope to fuck Saturday's gig doesn't get cancelled.
2.) Great way to save money - drink nothing but water. After a few days, it makes you want booze even more! Try it, kids!
3.) I miss Katie.
4.) I've had four songs stuck in my head, circling around each other all day. Two by Warren Zevon - Lawyers Guns & Money, and Excitable Boy. One by Crabby Appleton - Go Back. And finally, the Monkees' I'm a Believer. The latter has been in my head in a fun way. I hear the original song with my bass playing on it. Been playing it with one of the bands, and slowly working out a semi-set line of my own. I play, well, a couple more notes than on the original. Just a couple.
Oooh! Savage triplets! Doo-ba-dee doo-ba-dee doo-ba-dee!
5.) The 6CD audio version of George Carlin's When Will Jesus Bring The Pork Chops? has pretty much taken over my life.
6.) I'm still not getting laid.
7.) Ghargey phripton floog!
8.) Sorry, lost my mind for a moment there.
9.) Hate is a hard thing to carry for a long time. You've gotta put it down. Your back will hurt less, and eventually, so will the rest of you.
10.) Temp agencies must die. But I'm trying to put hate down for a while, so I won't talk about how SORE MY ASSHOLE IS working (or not working, as the case may be, since I never know from day to day if I AM) for these cocksmoking sacks of moneyfuck shitbag fuckstick cuntface....uh....oh yeah, stopping hate. Now! There! I did it! Next!
11.) I wish I was in the desert.
Love,
Dougie
Kill A Cat Today!
07.26.05 (3:32 pm) [edit]I had Katie for two days this past weekend. We're trying to do this once a month now. One day on the weekends when I'm gigging, two days hopefully once a month.
The weekends have been the only time I haven't felt like utter shit since coming here. Either playing with one of the bands or being with my daughter. Those are the only things that keep me going. Maybe I get an hour or so of something else every couple days. A good book, an album I can actually latch onto for a while. Not often, though. Dealing with a shitty employer who switches jobs on me every couple days and hasn't had me working a five day week yet in two months - thereby leaving me on the very edge of being able to not go further in debt than I already am - plus the general strain of being newly divorced and wondering why the hell I moved 2 hours from my little girl...being with her is really the only thing that CAN make me happy right now.
I picked her up Saturday morning and brought her back here to Indy. We had lunch and watched a bit of a DVD. Then we took off for Marion. Katie was so much fun the whole way. Sometimes she'd ask if we were there yet or how much longer it would be, but then she'd go right back into singing to herself or just being silly. We laughed a lot.
We got to my parents' house and spent an hour there. I got laundry going and did a bit on the computer while Mom and my sister Jo played with Katie. We got to see the cats. Their white cat (the one that spent so much time in the shower stall becuase my mother is a lunatic) had two kittens a few weeks ago, and one of them lived. Katie had seen the kitten the last time we were there. Cute little orange guy, and he's just learning to walk. I love cats. I really do. but keep reading.
We then took off for my grandma's house. Katie LOVES going to her great-grandmother's house, and frankly, it's a better place for her to be than my mother's. Mom hasn't quite figured out how to child-proof a house. Grandma not only has it down, she has a separate room for all her grandkids to play in with plenty of toys, and there's just a great vibe there for all the kids who come to visit. As nuts as my grandma is sometimes (and she is) there's never been any doubt about who wanted to give us kids the most space to play in when I was growing up. I think she's doing that very well still.
Katie's cousin Arthur came over to play. He's a month or so older than her. My aunt is ten years older than me (from Grandma's second marriage. My aunt's father was killed in a car/train collision two months before she was born) so my two cousins from her are much younger than me. More fun for Katie! Arthur and her get along GREAT, and the last time we were there, Katie had the saddest little face when it was time to leave. She would have stayed there two more days if she could have.
My uncle came over. My aunt (his third wife - seeng a pattern here?) brought along her granddaughter. More fun for Katie and Arthur!
Eventually, everyone had to go. Katie did better with it this time. We were going back to Mom and Dad's for pizza, we'd play a couple hours, then come back to Indy. We'd spend Sunday just hanging out here, nothing too big. Just Daddy/Katie time.
Didn't QUITE happen that way.
After dinner, just before I was getting ready for us to leave, Katie ran across the kitchen. She slipped on a rug that she's slipped on before. Long rug on a slippery wood floor. Sheryl has fallen on this too. Mom heard about it later. And heard about it again. Once more. She won't have to hear it again, because we aren't going back there until she replaces the fucking rug.
Katie came down hard. That alone scared the fuck out of me, but the next thing I knew, there was a flash of white fur across the room and Katie started screaming.
I've never seen a cat do this. The only explanation I can give why a normally pleasant and playful cat would attack my daughter is that it thought SHE was doing something to hurt its baby.
Unfortunately: 1.) The kitten was nowhere NEAR Katie at the time, and 2.) You're hurting MY baby now, motherfucker. Your furry ass is MINE.
Dad was maybe two seconds behind me. I took care of the cat (ever see a cat fly twenty feet into a table?) and Dad took care of Katie. There's a little more to the Dad/me story at this point, but I'll save it for later.
We cleaned Katie off with a wet towel as best as we could and took her to the hospital. Mom went with us and sat in the back with Katie to comfort her. Mom is pretty much incapable of comforting me about anything anymore, as much as she tries, but she was wonderful to have there for Katie. I don't think it would have gone as smooth as it did without her.
