Oh!
08.31.05 (5:43 pm) [edit]I almost forgot. Just before coming to the library tonight, I talked to the cable guy. In a week and a half, I'll have cable TV, all the HBO channels (Yay! I can watch Bill Maher again!) and Internet. All for less than $60 a month and a $20 setup fee. And I can finally afford it! Wheee! I'm so sick of this library shit! Hooray!
Dougie
Yank The Elastic Lovebiscuit
08.31.05 (5:39 pm) [edit]I love that phrase. So much potential for damage.
Sunday night:
It was a hell of a good weekend overall.
Katie and I spent much of Saturday with our friend Bill, and got to play a bit outside feeding birds and watching crickets. There had been a car accident in front of Bill's house right before we got there (a 12-year old girl had a serious head injury) and Katie got to see fire trucks and police cars up close, and we watched the helicopter come down to take the girl to the hospital. Katie was very concerned for the girl, who we only saw wrapped up and put on a gurney and wheeled away.
Even with the mishap on the trail, our walk together was lovely. (Well, on the way back she saw a bee, freaked out, and ran RIGHT INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, which we had to have a little discussion about, but...) We had ice cream, I read her a couple books at the library, she drew me lots of nice Katie-pictures. I love being with my girl. I do contend it's a fine world. It contains my Katie-girl.
Practice with the northern band went much better than I expected. The last couple (we're learning several new songs) were kinda weak and boring. But this time we rocked. I was quite surprised. The singer has been on vacation for three weeks, driving around Montana looking at elk poop. Which sounds exactly like the vacation I hope to be able to afford next year. I should buy stock in dental floss, I guess. He drove from Wisconsin back to Fairmount, Indiana today and showed up to practice looking tired but healthy, and slowly got BETTER as we plowed through our new material and the old shit we still haven't quite got down yet. Thank fuck he isn't on coke like the singer in my other band.
I'm listening to Genesis' Foxtrot right now. Get 'Em Out By Friday, baby. A song that could ONLY have been written by this particular group of five weird English bastards in 1972. God DAMN, I'm in love with that old-time proggy religium.
We played well, and I found myself practically dancing at a few points, in my fat hairy white kinda way. Probably a terrible sight to behold, but goddammit, I was having a good time. Playing for other people (our drummer's very friendly parents and our guitarist's lovely, fabulously cool wife - curently three months pregnant - were in attendance) probably helped. We recently each picked a song from the 8 CDs our singer burned for us (maybe one disc total from the eight we are currently playing) to learn. The other guys mostly picked the old 50s/60s stuff, which is great fun to play (we kicked the SHIT out of Get Back tonight once we remembered who gets a solo where) but I needed something different. He'd put on Blue Oyster Cult's Burning For You, so I decided we needed a newer, more pseduo-proggy arena-rock number. I LOVE that goddamn thing. It's got more than a hint of arena-jizz to it, but BOC has always been good at cool arrangements and moderately twisted parts, and I can always stand for a good Geddy Lee-esque bass line to sink my testicles into. So that's what I shaked my groove thang to tonight, as we played it better by far than we had the last two times. PUNCH that fucking F chord, motherfuckers!
Last night was also fun for a few reasons. The drummer in my Cincy band had a friend show up before we went on. She was not a bad looking lady herself (I like them big beautiful women.) but she also had a friend who wanted to meet our drummer. I'm not sure why, since she showed up with her boyfriend. I guess it must have been for the weed, because on our first break (when everyone in the band but me decided within half a nanosecond that they wanted "fresh air"), she was out in the van with the drummer while me and her boyfriend were talking about beer. Fucking drummers. They always get to hang out with good pussy while I'm jacking off somewhere.
She was a cutie in her way. Skinny little crackwhore lookin' chick, to tell the truth. But I can't resist blondes in leather pants dancing while I play bass. To be honest, I think the entire reason I played so damn well most the night was half because our drummer kicked so much ass and half because the skinny blonde crackwhore was sitting there up front looking at us like "Wow, you guys REALLY are cool." She was leaning forward, with this big grin on her face. I was utterly fuelled by this, I tell you. She looked ENRAPTURED by us. I can't blame her. Shit, we were burning the goddamn place down. (No Great White covers required.) I'm convinced that if Boyfriend wasn't there, she would have been spending the breaks blowing...probably the drummer. Fucking drummers. Dammit.
I hung out with him after the gig. Despite the ungodly time of night (we took well over an hour to break down, as expected) I had to do the ritual After-Gig meal. The only place open was Steak & Shake. The drummer and I went there and showed up behind two guys far more drunk than us who were already blowing shit at the remarkably pretty young waitress. Come on, assholes. It's 2AM and half the drunks in town are there and she's the only person working the tables. She deserves a break. And besides, she's maybe 22 years old, has the greatest combination of sweet-innocent/gotta-be-a -little-nasty-girl-someti mes smile and flashing blue eyes, and I WANT TO EAT HER FOR DAYS. Holy shit. What a killer face and smile. I LOVE when women look like they are the most pure little sweethearts in the world, but have that extra little tang of "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of some guy when I can finally get off work and let this pony-tail down." I wanted her in a bad sinful way within milliseconds.
From behind, she looked a bit like Jenny. Not quite as drool-worthy in the ass department. Still pretty fucking wonderful. It was just WRONG that such a pretty little lady was being slammed so hard at 2AM, working her fine ass off. (That can be taken a couple ways...) I almost wanted to pull her aside. "Honey, you are far too attractive for this gig. In ten years, you'll have put up with so much shit from your customers that the lines on your face will have lines, and you'll be a bitter, annoying cunt spilling coffee on people on purpose because they bitched about their fries being three degrees colder than they like. You aren't meant for this work. You need a higher calling. In fact, i'm going to sell everything I own soon so I can hire out a personal blowjob-artist. I'm taking applications right now. Wanna come in my bus?"
I'm gonna burn.
Hanging with the drummer was nice. Finally, I get to spend a while with another hormone-fuelled male (who gets laid FAR more often than I do, the fuck) who I can have completely shallow, pig-like conversations with.
"Damn, did you see that waitress?"
"Yeah, man. That was fine."
"I'd like to play a game of Ethiopian At The Buffet with her snatch."
"Ha. Yeah, she's a cutie. Nice tits."
"I think she needs me. Christ, it's been too long. I need to get laid. I should have ordered an extra chili five-way. Bend over, dude."
"Shit. You're fucking nuts, man."
"Damn straight, motherfucker. My nuts are about to explode. Now, either convince that waitress to blow me, or grease your own ass up. I'm not leaving here until somebody gets cornholed on the checkered floor. If it's gotta be you, so be it. You're an ugly excuse for a woman, and you steal entirely too many licks from John Bonham, but if I can't have her, you're gonna have to do, motherfucker."
"I think she's checking me out, man. She wants my cock."
"Fucking swine. She couldn't FIND your miniscule little pecker with the Hubble, three full-time private investigators, and the entire staff of Rand McNally. She's MINE. Give me the ketchup. I've got bitches to bang, you little ho."
"You should fuck her manager. He looks like your type of faggot."