A lot of shit was going through my mind as I drove her off. Why did that cat go batshit like that? Is Katie going to be infected with something? How am I going to explain this to Sheryl? Why the FUCK did I move so far way and how can I help her at the times I'm not there when shit like this happens? Is she going to be scared of cats now? Of all the things that can happen to an active, constantly playful four-year old, why THIS shit?
I called Sheryl on the way to the hospital. She was in West Virginia visiting family and friends. I had to call back later from the hospital, because, of course, I was in MARION, and the reception on the cell phone was shit.
We waited just a bit longer than I thought was reasonable, which is to say it was still better than any other time I've been in the emergency room at Marion General, which is pretty much known for being an understaffed backwoods sinkhole. Once several years ago, my Dad woke us up at 4AM. He could barely breathe. We told him we'd take him to the hospital. He made it clear that we were driving him an hour to Bluffton - inspite of how he could barely WALK - because he'd use what little air he had left to strangle us if we took him to Marion General Hospital. I was born there, by the way.
After twenty minutes, I had to explain to the guy at the desk in my most courteous and friendly voice (ho ho) that I had a child with cuts all over her head, face, and arms crying in the waiting room and would you please HURRY UP. Believe it or not, it worked. We were back there in less than five minutes.
Katie was so strong. The nurse cleaned her up, and sometimes it stung, but Katie knows that doctors are there to help. We've had that talk before. She did very well, even though she obviously wanted to be anywhere else. They gave her a little orange thing to wear, and turned on the TV for her.
The TV was the true beginning of the healing process. Ahhh, my little addicted child...
There was talk of doing an x-ray on her elbow. She didn't want to bend it back straight, and we weren't sure if it was because there were so many cuts there, or if she'd hurt it when she fell. By the way, two weeks ago she'd hurt the same elbow at her other grandparent's house. The doctor checked her over and said it was fine, obviously not broken. Whew. The next morning she straightened it out for me and was obviously fine, though the several cuts there are particularly noticeable.
Cuts on both side of her face. A small cut on her neck. Right above one ear. Several on the top of her head. One cut on her face starts right next to an eye. I sat there on the floor next to her bed and looked up at all this, and felt sadness. Just sadness. Anger was gone. I'd already dealt with the cat. I'd chased the rat bastard into the garage before we left. Yanked the fuck out of her tail, and hit her in the face with the first thing I picked up - one of those tubes of caulking material Dad had on the floor. It's a good thing for the cat that she was faster than me, because she'd be little chunks in a pot of cat stew right now otherwise.
She'd got me too - two cuts on my right hand and a single puncture on my index finger. When I came back out into the waiting room, a woman saw my hand and said "Oh God! What happened to you?" I was a bit baffled by the reaction. "Go look at my daughter. I got off light."
Looking up at my daughter sitting on the edge of a hospital bed watching cartoons, I was shocked by the look on her face. She was calm. She was at least for this moment at peace. And she looked OLDER. She wasn't 4 anymore. She was 12. Or 20. Or 58.
For some reason, I thought about my 96-year old grandmother, who was only three months old when she lost her mother in a house fire. I haven't seen pictures, but aparantly my great-grandfather had serious burns all over him from going back in the house to save his children and try to save his wife.
Wow. As horrible and as trying an experience as this was, we were lucky. The cuts were all shallow, she's on an antibiotic to fight any alien germs, and she even laughed a little at the TV sitting there on the bed. And no one had to die. Except that fucking cat if I ever see it again.
She hadn't napped all day, and fell asleep in her room. We had to wake her up to take medicine, then wait 20 minutes for MORE medicine while she sat there nodding off. Finally we left. She fell asleep quickly. We went back to the house, got our stuff while Katie slept in the car, and I drove her back here. She woke up just long enough to be put into bed, and she ended up sleeping ten and a half hours.
Me, I took two sleeping pills and slept maybe 3 hours in little bits and pieces.
I think she's stronger than me already. I did my damndest to hold it together and be strong for her, and I pulled it off, but I sure didn't feel it. I mostly felt helpless. My little girl. The only person in the world who truly makes me happy. Injured and scared in a hospital room.
Yet it wasn't long after the nurse had cleaned her up that Katie said, "You know, Daddy. Hospitals are kinda cool." When we left I asked her if she'd learned anything and she said "Doctors are friends to children everywhere, because they help us feel better." Well, how about that. I think she got through it better than me, and I wasn't the one who got fucked up by a cat. I'm not sure what this says, but it does bug me.
Sunday morning we spent half an hour talking before we got up. She slept in her sleeping bag on the floor next to me. She loves that. I got down next to her and we talked about animals and what it means to trust an animal but still be careful. We talked about how accidents happen to young children but that something like this shouldn't happen to anyone. But it did. We talked about when Daddy was trying to get her out of the house to the hopsital and he and Grandpa were mad at each other. That was the part that was really stupid. At a time when I should have been thinking about NOTHING but Katie, Dad had pulled out his shit again and apparantly thought HE knew how to deal with the situation and *I* didn't. Once again, making me feel lesser than him. Why now? Why NOW?? Can we talk about gay marriage while terrorists are bombing our cities a little too, please? Katie's been hurt. Leave this bullshit alone and let me handle this. I'm her FATHER, you fucking idiot. And yes, I called him that. And no, I feel no guilt about it except that Katie had to hear all this at a time when it should have been about NOTHING but taking care of her. Manipulative, controlling shithead.
So, unfortunately, I had to try to find a way of explaining THAT to Katie the next morning. And explain to her that he really was trying to help. I think she knew that part, but I figured she should know that *I* knew. Shit, he was there right behind me and was the first one to pick her up. I never doubted HIS ability to help her. Don't question MINE.
But enough of that shit.
The rest of Sunday we played here in the apartment and watched TV. My back was killing me for some reason (probably the same reason I shit blood, have migranes, and crave booze 24/7), and it was hotter than hell outside (we did walk to the CVS just down the road to get her antibiotic) so no outdoors playtime, unfortunately. Hopefully we can do that Saturday when I see her again. I've got a gig that night down in Cincy, so we'll hang out for the day before I go off to make noise.
We watched one of her tapes, then I showed her some video of me with a couple bands back before she was born. She pointed at the screen and yelled "That's you!" whenever I came on and seemed bored by the rest. I saw myself on screen and thought, "Wow, I really did steal Neil Young's hulking-about-the-stage-o n-one-leg moves, didn't I?" Seriously, I never knew that until someone pointed it out. Katie thought I looked funny when we were playing Louie Louie and I was doing my one-note guitar solo. I thought I looked retarded. But I'll take her word for it.
Then we watched a bunch of MST3K. Two whole movies, part of a third. I couldn't believe she was that into it. "I like the guy with the two robots, Daddy. They're funny!" She'd laugh her tiny little butt off when Tom Servo would start singing. She'd laugh at jokes she couldn't possibly get. (Guy on screen: "They're a cult." Crow: "They worship blue oysters.") And when I started laughing my balls off at something, Katie would look at me like I was out of my mind, which made me laugh harder. (Best example: Gorgo, an English version of Godzilla. They're at sea and there's a massive storm and water is everywherre and boats are sinking and Crow is telling the other guys that his heart will go on, and then POOF. It immediately cuts to a beautiful calm day with the boat docked. "Oh, they're OK now." Then, to the tune of The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald, Crow sings "Well, they got back to port, and everyone was OK. They went out to lunch and felt betterrrrr!" I didn't even TRY explaining that one to Katie. I was too busy laughing.)
We packed up to go back to Cincy. She slept the whole way. We had dinner at Wendy's (no fingers were found) and went back to Mommy's. They were very happy to see each other.
Before we left here, we had another talk. The last few times I've seen her, it's been a little harder for her to leave each time. She was very sad as we packed her things, and she told me she would miss me very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very much. You know how that can get to you, when a kid is being sad and really funny at the same time? God, it was tearing my guts out. "I wish I was with you two million mornings, Daddy." We both had some tears then. "I wish you could stay at the house with me and Mommy and we could all be happy." I had nothing useful to say to that. It just hurt.
When I pull out of their driveway (it took a while to stop thinking of it as "ours") each week, I spend an hour and forty-five minutes driving and fighting the urge to stuff my head in a vat of bourbon. I succeed. Then I have to do it again all week. All I really want out of my life right now is to make enough money playing and teaching music to pay my bills and finance two trips a week to Cincy to see my daughter. And for those trips to feel like this one did. Even with all the shit that happened, in fact BECAUSE of that shit, I've never felt closer to my little girl than I did this weekend. and it's never hurt so much to say goodbye.
I love you, Katie. I wish I was with you two million mornings.
Daddy
I wish I could get even this lucky right now
07.23.05 (5:09 pm) [edit]http://www.theonion.com/opinion/index.php?issue=4129
Hey Baby, Can You Spare A Dime?
07.22.05 (3:34 pm) [edit]I don't know how other single guys who work shit jobs and are barely able to pay rent on time or eat on more than 6 bucks a day are able to get women. I suppose having a gargantuan meat-whistle helps, but this unfortunately was not granted to me.
After the massively depressing experience trying the local bar scene I wrote about a couple weeks ago, I wonder what would happen if I tried again and cranked up the pseudo-confidence. (I say 'pseudo", because the real thing is pretty much non-existent right now.)
"Hey baby, would you like me to buy you a drink?"
"Sure."
"Yeah, I'm drinking some beer from out of the men's room myself, and...uh...wow, my wallet sure is getting thin. Bartender! Get this babe a water!"
"Water??"
"Sure, gotta get a fine sexy lady like you a drink, and...huh, ice is 15 cents? Shit...well, hold the ice. You don't need ice, do you, beautiful?"
"Uh..."
"So, let's get to the point. Do I get a blowjob out of this?"
"WHAT???"
"Yeah, I mean, I bought you a drink. Granted, there was no ice, so I figure...well, I promise not to come in your mouth. So, whaddya say, sweetheart?"
""I'm outta here. Get lost, you fucking loser!."
"Hey! Don't leave! I didn't even get your name! What's your name, honey? Huh? Fuckoff? Is that Russian?"
Yeah, I think I'll stay home and clean the apartment tonight.
Dougie
PS For those who advised me on going to the doctor over my "posterior issue", I did so today. Total waste of time and money. He told me nothing I didn't already know. Water and over-the-counter medicine? Sure, I'll do that. Some more.
For Katie
07.21.05 (3:35 pm) [edit]A frog danced on my head this morning
He said, "Bark! I feel like ice cream!"