"I had him screaming my name and begging for the baby wipes just last night. To hell with him. Lousy no-good lame fuck. I've had Play-Doh that got me harder than that. Speaking of which...oh shit, she just bent over. Enjoy your mushroom and swiss, fuckface. I'm gonna go nail that sweet thang."
"I bet she's really a blonde."
"I bet you're going to be at home with a bottle of Jergens and a National Geographic tonight. By 4AM, we'll be on top of the shake machine and I'll need the National Guard to extract my head from her pussy. Hey, you gonna eat those fries?"
"Here. Maybe they'll shut you up. She's looking at us."
"That's because she knows I have a song for her. 'Waitret, please waitret, come sit on my face. Eatin' ain't cheatin', it ain't no disgrace.'"
"HA! Dude, that's hilarious. What is that?"
"Kinky Friedman, the next governor of Texas. Now, about that ketchup..."
And stuff like that.
------------------
It's nice to be home.
It was a lovely Saturday with The Katester, and a great gig, and a fine practice today. But I'm starting to think that if I'm gonna pay for this fucking place (I actually have enough for rent! Yay!), I should BE here somtimes. I am now. Listening now to Selling England by the Pound, drinking some Kessler, and typing this shit.
Since starting the new job three weeks ago, I've mostly not been here, and when I have, I've been scarfing down the contents of my dollar-store-bought pantry, sleeping, pooping, listening to old Weather Report albums, or buzzing about thinking of Jenny. BREATHING hasn't been an option. So I'm glad Labor Day is next week. I'll be seeing Katie that day, but Sunday I'll be here. Doing NOTHING. Maybe I'll watch the Steve Hackett DVD I got from the library. Drink some beer, play some bass. Not leave the apartment. Stay in my underwear and RELAX.
It's been one fuck of a 2005, baby. I've driven 20,000 miles since March. I've felt damn near every emotion known to man, mostly very strongly, and often on a level bordering psychosis. I've gone from wanting to die in a head-on collision with a Travis Tritt fan delivering string beans to Utah, to wanting to dance in a magical glimmering canvas of dream-spawned light and love with the most beautiful woman in the world. From wondering if I'd ever have music in me again to VICIOUSLY pounding out manic cross-rhythms on extended one-chord jams with rockin' bretheren. From absolute self-loathing to Holy Shit I Can Actually Rock. From the the rock-bottom depths of sexual non-confidence to giving cards and saying words to a remarkable woman that made her smile brighter and beam more radiantly than I ever thought I could possibly be the tiniest reason for. From pure scattered hatred to some gosh darn fine love. For myself. For her. For a lot of people and things I had let myself be apart from for too long. From absolute dismal apathy, to rewinding the fourth disc in the Cream box set over and over and over again to hear that lick Jack plays in I'm So Glad where he's so fucking in the wrong key it ain't even funny, but he MAKES IT WORK, and I drive down I-465 screaming "THAT'S MY KINDA BASS-FUCKING, BEEE-ATCH!"
I'm near-broke, my job is probably #100,978 on my list of Things I Want To Be Assfucked By, I only see my incredible little girl once a week, I'm insanely in love with a woman I can't possibly have, and I have the female-attracting abilities of a heroin-riddled cheese-goat, but I love stuff right now. Lots of stuff. Music. Women. Life.
It's good.
------------------------- ------------------------- -----
Tuesday night:
Currently listening to the excellent double CD compilation of Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels called Detroit Breakout! My northern band will be opening for Ryder in a few weeks in Fairmount, Indiana. So I figured it was time to re-introduce some of this fine rockin' 60s stuff into my life. The cosmic irony of hearing his first hit single again for the first time in years at this point in my life - Jenny Take A Ride - sure ain't lost on this white boy. I think I'll see if my band will let me have another lead vocal (I sang Cinnamon Girl at practice this week) and try this one on for size. I'd forgotten just how cool Ryder was back then. Looking forward to opening for him.
Had a nice conversation with my friend Dennis (the brother of my band's singer) and we're talking about picking back up on a project we did several years ago, an acoustic duo act of 50s/60s tunes. We had a great time playing a couple gigs back then (including the first time I ever played lead guitar live, which I recently showed a video of to Katie) and hopefully we'll be playing throughout Indianapolis in a few months.
Conversation with my supervisor today:
He: "So, whaddya think of that over there?"
Me: "Uh...where?"
"There, by Frank."
"Oh, OK. Not bad. (She was an older redhead. And not bad at all.) Sorry, I don't pay attention to the other women around here. I just spend 98% of my time trying to keep my work from being fucked up by thinking about Jenny."
"Ha. Yeah, I can see that."
"I know it's just WRONG, but I can't stop thinking about that."
"Yeah, it is wrong." (Laughs.) "But I know what you mean."
"For the record, I want to WORSHIP that woman."
"You and everyone else." (Laughs)
"I figured I wasn't alone. Damn. I'm doomed. "
"Well, you'll get by." (Laughs) "She's one fine lady."
"I'm afraid to even go near her. I figure if I'm around her more than two seconds..."
"You'll say something stupid."
"Exactly."
"You won't be the first."
"You ever want to just look right at a woman and say,'Excuse me, can I bury my face between your legs?'"
(Laughter)
"I'd wake up the next morning wtih a hangover, I'd spend so long sucking on that pussy."
"Yeah..." (Laughs)
"OK, I better get back to work before you fire me. If I fuck anything up and accidentally back order half a skid of plastic tubing, it's HER fault."
Ahh, the fun I have at work.
I'm considerably more balanced about this in recent days, but she still has one hell of an effect on me. I had a legitimate reason to go to her desk twice today, and it nearly derailed my entire nervous system. I don't do as bad away from her now, and if she's just walking across the building several yards away, I can simply try to break my neck watching her until she's out of sight and get back to what I'm supposed to be doing. But when I'm CLOSE to her, it's pretty problematic. I can do it, I've done it very well, but I'm AFRAID of it. When I first saw her this morning, and that smile hit me again, and I saw that tight sweater and those...oh fuck, those eyes...I nearly fell to my knees and begged her just to let me LOOK at her for a while. Deranged behavior. Insane. I somehow faked my way through it, with only the slightest hesitation (which I was just SURE she noticed) before practically RUNNING away from her cubicle back to my station. Must...escape...the...Spooooooooock!!!!!!!!!
Just get out the business stuff, wish her a nice day, and get the fuck out. Anything else you say will be the lunatic babblings of a demented fool. Poor girl is trying to do her job. She doesn't need some wackjob with a raging hard-on gibbering like a loon about what her hair looks like today. Control, dammit. Control.
Oh, but I don't want to. Oh, but I want to worship her. To just once prostrate myself before her and scream "I devote my life to your sexual pleasure! Let me be your hairy lovemonkey!"
Oh, to lose my job and spend months in prison.
So I don't say that. I say nothing. NOTHING. God-fucking-shitfuck-damn it. Fucking NOTHING. And try to pull my brain away. Any other time, I can't focus on a goddamn thing. Put Jenny within 20 miles of me, and I'm one focused motherfucker. Focused on SHIT I CAN'T HAVE. So I try to turn it around. and then get hit by something else. I saw her in the parking lot Friday. Oh, she drives a...hold on. Only a stalker needs to know what she drives. LOOK AWAY. Hmmm....she went to Notre Dame. There's a Notre Dame license plate frame on her car, and...AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! !!!