That's silly, frogs don't eat ice cream
Bugs, lots of bugs
The giraffe has a sandwich
Your smile has the cheese
I'd gladly eat five or six bricks
Maybe I'm gone, but you're never wrong
And sharks are nibbling my ears
Each time I hear you say, "I love you dad-eh"
And T-Rex roars for you, my silly love
Flowers are calling
My heart is falling
You sound just like Carl Stalling
And it's good for me
My silly love
Love,
Daddy
One More Time For The World
07.19.05 (5:11 pm) [edit]I didn't want to keep up with this, and I'm considerably more relaxed today, but just so I make myself clear to Mr. Asshole when he talks about my daughter and me.
1.) Where were YOU the night she was born? When I first held her and looked into her eyes? When I followed the nurse EVERYWHERE because I refused to let Katie out of my sight until she was back with her mother? When I drove home shaking with anger because the hospital wouldn't let me stay overnight? (They didn't have room and most fathers don't get to anyway. I knew that. It didn't help.) Where were YOU, shithead?
2.) Where were YOU when I spent the first 18 months of her life at home with her? Watching her grow, holding her constantly? Sitting on the couch watching the same explosions over and over again on the news on 9/11 and wondering how I was ever going to explain that kind of shit to her? Pacing the house with her in my arms because that was the only way she'd sleep? Constanlty trying to show her I loved her? Where the fuck were YOU?
3.) Where were YOU the first day she went to daycare, when I could barely stand up, let alone walk out after giving her to her new teacher, because I was that upset to leave her there? When I went home and cried and immediately got on the webcam to see how she was even though it was only going to be four hours? Where was YOUR sorry ass?
4.) Where were YOU when she learned to talk, to walk? When she got her first teeth, took her first steps? Where were YOU all the times I danced with her, made her laugh, took her to the park, the zoo, and countless other places to try to enrich her life? Where were YOU when I first started showing her letters and numbers and tried to stimulate a brain that was already obviously way ahead? Where were YOU when I held her hand and encouraged her while she first walked up and down stairs? What shit were YOU doing?
5.) Where were YOU at the beginning of March when I suddenly had the overpowering urge to double up on the amount of time I spent with her, which turned out to be only two weeks before her mother asked for a divorce? Where were YOU when I spent possibly the two best weeks I ever had with her, feeling closer than I ever had with her, looking into those incredible eyes and seeing her smile because *I* was doing my damndest to be the best father I could? What were YOU doing?
6.) Where were YOU when I sat in a hotel room in Colorado three nights after I left home, hating myself for being apart from her? Or the next night in Utah? Or the next in Vegas? Or finally in California, the night I couldn't stand it anymore and decided I had to go home and give up on a life I'd wanted to make for myself for years? Feeling like I'd stabbed my only little girl in the back and now had to go back home to somehow start healing? Where were YOU when I stood on the beach in San Diego and said goodbye to the most beautiful place in the world because I had to go back home to the most beautiful little girl? Where the fuck were YOU, cocksucker?
7.) Where were YOU all the times in the past few months when I drove back to see her every week, sometimes twice a week, always putting everything else on hold because I HAD to be with her? Where were you when she told me she loved me even if I didn't live with her anymore? Where were you when she held onto me the times she was sad about something? Where were you when she looked at me with her saddest face and asked me if I was leaving and when I would be coming back? Where the FUCK were you, you ignorant punkass?
8.) And where were you when I finally realized that I'd given up on the better part of dreams I've long had, and decided that I actually did want to live - after two weeks of very nearly not - because I LOVE MY DAUGHTER. WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU???
If ANYONE said the kind of shit about Katie's mother that you did about me, going so far as to insinuate about taking MY place, I'd pound their ass. Think twice before pissing me off again, you fuck. I know ways to make you hurt that you can't begin to imagine. And it will be my pleasure to introduce you to them, swine.
OK, enough of that crap.
Dougie
I Got Better
07.18.05 (9:44 am) [edit]Not easy being a newt, you know...
Anyway, I had a nice weekend. I think having something to really focus you for a while is good, even if it's a comple assbasket. It's one thing to be pissed at someone. It's another to be pissed and know you're right. But when you are pissed, know you're right, and know that YOU WILL PREVAIL, it's kinda neat. A happy bouncy feeling. Look! I'm dancing! I'm dancing!
OK, I'm full of shit too. But I felt better Saturday.
Played a fun outside gig in Anderson, Indiana. I've always thought of downtown Anderson as a shithole (perhaps even more so than Marion, 30 miles away) but they apparantly have put a lot of money into the area in the past few years, and there's now I performance area downtown that is very cool to play in. Nice big stage, and there's tables and benches and a couple fountains for the audience. Nothing amazing, but quite nice for a crap town in Indiana.
We played for three hours, following a local blues-rock band that were far ahead of most of what I hear in that genre. Very cool big woman singer, excellent rhyhtm section, fine guitarist, and a long-lost ZZ Top member on keys, sax and percussion. (The beard, man the beard.) They were solid, fun, had some neat jazz influences, and had a interesting supply of covers to offset the more normal stuff. My favorite was Poor Pitiful Me by Warren Zevon, they did a very fine version of that.
Our set went well, and the rain that had gone on and off all day stayed away until...get this...two minutes before we had everything packed up to leave. Perfect.