So I try to convince myself she drives a rusted out pickup truck with a gun rack and a Confederate flag in back, and that her license plate frame says "Abortion Stops A Beating Heart" or some other inane horseshit. Just to fuck it all up. Try to think about her spouting out Ann Coulter-level stupidity. Convince myself she's actually a demon from hell. She's not really the most beautiful woman in the world. She's a friggin' iguana with rabies. A cross between a depraved jackrabbit and a ogre-assed werewolf. Dick Cheney in a Jenny mask. ANYTHING TO STOP THE INSANITY. Then I see her again and my knees turn to GELATINIZED BATSHIT and it starts all over again. i love you. I need you. I want to transform myself into your own personal vagina-wettener. You are the most beautiful, delicious....no...stop...must look away...
I try to distract myself with other women. Mostly Steak & Shake waitresses, which is scary, mostly because I shouldn't be eating that shit. Of course, I drooled earlier over the one in Cincy, but there's a VERY cute waitress at the one down the road from work. Amanda. Brunette. Maybe late-20s. Knows how to work for those bigger tips. Always smiling, always calling everyone "hon" and "babe", and all those other I-need-a-couple-extra-buc ks-waitress tricks. And it WORKS ON ME. Her smile could melt steel. in a totally different way than Jenny's. Jenny's smile brings out the best in me. I feel love, devotion, the desire to please someone other than myself. Amanda has one of those smiles that says "I'm a very bad girl" and I want to RAVAGE HER BODY IN LUSTFUL WAYS. Of course, she smiles like that for everyone. It's her job. I don't care. I've got this very inconvenient thing called a DICK and it short-circuits my BRAIN, and I'm convinced SHE NEEDS MY LOVIN' TONIGHT.
Sometimes I want to cut the damn thing off. I'll be able to think better without it. And then I remember - ah yes, I already know what it's like to have your dick cut off, I was married for five fucking years - and I know that it really makes no difference whatsoever. I'm doomed. Might as well enjoy it.
I have this thing I do when I'm around a woman who makes me crazy. No, not that, assholes. I'd be in jail now. No, it's just this PAUSE. Like my brain goes on vacation for five seconds and I'm just STANDING there. I've probably done it to Jenny a dozen times. I did it to Amanda at lunch Monday. Was being perfectly sociable - and trying to pretend I was more interested in my book - asking her about why she was limping around. She went out dancing over the weekend and fell. I tried to show that basic human compassion without getting stupid about it. And there I was in front of the counter, after I'd given her my money, and I looked into those bright sinful eyes - she looks like the kind of woman who could EAT YOU ALIVE then go laugh about it later - and I just STOPPED. Cold. Hard. Dead in my tracks.
Look....away...Spooooooooooooooock!!!!!! !!!!!!!
She noticed. No wondering about it this time. no paranoia. She SAW it. And she smiled at me. "You really want to fuck me, don't you?" was the message from that smile. I smiled back. "Yes, I surely do." was the reply. No questions asked. Or even anything said at all. I think it was pretty clear from the exchange of smiles where *I* was coming from, but shrewd little vixen she is, I still have to work at it for a while to find out what SHE'S thinking. Dammit. Women. They utterly control me. I'm a fool for your lovin', baby.
And we're back. Back to something I mentioned a week or so ago. Something I hate, but I feel myself giving in this time. The Conquest. That stupid base-level male bullshit of "I Claim This Poon In The Name Of My Cock", hanging your flag out there. I despise that ego-ridden idiocy, But...I want to conquer Amanda. Oh, how I want to own her for a time. Just for a little while. Such a total reversal from earlier in the day, weak-kneed like a schoolboy for Jenny, wanting only to please. There's no love in this one. No flowers and cards. Just pure seething torrents of blazing semen, raging like a goddamn river in my pants. Riding the scree, Brother John. Riding the motherfuckin' Lamia-lovin' scree. I said nothing to her that day - though I'd planned to, I'd been in there four other times and had craved her mightily already - but I will. Something. I have no idea what. Probably something really stupid. But I'll do my best. I can't have the one I want. So i'll have the one I'm with? Oh, for fuck's sake, Stills! Get out of my headf
Do-do-do-do-do-do-dedo,
Dougie
------------
Wednesday
I wore all black and left my hair down today. Thought I'd see if Jenny would notice. I'm such a goober. I got there and she...was in all black. With her hair up. Guess who won that contest? She said hi and kept walking without a second thought. I stood there drooling like a broken faucet.
I'm completely blown away by what's happened in New Orleans. Unbelievable. Thoughts going out to any and all affected by this horrific event.
Love,
Dougie
A Visit With Katie Is Not Complete Until Someone Is Injured
08.28.05 (12:55 pm) [edit]At least time it was me instead of her.
No big deal, but yesterday while walking on a side path next to the Little Miami Trail in Loveland (which is really beautiful, and we'd just spent a few minutes throwing rocks into the river together) I was carrying Katie in my left arm, and I made the error of trying to avoid a large spider web across our path by going UNDER it. Too fast.
As I fell forward with 30-some pounds of extra weight pulling me to the left, I lifted my arm up to keep Katie from being hurt. Which worked, she only had some dirt on her butt. I felt like I'd just been hit by Godzilla for a moment, then decided I was fine, I just had dirt all over my arm. Then I realized I had SEVEN GALLONS OF BLOOD on it. It was actually not a bad scrape at all, but it just happened to bleed like hell. So we walked back to the canoe rental place and cleaned up.
A few hours later I noticed a nasty knot on my arm turning purple, and an hour later my knee was hurting like a motherfuck. I limped around on the gig last night with a fucked up left arm. And somehow still managed to play my ass off for a while.
Too Rolling Stoned? We pummeled that sonofabitch within an inch of its sorry life and left its beaten and bruised ass on the side of the road to be picked apart by the vultures. The Spirit Of Jack was within me. That long slow-shuffle jam on the end where James Dewar just stays on a C note for a couple days? Yeah right. bitch! It wasn't about chops, I just managed to pull some damn fine greasy Jack Bruce-inspired minor-key licks out of my ass, set them on fire, and insert them into the groove without fail, all with the help of our drummer's brand-spanking new and killer-sounding drum heads, and his monster metal skin-pounding. Guitarist high out of his tree with heavy delay, slow blues wailing like a butt-fucked banshee. Rhythm guitarist defying his coke-addled odds with stabbing chords and death-defying harmonics. Jesus creeping shit on a hopped-up white hell-horse. WE FUCKIN' ROCKED.
And that was just the Robin Trower tune.
Damn fine night. There were 15 people in the place. Maybe. One dollar for draft Amber Bock. My tone was a beast. My dick is a monster. Yeah, baby.
Believe it or not, I actually hardly thought of Jenny at all the whole day. I was having too much fun in the real world for a change.
Off to pracitce with the other band,
Dougie
OK, That's It
08.25.05 (5:21 pm) [edit]Today I was working, thinking about Jenny. And something bad happened. The radio was on "soft-rock" for the day (they change radio stations each day, yesterday was Cracker-Ass Cornbread-Eating Motherfucker Day) and a certain relic from the '80s came on. Something dark and hideous. But before I knew it, I was actually SINGING ALONG.
"I can dream about you, if I can't have you tonight..."
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm over the edge, and I MUST BE STOPPED. Put a bullet in my sugar head, somebody. PLEASE.
Anyway, here's some shit I wrote last night when I got home:
------------------------- ------------------------- ---------
I've been doing something ever since I left my family in March, and I finally recognized it for what it is tonight.
I keep checking my cell phone. Keep expecting a call.
Right before turning into the library to write my last entry - after a very enjoyable and relaxing evening alone - I checked it again. And it hit me WHY.
I wanted someone to call. I WANTED it.
At first I thought it was some kind of fear trip. That Sheryl would be calling to tell me something was wrong with Katie. Then I thought it would be a call about a teaching job. Or from Jenny. (Yeah, right. The only call I'll ever get from her is the "don't bother coming back to work" call.)
But tonight I realized that all along, what I really wanted was just someone to call.
I usually enjoy being alone, but it's balanced with a need for someone just to be AROUND. Whenever I was home alone and my parents were gone, I enjoyed the weight off my shoulders of not having to be around sociopathic lunatics, but I also kinda wished I could just hear the TV in the other room. On the few nights alone at home while Sheryl and Katie were gone, I'd walk around a lot. Trying to enjoy the solitude, yet wanting to know that they were THERE.
I think it's basically selfish - "stay the fuck out of my way until I NEED you" seems to be the general asshole-spawn idea - and that upsets me about myself. In fact, I despise that in me. I'm also not sure what to do about it, especially since I function better on my own. Well, sometimes. I'm terrible at remembering things that really should be remembered, and last month I bounced two checks in four days simply because I was too wrapped up in bullshit to notice my checkbook was missing a couple receipts. Times like that remind me of how hopeless I am at things most people do in their sleep. I dream in my sleep, and usually when I'm awake, and the dreams don't generally involve sitting down with a calculator.
I was laughing a bit tonight re-reading Hunter Thompson's "author's note" to Fear And Loathing On The Campaign Trail '72 (reprinted in the middle of The Great Shark Hunt) because I saw so much of myself in his inability to meet deadlines, and the adrenaline rush of doing something at the very last minute the same way a jackrabbit waits for the last split second to run out across the road in front of a speeding car. Hunter would be crazed over a two-week deadline while other writers were facing them every DAY. Yeah, that sounds like me. Fucked up over some silly shit everyone else has learned to deal with eons ago. Holed up in the Seal Rock Inn with enough speed to alter the outcome of six Super Bowls. DAMN, I wish I'd written that.
The jackrabbit and I are friends. We've played chicken with Peterbuilts on dark nights down winding roads. Last I saw him, the little hop-happy rat bastard had stolen all my bourbon and was flapjacked on the yellow line, still squirming, still wanting that last little bit of juice to ride the rail again. One more jump across the beams of oncoming traffic before moseying off to Heaven, a place where jackrabbits can knock down their booze without guilt or shame, and tell tales of highway carnage to the other hoppers. Ahh, yes. Paradisio.
It's thoughts like these that remind my why I'm alone tonight out here on the southeast edge of Indianapolis. And why everyone concerned is probably better off.
But there I was. Looking at the cell phone. Realizing I needed someone to talk to, but not knowing anyone who'd want to hear it. I've got good friends, but I try to spare them this shit when I can. I usually fail at that too, and end up wondering why I bother talking to anyone if I'm just going to rave some incoherent babble at their heads. I feel better typing the shit, and I'm often not even sure about that. The amount of things I've left off this blog in the past six months could fill a shrink's library. To hell with those bastards anyway. They make far too much money for the little bit of good they do.
A good friend is better. A good friend who is tuned into your frequency and has the proper bullshit filters in place is invaluable. And they don't come easy.
It almost terrifies me how much I want to be in the company of a woman right now. I'm not convinced it's a good idea for anyone at this point in my Ongoing Spiritual Growth. Especially not some poor frightened thing with her hand in her purse, can of mace poised for action at the first sign of this lunatic's spoken thoughts turning into harsh freakish reality. She's probably half-expecting me to turn into a Gerald Scarfe creation, with her as Bob Geldof trying to escape.
But it's still there, as much as I try to make it melt away with strong Kentucky drink. Drano might work better. Probably doesn't go too well with lime, though.
I'm allowing myself a fantasy. I've tried to rid myself of these things, but it's not so bad when you KNOW it's bullshit. "Yes honey, all that stuff about Jesus taking your sins away is really a load of crap, and your sins never really do go away at all, you just learn to get the paintbrush out and look away, bur wouldn't it be NICE?"
Seeing her smile again today, the powerful pull towards the beautiful woman who gives me my paycheck carries through to this moment, and I see her sitting in front of me. The smile lighting the room. Eventually, we lie down together, feeling each others warmth, and we talk. We. Us. Somehow I overcome my normal selfish need to be 90% of the exchange, and it's about the both of us.
The Look isn't there. The one that says "I don't really believe or even care about anything you are saying, so why are you wasting my time? I've got TV to watch, asshole. Your thoughts are about as important to me as the residue on the toilet brush." I've seen The Look before, and it makes loneliness seem like a pretty damn fine option.
Other things are there instead. Compassion. Understanding. The ability to know the INTENT of the shit I pull out of my head and try to form into complete sentences. No fear. No defensiveness at things not intended to hurt her in the first place. And knowing that while I want all these things from a person, I'm also acutely aware of my own lack of them, and I want to do better.
It's there, and we talk. And listen. And it's good.
Then we make crazed jackrabbit love.
Well, I said it was just a fantasy. Fantasy. Oh shit, now that goddamn Aldo Nova song is in my head. Everything good is destroyed! Nooooooooo!!!!!!!!!
Dougie
My Date With Myself
08.24.05 (6:34 pm) [edit]No jack-off jokes, you bastards.
Left work and headed north. Had Mexican food for dinner. A couple beers. I drove with the windows down, singing to Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend, a chewy, grungy album of killer slabs of pop, with OUTRAGEOUS lead guitar work courtesy of Richard Lloyd and Robert Quine. The album is something like 13 years old, if I remember right, but I've recently rediscovered it.
Night fell as I sat outside at the restaraunt, reading Hunter's tales of jackrabbits and crazed rushes to meet deadlines. I came back south listening to Beck's Sea Change. Stopped for another pack of strings (too many guitars to get in shape) and decided to stop here at the library.
After a ten-hour day at work (including a tired but happy walk upstairs following The Heavenly Ass) it's been nice to get out for a night and just relax.
Not a bad thing at all,
Dougie
Orange
08.23.05 (5:23 pm) [edit]Jenny had a VERY orange shirt on yesterday. It was so orange that...uh...orange...peel...juicy...here, let me help you peel that off...
Fuck the shirt. I don't care what color the shirt is. Maybe when it's OUT OF MY WAY, I'll say "Hey, look there on the floor! Your shirt! It's orange! It's...oh, who gives a fuck, let's eat."
Today's shirt was white. But she also had her hair down again. Which DESTROYS me. Wow.
Have you ever noticed that when you buy a guitar (I got a cheap acoustic a few months back and just changed the strings last night) that the strings that are on it are SHIT? This is a plot from music stores, I think.