I wore down a bit after an hour and a half, but I felt strong at the beginning, and roamed the stage more than I usually do, played more notes than I've felt the confidence to in a long time, and even did a stupid dance with the singer during the drum solo. I ended up on the floor, writhing around like a moron. It was FUN.
Got home at a decent time, got some sleep, and spent yesterday with Katie. We went to Otterville, a big indoor-outdoor playground attached to a toy store in Northern Kentucky. We had a great time (she seemd to enjoy playing at the fire engine, spraying the hell out of the other little girl, who LOVED being drenched) and then took off for the Newport Aquarium, one of our favorite places to go. (Also an easy place for me since I'm nearly broke and we already have a membership.) Katie really loves it there and it's cool to watch her run to different things each time. We never see all of it for long, it's just a matter of which part she wants to see the most that day, usually different each time. She spent a long time watching the crabs and starfish. Didn't touch any of them (I think that weirds her out a bit) but she'd never spent that long watching them.
We had an incident after seeing the otters, who always seem to be asleep. There's a room with several parrots flying about, and you can feed them with these little nectar cups. I have a GREAT picture from previous visit with me and two birds on each arm, Katie in the background wearing pigtails with this hugely fascinated look on her face. She really liks seeing the brids, but she always seems a bit afraid. She'll try to pet one and they'll nip at her, and I keep telling her they don't want to be petted, just fed and allowed to walk on you. (One once landed on my shoulder, walked down my chest and up my arm.)
Well, she petted on. He actually bit ME first, which barely registered. Then he bit her and she went NUTS. I got her out and spent 10 minutes holding her and trying to calm her down. It took a minute to determine that she was't very hurt, mostly just scared. Very scared. It's interesting and very sad to watch how she comes back. Those few minutes are really terrible, then next thing you know she's back, running after the next exhibit yelling "Sharks! Sharkies!" To be honest, it bothers me a bit because it really comes off like one of my own bipolar episodes. I want to watch this closely. But of course, I see her once a week.
We got towards the end and saw the tank of baby sharks. Katie ran up and started naming them. "That's George, and Fred, and Hermione Granger, and Gingerbread Man, and Santa. And this one is Climber, because he likes to climb."
She kills me.
Walking out, I saw a woman with her little boy who looked very familiar. Then she asked me where the manta rays were. A woman. Spoke to me. Wow. I turned into blubbering shit and told her to go back to the shark tank, they were there. Up in the gift shop, I saw her again. "Excuse me, I'd really like to eayt your...uh...would you like to get a jar of vasel...uh...."
OK, I didn't really do that. I asked her if I knew her from somewhere. She said I looked familiar too. We never figured it out. I was too busy visually inspecting her mamallian protruberances to really care. Then she was gone.
Ever get a chemical reaction in your head (and that is DEFINITELY what this was, it could not have been anything else) that tells you to do something despite ALL LOGIC? It was obvious that she wasn't interested. I wanted to purue it anyway. I get things in my head like this all the time, stupid shit telling me "Do that dumb thing!" and it's like pulling vampire teeth to keep myself from doing it.
So I went over and played with stuffed toys with Katie. Didn't make it go away, but it muted it quicker than anything I can think of. Some guys use their kids to pick up chicks. I think I'm gonna need mine around to keep me from becoming a drooling idiot over the first nice rack that comes along.
We ate seafood. I had gumbo and a couple raw oysters (I need more of that in my life.) Katie started writing on her menu. She already writes her first name. But yesterday she wrote her last and I only had to help her with two letter. Then she wrote my name and I swear, half the ten year olds I've seen wouldn't have written it that clearly. (This isn't consistent for her, she can be sloppy too. But the fact that she CAN write that well impresses the fuck out of me.)
We did some shopping at Jungle Jim's (the greatest grocery store on earth) and I took her home. On the way we talked a bit, and I told her something that I've needed to tell her for a few days.
"Katie, nobody loves you more than me and your Mommy. Because we don't live together anymore, some people might try to tell you I don't love you, or don't love you as much. They're wrong. Some people might even question Mommy's love for you. They're wrong too. Nobody loves you like me and Mommy, and we both want very much for you to be happy. We're both very proud of you."
"Thank you, Daddy."
It breaks my heart to have to leave her for a week. But at this time, I feel that we're all where we need to be. Sheryl wrote something very nice on her blog the other day that meant a lot to me. And there is no question in my mind that Katie has a wonderful Mommy. For all the other stuff we've had to feel towards each other in recent months, we both know that the other is devoted to our daughter. And we'll get through the other shit. I know we will. I've said it to her, I'll say it here. I may have sucked at making her happy, but that doesn't mena I don't want her to be. I do want her to be happy. Very much.
Now I'm going to go back to my apartment before heading off to work. I'll think about how much I like where I'm at, and how much I also wish I was still in Cincinnati with Katie. And I'll eventually work out how to make sense of those two things.
Dougie
Dear Asshole
07.16.05 (9:38 am) [edit]What else you do is not my concern, but when you talk about my relationship with my daughter, and suggest what will happen to her when I'm not around, rest assured that I will DESTROY you if you ever get near me.
I don't know if you are a father yourself, but if you are, you should know better than to question a man's love for his child with such limited information at your disposal, you ignorant shitstain. I don't remember ever hating anyone like I do right now, and you will NOT be forgotten.
Dare to judge me from your degenerate court of filth
And you will taste my gavel from behind
And if you should gain the upper hand
Of my epitaph there will be no confusion
I died spitting in your broken face
Protecting my love from your intrustion.