"Look, Don! A set of strings from 1967! My Uncle Dick played these five nights a week for over thirty years! He sweated like a bastard! Spilled beer on them at least twice a night! He took them off last month and flushed them down the toilet, but they came back up! He fished them out, buried them in the backyard under the bodies, and last night I dug 'em back up! Dropped them in the catbox, but I just cleaned them off with some gravy, and they're ready to go! Let's put 'em on that shitty acoustic out there!"
Real Time With Bill Maher is back on the air and I don't have HBO. I barely have TV, for that matter. Fuckity.
I have nothing else worth saying.
Goodnight,
Dougie
Still Losing My Frickin' Mind
08.19.05 (6:22 pm) [edit]Good morning, love.
Doing it again. Waking up and spending an hour in bed thinking about her. Wanting to hold her close. Pure thoughts. Nice thoughts. Fucking insane! I'm not jerking off??? What the fuck is up with me, man???
Pure, happy, selfless thoughts. Even Christians can get away with this. Ahhhh, Jenny. You are too good to be true.
Go to work. See her immediately, "Good morning!" I walk with her (I'm walking with her! I'm walking with her!) towards the front of the building, asking her about how to go about asking for time off. (Going to be needing two days at the end of September for the ridiculous schedule my band up north has for a James Dean Festival.) She tells me to talk to the supervisor, still very friendly, but not quite as bright as usual. She's not quite as radiant. Her face is pinker. Maybe she's not feeling good. I'd like to help. Take her in my arms...whisper in her ear...make everything in her world good again....
(Everyone reading this screams) "Enough! You're making US sick!"
I ask her how she is. She says "Very well!" but it seems like she isn't feeling quite so good. Probably just tired. Fuck knows I am. It's Friday. My back and feet are fucking killing me.
I half-wonder what I would have said if she said "Actually I'm not feeling so good right now."
I'd jump right into my sword-fighter pose.
"What??? Who are they? Who are these scurvy bastards who dare ruin this lovely maiden's day! The swine! I'll fillet them with my trusty sword! Their bones I will crush to powder! Never fear, fair lady! *I* shall protect you!"
Could be interesting. After all, I've been there two weeks and haven't heard anyone call for security yet. Could be fun.
As she walks away, I notice something. I was so busy looking into that amazing face that I hadn't noticed she was wearing jeans. Casual as I've seen her, though her shirt was business-like as normal. The jeans are tight. They don't frame her as effectively as her usual slacks, actually, but....but...butt................all the innocent, sweet, Jesus-approved mushiness from the morning is going away fast, motherfuckers...
Oh...my...gawd....look...at...
ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ass ass ass ass ass ass assassass ass ass ass ass ass assassass
Everybody sing!
I'm going to Hell and I don't care
I'm going to Hell and I don't care
I'm going to Hell and I don't care
Just look at that fucking ass
Ass!
I believe the appropriate phrase is "I want to wear your ass like a hat."
Later, she brings me my check. The first full paycheck i've had in two months. I was standing there boxing something up (huhuhuh, "box", huhuhuh) and felt a presence. I looked up. Holy shit, the girl of my dreams is standing right in front of me, on the other side of the conveyor. She flips throught the checks and hands me mine. With a smile, of course. It's enough for half the rent and a weekend with Katie.
I'd like to say something like, "I could kiss you!" Which might have worked a week ago if I'd said it with just the right measure of humour. Not now. She knows. It's changed now, and I have to edit myself even more than I have been. I've not said 99.9% of the things to her that I've thought. And I probably never will. Gosh darn ding dang dong it.
So I just said, "I can eat! I can eat! Yay!" She smiled a little more and kept walking. Probably towards her can of mace, as my co-worker has said a few times.
I didn't see her except for a quick glimpse one more time. Coming back from the restroom. She was walking in the other direction. We wished each other a good weekend, and she was gone. A blast of fresh air, formally refreshing my face and mind, on vacation for two days. Nobody in the whole place will be looking forward to Monday but me.
Ten minutes before I left, the radio played 867-5309/Jenny. Inside, (I didn't want to scare my co-workers, and it took considerable effort not to) I laughed my balls off.
On the drive home, I turned on the local classic rock station. The DJ says, "You've made it through the week. Now reward yourself. Come see the Steve Miller Band tomorrow night at the Verizon Wireless Music Center."
Fuck you. I'm going back to work.
But then they played It's A Long Way To The Top If You Wanna Rock And Roll, and I rolled the windows down. Driving down the beltway, hair flying everywhere, the first time I've ever come close to singing that song a tenth as well as Bon Scott. The crazed rock and roll freak singing to the radio, crazy in love, quite happy to let every asshole in traffic know about it.
Got a couple Mickey's Big Mouths at the liquor store on the corner a couple miles up. Thought about Tom Waits. Never did like that dog. Gonna be a good night. Tomorrow I pick up Katie and I'll have the whole weekend with her. Starting next week I'm playing bass six Saturdays in a row, with a crazed three-day weekend of rockin' oldies in Fairmount, Indiana (one night opening for Mitch Ryder) in the middle. I'm drinking a Mickey's and eating some jambalaya I just cooked. I'm in love with the most beautiful girl in the world, and I don't even care that she can't be mine. Yep, gonna be a good night. Even here all alone, I'm happy.
Gawd. I'm gonna crash and burn like a motherfucker sometime soon. So what? Love, baby. I'm in love.
Lovey dove dove love,
Dougie
My Beautiful Bar Of Soap
08.18.05 (4:51 pm) [edit]We're dancing.
She's in white, but she's brighter than her clothes. The grass is a shade of green I've never even considered, and it's softer than feathers. We're barefoot, dancing.
She's smiling. Laughing. Her eyes are love.
Birds zoom across the sky in all directions. A partridge flies over our heads and chirps, "We're all light." I look at her and say, "Yeah, I read that someplace."
She smiles. "Just kiss me now."
As she takes me in her arms and our lips meet, I feel half a decade of guilt, confusion, and indecision (it bites) wash off of me in a shower of her making. I look down and see only grass. My dirt has been transformed into more impossibly green grass. That's Jenny - my beautiful bar of soap.
"Nobody looks for where the dirt goes after a bath, you silly boy. Kiss me again."
We dance some more.
I drop my guard. She kicks it away. I stupidly look behind me to see where it went. She kicks me in the ass. I fall to the ground and she jumps on me, rolls me over. Still smiling and laughing. She takes my face in her hands, kisses me. The words appear before me like sky-writing.
"I love you."
That's when the giant multi-headed flying lizards showed up.
------------------------- --------
Back to earth.
I can't believe I'm still happy. This isn't me. Hanging on for so long to something GOOD for a change. I'd expect to be drowning in rum and self-hatred right now, beating the shit out of my brain and loathing the universe.
I'm not. I'm barely even fazed by the fact that it can't happen. I'm still buzzing inside, and that's good enough for me. For now. When it's not...who the fuck knows?
She smiled at me today. I wondered if she would. She walked past at one point and barely acknowledged me as I waved to her, trying to pull a smile out of me a fraction as bright as hers. If I was around her more, I could pull it off. As it is, I can merely do a thousand times better than normal. Well, it's progress, and it feels fuckin' good. Feels like those XTC songs I've been pounding into my head over and over again. The soundtrack to my crazed romance.