Go fuck yourself, you wretched whore.
Doug
Pure Friggin' Bile
07.15.05 (9:10 am) [edit]I've tried really hard to get rid of this, because I know it's not productive at all, and I know that most of the situation it pertains to is getting better, but it keeps popping its ugly head up again and having its way with me.
I'm feeling it again.
When people who don't know you form an ignorant opinion of you based purely on another person's input, and with no consideration for the SHIT you live with in your head every goddamn day - because they know NOTHING ABOUT IT - ...you can't do a fucking thing about it and probably shouldn't let it get to you.
But it does, and I'm going to have to live with it until I can finally let it slip away.
I really want to be driving through the desert right now. I hate being anywhere near this part of the country. It's done nothing but made me hateful and lose whatever love of life I might have had.
And I can't do a fucking thing about that either. Except try to not let it get to me that way. I'm just not sure how.
This constant up and down bullshit, going from optomism to pure despair, is not going away. The lithium mutes it, but it doesn't change it, because it CAN'T. There is no drug that can, except for ones that I don't want. I'm not interested in being a well-behaved drone. I don't want to lose the only thing that keeps me functioning. Anger. I want to find a way to focus that anger into something more productive, because I think I can knock fucking buildings down if I ever do find that way, but I can't lose it. I just don't want to feel it in this context, or the contexts I usually end up feeling it in.
John Lydon put it one way - Anger is an energy. I want to run engines with this energy, not tear my intestines apart with it.
It's not going to happen today, though. Or tomorrow. Or next week. It's going to be a while. I finally have the space to do it in, I just have to clear this damn fog out of my head first.
Fuck,
Dougie
I Can't Think Of A Good Title For This
07.14.05 (12:00 pm) [edit]Growing up, it was pretty obvious to me that I was allowed very little space to express my thoughts or feelings at any given time. My father's unspoken rule for my mother and me was "You aren't allowed to have emotions. *I* am, and in fact, I will all over you. But YOU are not."
He still is that way, perhaps a bit looser now that he's aged some, but it's still there. If I feel anything - especially anything "negative" - I'm either told that I'm WRONG or that I need to "get over it." His favorite phrase is "calm down", which has the exact OPPOSITE effect on me, because it's HORSESHIT. Hypocritical horseshit at that. He bitches about anything and everything every waking minute, but me? Oh, fuck no. I'm WRONG.
And you know what? Sometimes I am wrong. Absolutely. I've been wrong a lot. A lot more than I'm comfortable having to live with. But I can ADMIT that. Something that emotionally dishonest hypocrites are apparantly incapable of.
When seemingly everything you say is turned against you, when things are read into your simple comments that ARE NOT THERE, and when you are constantly made to feel WRONG by people who will admit to little if any wrongdoing of their own, you get a little pissed off. And you don't "get over it." Maybe after some time. Maybe after a long time. But not right away, and anyone who thinks otherwise can go fuck themselves. I'm sick of apologizing for how I feel. Having a mental condition that makes it difficult for me to process all my emotions apparantly means that none of them are valid. Well shit on that.
I thought moving away from my parents would put an end to this. It didn't. I'd say more, but it *will* be used against me. The situation will not be rectified. It will be denied, then ignored, just as it always has. But it will continue and there isn't a goddamn thing I can do about it. I'm doing my damndest to be nice, let out as little as I can possibly let out of myself, and ignore the crap that does go down, but I know it won't end for a long time and I refuse to be told how to feel about THAT.
The only times I'm truly happy are when I'm with Katie. When I'm playing bass with one of the bands, I'm pretty close to it. The other five days of the week are fucking hideous, and I'm having to spend a lot of time in what passes for my version of meditation (laying on the floor trying to breathe normally, in other words) to be able to deal with the constant barrage of shit that is coming my way right now. Not knowing from day to day if I'm working or not (I'm trying to get away from this temp gig, becuase it SUCKS COCK to have no idea what the fuck is ever going on), not knowing if I'm going to be able to pay the bills, mostly eating products from a dollar store, and trying to talk myself into believing I made the right decision moving two hours away from Katie (I'm mostly sure of that, but not very) has me in desparate need of that kind of exercise.
I had great hopes for a high-paying teaching job nearby, and was told (he TOLD me, goddammit) that I'd know last week what was happening when. Lots of students, excellent money. The possibility of cramming most of those students into three long days, leaving me plenty of time for Katie (I can see her twice a week but am currently only able to once) and for other projects such as the bands. It felt very good, very strong. The interview went great, and I just KNEW I was going to get this job, and it would pretty much save my ass and justify the ridiculous move two hours away from my daughter. He told me I'd know last week. It was made clear.
But when I went in last week, he told me that I would have to check back in September. SEPTEMBER. I know a month and a half isn't that long a time, but I'm ADD as a rat on crack, FIVE SECONDS can feel like an eternity to me. Well, fuck my ass and call me a whorebeast. FUCK. It was like having your dick in Sarah Michelle Gellar's mouth, plugging away dreamingly, just long enough for Mickey Rourke to walk in the room naked and scream "I just ate boogers out of Tom Waits' ass!" I'm talking a HARD-ON that shrivels up like a STACK OF DIMES in nanoseconds. I left the music store feeling like I'd just been punched in the face. I still might have the job, but I won't KNOW for a while, and I have rent to pay.