Later, I saw the smile, the eyes. And I was buzzing harder. Dreaming brighter. Loving better.
I won't take from you...
Dougie
Broken
08.16.05 (5:30 pm) [edit]This is two entries back to back. Scroll down and read the previous (and much longer) one first.
Well, it's over.
It didn't go down badly, but it's done. And frankly, I'm relieved. I don't think I could carry on much longer.
When she came in this morning, I was immediately blown away. I'd had no intention of doing anything towards her today except maybe just a quick hello, but she had her hair down. That's all it took. I saw it from the back as she walked to her desk, and my brain snapped. I HAD to see that again!
I walked right to her cubicle, and in the back of my brain somebody yelled "What the FUCK are you doing???"
I had my my mouth open the second I turned the corner. "I hope this isn't too obnoxious, but I've never seen you with your hair down and..."
While this was being said, two things were also going on:
1.) The voice in my head was saying "Wow, that's a really fucking stupid thing to say."
2.) I registered that she was on the phone and saying "I'll be with you in a second..."
I stood there like a lump. She looked stunning. I wanted more than anything in the world to reach out my hand and touch her hair. Her face. Her ENERGY. Even on a business phone call, she radiated it.
She was still smiling as she talked to whoever it was. I lasted five more seconds, gave a quick wave, and got the fuck out.
Shit, what did I just do?
I was convinced I'd blown it. I said something really ridiculous and over the line and...or maybe not. She barely seemed to even notice. But I felt it creeping in. Depression. Wending its fucking way around my brain.
I beat the hell out of myself for two hours while trying to prepare parts for shipping. I knew I probably didn't have to, I was just sure that I'd MAYBE blown it. Total insecurity at this point.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Goddammit, I have to do something. I can't go home feeling like this.
I made up a reason to go talk to her. And did.
She wasn't on the phone. Gave me that "Hi! Glad to see you!" smile that utterly destroys me.
"Say, I just wondered something. They seem to be pretty happy with me, but has anyone said anything to you about me on the job? I think I'm doing OK for them, but I wanted your input." Lame question. I knew the answer.
"I think so. They haven't actually said anything, but that's always a very good sign. You don't have anything to worry about."
"By the way, sorry if I was in your way there earlier." I couldn't think of a better thing to say.
"Oh, you're fine." No, YOU are, you luscious little vixen. "No problem. I'm so ADD I can't remember half the people who come by my desk each day anyway unless they come back to remind me."
Oh shit, I AM in love with her now!
"That's funny. I'm ADD too. Want some of my old Ritalin?"
I'm offering her drugs.
"It might help! I've got issues."
I had no idea what she meant by that. Holy shit, ya think she's as fucked up as me? Cool! The sex will be KILLER! Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!
"Well, that makes two of us." We smiled at each other. I wanted to dive into her .
"Well, I'll leave you alone now." I left. The last line was spoken very quietly. I really wasn't sure what to do next but leave. But I felt a LOT better.
I noticed at 12:20 that she hadn't left for lunch yet. My brain started spinning. Maybe she won't leave for lunch until 1:00 like I do. Maybe she's sitting back there waiting for me to ask her out to lunch. Yeah, right. Maybe baboons will parasail from my anus.
But it was lodged in my head. I started getting the nerve up. I was singing Then She Appeared in my head. I'll take her to that little sub shop I ate at yesterday. (Got a tuna salad sandwich, and yes, I caught the irony.) We'll sit there across from each other. I'll look itno her eyes. And when she least expects it, I'll start singing to her, never looking away from those incredible blue eyes.
Then she appeared, apple venus on a half open shell...
It'll charm the living fuck out of her. She'll be mine before I hit the third verse.
If only...
Just before 1:00, I walked back to her.
"I see you haven't been to lunch yet."
"This is lunch today. Get a few minutes here and there."
"Oh, sorry to hear that. Uh...uh..." I'm losing my nerve. Gotta keep momentum.
"Uh...I wanted to ask you soemthing. I know this might very well be out of line, and if it is, tell me and I'll leave you alone. But...but...uh..."
I stopped cold. I swallowed. I nearly lost it entirely.
She was actually still smiling. "Forget what you were going to say?" That almost sounded like a tease.
"No. I...uh..." Goddamn it, I feel like I'm in a bad teen movie.
"Would you...like to go out to lunch with me...sometime?"
The smile never left. "I'm sorry." sSe actually sounded sorry. "I can't. They won't let me date anyone in the company, any of the sites. Sorry."
"I knew that, I guess. I thought I'd ask anyway."
"And I have a boyfriend."
"Damn."
I tried to keep my head from dropping. I failed.
Long pause. Again. "Damn."
Her smile dropped slightly. Just slightly. It was now joined with...concern? Sadness? Holy shit. She looks like she's sad about telling me no.This NEVER happens. Usually it's, "No. Here, let me get the door for you. Get the fuck out!"
"I'm very flattered, though."
I've heard that one before. But she meant it. I could tell. Every other woman says it as if she really is saying "Get the fuck away from me before I bring out the mace and the power hose, you sick twisted bastard." But Jenny looked like she really WAS flattered. And even a bit sad. Jesus Christ, I'm going to have a hard time forgetting this one...
She had that look. It was saying "Well, you really are a nice guy. I hate doing this to you. Of course, I AM the most desirable woman on the planet and I do this about six or seven times a day, since men are planting themselves in my lawn just to be near me. But you really are sweet. Sorry to break your heart. Really I am."
But she didn't really say that. She just looked at me, waiting for my next input.
"I'll say one more thing, then I'll drop this and leave you alone. I've been slightly crazy about you for a week now. And I've been thinking about you a lot." That was as much as I'd allow myself. But I had to say it. I'd explode if I didn't. It was what I wanted to say all along.
The smile returned. "Thank you very much." That was all she said.
"I'm going somewhere to be sad for a while. But I'll get over it. You have a nice day."
"You too." It was gentle. Sweet.
"Bye."
I haven't said a word to her since. I felt like I'd been comfortable in bed and someone ripped my favorite blanket off me. Another guy. Of course she has another guy. How could she NOT? They grow on the trees in her yard like goddamn leaves.
I went to Steak & shake, ate something bad for me, and read The Great Shark Hunt. Been working on it for three months and still not halfway through. Hunter's tales of mayoral elections in Aspen took away some of the pain for a while. But only for a while.
I'm glad it's done. I could have kept trying to charm her and it wouldn't have meant a damn thing. I would have just ended up having farther to fall from. I would have been far more fucked up over it than I wanted to be, and more than I am. I really am glad I went through this. For once, I don't have any reason to blame myself for anything. I did nearly all of it right, some of it very right. A few things not-so-right, but they didn't matter. I played this out as good as I could have expected to, and really, a hell of a lot better. I had some real confidence, and felt some really powerful, beautiful emotions I thought were lost to me. It sucks that I'll likely go a long time without meeting a woman who will pull such positive, selfless things from me, but I guess that's OK. I'm more than a little disappointed and sad, but I know (for once) that it's not really that bad.
I'm lucky to have met her. I can still see her every day for a while. I can't imagine doing this job for an extended period, but I have to hang on to it for a while, and she is the one who got it for me in the first place. I'm glad I've had Jenny around for a while to make me flutter.