I've spent several days in the past few weeks shitting blood. I could hardly walk for a day last week because my back hurt so much from spending that much time on the toilet fucked up like that.
But I'm supposed to "get over it." Yeah, well, get over my COCK.
The other part of having no money is how it's only worsened my near complete lack of sexual confidence. I feel like I have so incredibly little to offer a woman right now (well, there's that afore-metioned cock, but nobody seems to be in a hurry to get to know that, and I'm never even sure if the damn thing is going to work or not) which I suppose is another result of having everything you say or do turned against you for so long.
So, let's talk about that.
Case in point: the girl I used to work with at the grocery store. We'll call her "E" for the hell of it. I know "E" sounds like one of Elvis' entourage calling after him, but it makes the story more entertaining ("E, I want to bang your sweet blond snatch." "OK, just let me finish this peanut butter and banana sandwich first." ) so I'm leaving it in there. Huhuhuhuh, "leaving it in there", huhuhuhuhuh.
I met E back in October. She hired in at the grocery store around the time I did. I was the bag boy (huhuh, "bag", huhuhuh), she was the cashier. I fell in lust with her in about 4 nanoseconds. It was kinda awkward. I was married. I was 13 years older than her. I pretty much didn't give two shits about anything other than throwing her onto the aisle, scanning the bar code on her ass, and fucking her on the little conveyor belt that takes your canned beans down to the end of the line where the bitter 35-year old never-has-been musician stuffs it into a plastic bag and tells you to have a good night in a really fake put-on voice, because he doesn't give a rat-infested TURD whether you have a good night or not. In fact, he probably wishes death on you. For no real reason, just because you EXIST.
Still being full of that old-time Christian Guilt that I can't seem to get the fuck out of myself, I hated myself immediately. "I'm married. I can't be looking at sweet fine, delectable girls who are 13 years younger than....uh....anyone got a towel? I be back..."
I never told E that I wanted to wear her like a feed bag and do nasty, delicious, sinful things to her, but it has probably been perfectly obvious since the first time I drooled on myself and said "Hi, I'm Dick...er, Doug. Nice to fuck, er, work with you."
E is a little shorter than me, straight blond hair past her shoulders, mid-sized yet firm young rack, non-descript butt, and pale honky white as all hell. Even by my standards - and I like pale white girls, oh yeah - this is one pale white girl. I doubt most guys would think all that much of her, but I've wanted to eat fish and chips out of her oven since the first time I laid eyes on her. She has these sad, but somehow distant eyes. They kill me. She's kinda dense, but she is a sweetheart. And those eyes. God, those eyes. When I see those eyes, all I think about is...uh....getting my cock wet.
Did I mention she has a boyfriend?
Shit!
Anyway, I hadn't seen E since right after I came back from California. I went into the store a few nights ago, PRAYING TO GODS I NO LONGER BELIEVE IN that her boyfriend had been lost at sea or had been mangled to death in a folding-couch incident. "Jesus? Buddha? Mohammed? Zeus? Anybody? Hey, I need a favor down here. Can one of you guys spare a minute to zap this chick's boyfriend to death and make her crave my dysfunctional tiny sausage? Anyone? Someone? Ahhh, fuck it."
See, I'm a warm, sensitive, caring guy, and I only wish the best for the women of my dreams.
Katie was with me, it was our last stop before I took her home. I bought beer and strawberries (guess which was for who) and wasn't expecting to see E, since I'd already cursed my luck upon not seeing her striking yellow car in the parking lot. But there she was, on register 8, where I'd seen her so many times before. If not for the presence of both my daughter and my sanity, I would have prostrated myself before her (in front of the candy rack) and cried out "E! I've come to devour your perfect young poon until you scream for security! Take me, I'm yours!"
Instead, we talked about my marriage falling apart while she rang up my beer and strawberries.
She was very concerned about my well-being ("does your wife still talk to you???") and was perfectly friendly. And something about her manner also said "I'm glad you're ok, but I'm still fucking the other guy. Forget about it, old guy. I'd rather stuff one of the leftover carrots in the back room of produce in my cunt than anything attached to YOU."
Or maybe not. Maybe I was imagining the whole thing. All I know is that I wanted to ravage the edible young body of a girl whose mother is four years older than me (I know this for true), and for that, I am certainly going to Hell. But the tunes are better there, and I hear Satan has a really big cock. So what the fuck.
Back to Earth. When we left, Katie had a question:
"Is she your girlfriend, Daddy?"
"Well...no...I think she has a boyfriend already."
"Maybe you should ask her to be your girlfriend."
Yes, I've thought of that... "What would you think of that, honey?"
"It's OK....you and Mommy used to be boyfriend and girlfriend."
"Yes, that's right"
Oh my gawd...
"I wish you were boyfriend and girlfriend again, all the time."
Oh damn.
"Well, honey...I wish we....uh...see, this is the way me and Mommy decided we had to be and...I still...uh...I know it's hard to understand, but we can't be together anymore. But we both still love you very much. You know that, right?"
"Yeah, Daddy."
And that was that. I went from nasty evil thoughts about a sweet young thing to wanting nothing more than making my litttle girl happy in about 2 seconds.
OK, I still thought about E's perky little rack and wondered if she was naturally blonde all the way back to dropping Katie off. I'll admit it. I'm a sick evil fuck! I accept that!
Here I was desperately wanting to plook E, and all Katie was thinking was, gee, I wish my mommy and daddy were back together. I felt like a total shitstain.