Pale Atlantis rising out of the west...
Dougie
The Promise Of Excellent Boobage Has Brought Down Many A Man Better Than I
08.16.05 (5:28 pm) [edit]So, about those tits I saw at the gig the other night...
No, you have to wait. I'm going to drool some more over my new Special Happy Ain't-I-Gettin'-Nauseatin g-With-This-Love-Shit Love first.
Came home and thought about her. Made dinner and thought about her. Went to the library and posted my last entry about her. I HAD to. It was about to explode out of me if I didn't write it down.
Went to the store. Damn near tripped over six cases of motor oil when I saw an incredible babe waiting in line. She looked to be about 20. But the girl with her looked like she was in high school, and I'm terrible at guessing women's ages. No, don't want to go to jail, not tonight, Beautiful blonde, though. And...oh yeah, Jenny.
See? I'm still a hormone-fuelled asshole after all. Ain't it special???
Went to pay my phone bill. The girl who signed me up was there. Very Buffy-esque vibe from her. Even talks like Buffy. Was wearing glasses, first time I'd seen them. Cute.
But after FIFTEEN MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN COCKSUCKING MINUTES, I was ready to throw Buffy headfirst into a meat grinder and piss on her bloody remains, because she was PISSING ME THE FUCK OFF.
Ahhh, that's more like a Dougie post. I'm baaaaaack!
I don't know if you know tis, but Sprint has a policy for incoming employees.
-----------------
Copied from the Really For True Honest To Gawd Sprint Employee Handbook:
Page 7, line 6:
All new employees should be WORTHLESS COCKSMOKING SWINE with the customer service abilities of brain-dead salmon with their gills stuffed with the shit of a million inbred plankton.
-----------------
True story!
Buffy and another guy were working the desk. They each had one customer. ONE. I was the only other person there. They were taking their sweet fucking time. Buffy even took a call from her boyfriend WHILE HER CUSTOMER WAS RIGHT THERE. They made no effort to ackowledge my EXISTENCE after FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES of barely even helping the people right in FRONT of their fucking faces. I hate to say it, but I've never wanted to punch an attractive young girl in the face as badly as I did there. I left. Fuck them. I'll try again tomorrow. I better. It's fucking DUE tomorrow. You'd think I'd MAIL it in, but nooooooo, I don't DO things that obvious.
I went to the SuperTarget. I loathe and despise Wal-Mart, and Target is genereally better suited to my needs anyway. Surely this will be a better experience than at the Sprint store.
It was. The place was CRAWLING with hot women.
I think my what-passes-for-focus in recent days has moved onto new things. You think?
OK, excuse me. I'm going to go play air drums to Todd's Bang The Drum All Day.
Shit, I'm tired now.
The Ever Popular Tortured Artist Effect. Great album by Todd Rundgren that YOUR LIFE IS USELESS WITHOUT. Buy one now.
So, where was I? Oh yes, washing powder.
There was an incredible blonde when I walked in the door. Another one 40 feet later in front of the cheese. Another by the onions. Another one in the juice aisle. I kept waiting for a brunette. A redhead. A one-eyed goblin with a limp and a cart full of live lobsters juggling cans of tuna fish. There's nothing but blondes here! Nothing but hot 20-something blondes! It's...it's...uh...blondes...20-something...uh...it's................
I need to get laid. NOW.
I had to walk to the exact opposite corner of the store for something. Then down one end, past the books and CDs. Shit. Don't. Don't even look. Oh, fuck it. Go ahead and look.
So I looked. At the pretty blonde with the tight pink top and open red shirt over it. With the nice ass. Lovely face. All alone. looking at DVDs at 9PM all by herself? What a shame. She needs a man in her life. A man with grapefruit juice, swiss cheese, two ice packs, an onion, and an avacado in one hand and his sausage in the other.
I realized that I had stood in front of the rack of DVDs staring at this girl long enough to have crossed the line from Guy Checking Out The Cute Blonde territory into Lunatic Stalker territory.
Think quick. She's by herself. Fuck it. Take a chance, asshole. You've got nothing to lose. She might be a nymphomaniac Emerson, Lake & Palmer fan who owns most the stock in the Sierra Nevada beer company and whose body has been simply aching for a fat hairy guy to play Hide The Incredibly Small Object in it.
Usually I have to be drunk to write this good. I'm completely sober tonight. Shit! This is cool!
I nearly had myself talked into approaching this girl I've never seen in my life whe something really bad happened.
I thought about Jenny.
Well, that's good, but...oh fuck...not THIS feeling...
Guilt. Pure, unadulterated, unneccesary, unEVERYTHING guilt. Why? WHY??? What possible reason is there for this? God DAMN it!
I pulled my head away from it. Like you pull two dogs fucking apart. In other words, it was damn near impossible. I was feeling guilty about looking at a woman because...because...of another woman who I owe NOTHING to.
I really hate this shit.
I fought with it long enough to get into Really Creepy Stalker But She Hasn't Noticed Yet Because She's Still Reading The DVD Case territory. I walked to the other side of the rack. No, not HER rack, the DVDs.
She still didn't seem to notice I was there. Totally engrossed in the thrid season of Seinfeld or whatever the fuck she was looking at.
Think of something! Fast, asshole! You want a woman, not a restraining order, you idiot!
I couldn't think of a goddamn thing. Except...you guessed it...Jenny.
I left. I looked back right before walking around the corner. She still was reading the DVD case. Shit, that must be some really small print. Or she's illiterate. Or she's waiting for the asshole with the grapefruit juice to get the fuck away from her. No, she didn't notice me. Of course she didn't. They never DO notice. Just like the bitch at the Sprint store. I'm not even there. Non-entity, baby.
Another hot blonde. Two of them. In line behind me. I barely looked this time. For once.
Got to the car. Put on some Steely Dan. Pulled out and stopped for pedestrians coming out of the store.
There was the blonde from the DVD section. Not alone. Tall skinny guy with a very short haircut with her. Well, I guess that worked out for the best...
I cranked up Deacon Blues and drove off. I was happy again. Thinking about Jenny. Sweet Jenny. Ahhh...I want to devour you, my little vixen. Here, let me help you get out of that shirt and...
BARK!
I literally BARKED at the stupid motherfucking goddamn PIG-FUCKER who wasn't letting me get around him to get into the lane I could make my right turn in. Within a tenth of a second, I went from thinking about sweet love to absolute psychotic rage, making a noise that sounded like a crack-fed pit bull getting his nuts bitten off by another pit bull on crack.
And within 3 seconds, back to Jenny.
Oh yes, I'm still VERY bipolar. I felt it all hard. Felt the love deep in my chest. Felt the hate with every ATOM in me. Then I felt the love again, practically buzzing inside me. Like turning off all the lights in a giant warehouse (or even the one I work in) and right back on again. Lithium is good, but it doesn't stop everything. And you know what? Sometimes I don't mind.
Right as I turned onto the road my apartment is off of (passing the VP with the most expensive gas prices I've ever seen in the Midwest) my phone rang.