So anyway...
In better news, I've really been enjoying listening to Jethro Tull this week. It's nice to know that Ian has lasted this long and what he may have lost in vitality (and I don't think he's lost that much, actually) he more than makes up for by being one of the few people of his generation to have retained his individuality and not become a total caricature of himself. He's stayed true to the music he started from, and if most of it sounds kinda the same, there's never any question of honesty and intent. I admire the shit out of him and I wish I had Jonathan Noyce's job right now. Beats the fuck out of the shit I'm doing right now.
Dougie
Hats Off
07.08.05 (9:46 am) [edit]My friend d9 recently let me borrow some Roy Harper albums I hadn't heard before, which has been one hell of a treat since the guy is AMAZING. His album Once has a remarkable song called The Black Cloud Of Islam that pretty much knocked the shit right out of my pants. This was written 15 years ago.
I'm sick to the teeth of the news on the screen
of hisbullah scum and jihad the obscene
whose men plant the bombs and then live feeling free
to watch women and children be killed on T.V.
which satan delivers a child a death curse
in the name of a worn out collection of verse
I've not read the book so I cannot recite
but I'd bet Salman Rushdie is just about right
underneath the black cloud of islam
What kind of publicity needs so much blood
that's not for some sad diablical god
selling himself as a two-bit Macbeth
as the expert in sentencing cousins to death
and what kind of god can this be anyway
that you have to prostrate to him five times a day
with hate in your heart and a gun in your hand
is force the only thing you understand
underneath the black cloud of islam?
and the butchers who've got all this blood on their hands
are the ones who need god to be stood where he stands
blessing this kidnapping, murder and war
with books written hundreds of ages before
and woman in veils walking paces behind
doesn't sit easy in my mind
it speaks of oppression and no other choice
than rigid compliance with the loudest voice
underneath the black cloud of islam
You can put a lead bullet clean through this guitar
'cos I'm not overjoyed with the story so far
sharing a world with the nutters of god
is as good as being six feet under the sod
words that are written are all here to say
and these are the latest there are anyway
and I am the prophet so don't believe me
I'm the same as the old ones expect that I'm free
to give you a piece of my mind which is this
you're the worst of jehovas blind witlessnesses
with your feet in the door of the deepest abyss
which is underneath the black cloud of islam
Dougie
(By the way, D9 also let me borrow Roy's HQ, which I'd heard before, but god DAMN it's a killer. I've listened to it 7 times in the past three days.)
Sprint PCS Can Lick My Hairy Love-Slit
07.04.05 (2:03 pm) [edit]Well, you weren't expecting THAT one, eh?
You have to love a company that is apparantly mostly staffed by 22-year olds right out of some unaccredited college who are impressed by shiny hand-held objects. "Oooh! A PHONE! I want to work for a PHONE company!"
And of course, the assholes in charge hire them and say, "OK, 1 plus 1 is 2, the phones come in silver, black, and pink, here's your desk, there's the toilet. Go to work!"
After getting one confusing bill, and another letter from them apparantly written in fucking SANSKRIT, I had to talk to these fuckers. I don't think you should be allowed to own a business unless you can communicate in a language that least 4% of your customers can comprehend. The fucking IRS must train these cocksuckers in wording their documents. I get this letter telling me SOMETHING, but I don't know what it is. It could be about the phone bill, it could be about my PILES. I don't fuck KNOW. If I'd recieved an envelope with fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls inside and a note in red crayon saying "Johnson, be back soon. The petunias are barking." it MIGHT have made less sense.
And my brain can't fucking take it. Who the hell is Johnson? Is he supposed to be back soon, or is the waterhead who wrote this fucking thing going to be back soon? Where are the petunias, what color are they, and why are they barking? Oh, I can HEAR them barking. I can HEAR them just fucking FINE. Because I'm out of BOOZE right now, and the only thing I CAN hear are the fucking petunias barking! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT ABOUT??? I asked for a phone bill, not the fucking DaVinci Code!
Well, it was about the limit on my spending a month. Got it figured out. And lemme tell ya, if I spend $200 a month on goddamn phone calls, I WANT them to shut it off.
But to finally determine this, I first had to call customer service. Apparantly these people hate people, because they won't TALK to anyone. They put you on hold, then run off naked into the night, probably to bark with the fucking petunias. I was on hold for a LONG time. Finally I gave up and drove out to the office. There was SEVENTY-FOUR THOUSAND PEOPLE in line. Probably there to find out about the petunias.
I went across the street and bought some cheese and sardines. What ELSE was there to do? I went to Goodwill and looked at furniture, because a fucking CHAIR would kick my current budget in the ass. Then I went back to Sprint. Now there were only 47,000 people. Progress in action. But I'm not into standing in line that long. I wouldn't stand in line that long to fuck the sweet little blonde girl at the desk. And believe me, I thought about it. But let's face it - after 47,000 other people have been there first, she ain't gonna be nearly as much fun.
I left and called customer service again. And finally got somebody. Human. Who spoke English. An Oriental lady who spoke English better than anyone I've seen all week, and was actually SMART AND INFORMATIVE, which means she'll probably be fired soon.
And all is well. Until the NEXT time, when I'll probably be charged for calls to SOMALIA made by some guy in western Utah. FUCK Sprint. Fuck everyone who LOOKS like Sprint.
Dougie