It's Jenny! It's Jenny! She's calling me! At 9:15 PM! She wants me! She needs me! She wants to meet me in the park, where she'll take my hand and lead me to a private meadow full of birds and squirrels and chocolate and rare soundboard recordings of Hendrix and she'll lay me down in the grass and make beautiful sweet passionate love to me and call my name as she has the most intense orgasm of her life and declares her undying love for me!
It was a guy baked out of his skull trying to order a pizza. Wrong number, buddy.
That's it. I'm out of my fucking mind.
------------------------- ------------------------- ------------------------
OK, enough of that. Let's talk about thsi past weekend.
Sheryl called me ten minutes before I was ready to leave to go visit Katie. Katie's sick. Fever. She had one earlier in the week and it had gone, but it was back. Damn. My little girl is feeling bad. All the energy that had gone towards a totally different world from the one she's in went right back into I've Got To See My Daughter. Make her feel better. Show her that her Daddy is still there for her. It breaks my heart to be away from her at times like this.
Two hours later, I was there. When I crossed the line into Ohio, I felt the split again. The split between the two worlds I live in. It sounds pretentious as all fuck, but it's there. The world I live in, and the world I left behind but get to visit once a week. The world of the flat boring cornfields, barely being able to pay bills, and falling in love with a woman I may never even get to touch...and the world with the hills and green of the Ohio Valley, the woman I still love but who I utterly failed, and my incredible daughter.
I thought I lived in two worlds inside my head while I was married. Now I do it for real. I suppose ti's better. But it takes some convincing to get me there. .
Katie, the little lunatic, was naked when I got there. My kid is a wacko. She was feeling better, but still didn't have much energy, and it hadn't been long since the fever had dropped after taking her medicine. I didn't think ti was a good idea to go out. We mostly sat and watched TV. She sat in my lap for a long time, in the recliner where we sat back when I brought her home from school. We'd come in and watch a little TV together, and she'd sit in my lap, and it would be among the best times we had. Holding my wonderful daughter.
I thought a quick trip out to the library would be OK once mid-afternoon hit. She fell asleep in the car five minutes after we left. I dropped books in the slot and sat in the parking lot with her. Half an hour later, she woke up covered in sweat. Miserable. "I want to go home. I don't want to have an adventure today. Can we go to Bill's next time?" We had talked about seeing our friend Bill, who we've stood up twice in two weeks now.
We went back and Mommy put in Monsters Inc for her. What a fun movie.
But I didn't get to see it all because I had a gig. Dammit. I didn't even know until 11 that morning when or where it WAS because I'd been playing phone tag with the guitar player all week. It was at a private party in a guy's back yard near Monroe. And he wanted me there two hours earlier than I normally drop Katie off. Dammit. Not only was she sick, now I had to leave her early. I tried to tell her that Daddy loves her and we'd spend next weekend together, just the two of us, for two full days back here in Indy. It felt kinda hollow. I felt like I was abandoning her. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I did.
So I got there and there weren't many people there yet, but the guy whose birthday party we were playing for (a friend of their old bass player, which felt odd, but he was a very cool guy) was cooking on the grill and the guitarist already had the PA set up. People in the pool right in front of the deck where we were set up.
I got my amp going and into the PA. I'd boiled my strings (haven't changed them in nearly two years) and sonofabitch if I didn't have a really damn good tone. I love my new SWR. Sounds great, and has sounded better with each gig. I can't wait to have new strings and really tweak this bastard into serious tonal madness.
The drummer showed up half an hour later. Already I was a bit irritated at having to show up so early. We weren't going to play for another hour and a half, and I knew damn good and well that just because we were getting done much earlier than the bar gigs, we'd still be there all night breaking down, because we ALWAYS take five times as long to break down as we should. For no reason I've ever been able to figure.
The singer wasn't there yet. He's the drummer's dad. And he's got a serious cocaine problem. His son only talks to him beause nobody else in the family will. He's always showing up for gigs at the last minute. Two weeks ago he was on time, but had a different guitar and amp. His old ones were "stolen." But hey, it has a happy ending because this time he told us he found them - they were "in the woods" near his house.
I don't think his constant sniffling had anything to do with allergies...
We got to hear about the found gear after waiting FOREVER for him to show up. He could have been dead in a ditch for all we knew, and nobody would have been surprised. He showed up five minutes before the gig started (half an hour after I thought it was supposed to) and we actually went on twenty minutes late. He looked like seventeen layers of dogfuck. His voice was just on the edge of acceptable, his guitar was constantly out of tune, and his amp was pointed DIRECTLY INTO MY GODDAMN EAR. Somehow, I wasn't nearly as bothered by this as I could have been.
Well, you don't tend to care about ltitle things like tinnitus and walking death ten feet away when there are WOMEN IN BIKINIS RIGHT THE FUCK IN FRONT OF YOU.
People kept showing up. Probably close to 100 by the end of the night. Lots and lots and lots of women, most of them fabulous. Almost nobody under age 30, though a few of the girls seemed to be early 20s. Judging by the cars and the conversation, 90% of the audience were yuppies.Well-off white folk who are NUTS when they get drunk. I had expected some kind of degenerate biker party, since that's where this band usually ends up. But the biker crowds are always sedate compared to this crowd. Well, the WOMEN in this crowd. The guys mostly hung out and watched the women.
Drunk ladies in swimwear yelling requests. Beer and barbecue everywhere. I love rock and roll.
The band up north are like brothers to me. I love the guys, and I enjoy most of the music. It's more of a real "oldies" feel, but we crank it up sometimes. 50s/60s with some 70s and a bit of 80s. Great guys. Clean guys. Normal small-town guys. SANE guys. I love them.
But the band in Cincy has more edge. In Marion, I'm a twisted freak. In Cincy, I'm the naive Christian boy who took a while to figure out that there was cocaine in the air. Gee, the singer sure does seem active tonight...ohhhhh, THAT'S why!
60s and lots of 70s. Some newer stuff. Heavier. The drummer is a 28-year old metal freak. He's going to see Megadeth soon, but he also likes Van Morrison. Everybody in the band but me has been to jail, the drugs are damn near on public display, the attittudes are harsher, and the music has far more potential to really rip the fuck out of the sky. Given the choice between the two, I'd take the guys back in Indiana because I feel a stronger responsibility to them and I don't have to worry about if I'm going to have to go pull one of them from his car when he wraps it around a HOUSE because the Columbian Dancing Dust impaired his ability to function like a mammal.
But I'd really miss these guys.
I get along with them all. They seem to hate each other, but they have a bond. The guitarist and singer have known each other forever (both are old enough to have learned these songs when they came out - you know, when I was in diapers) and the drummer is the singer's son and has known the guitarist since HE was in diapers. I'm just the bass player. And I do like them, even though a couple of them irritate me sometimes. I like the drummer the best, and he works with even more hot women than were at the party Saturday night. (Another story, I don't think I've told it yet.)
We started with Sunshine Of Your Love, which we've never played together before. It ROCKED. I was instantly full-on into tribute mode to my favorite bass player on the planet. Jack Bruce, baby. King of the aggressive ugly bassists. I toyed with the riff, I threw fast pentatonic fills into the chorus, I punched the rhythm with different accents. I played my ass off. And I stole every goddamn note of it from Jack Bruce, even though he never played it exactly like that. He plays NOTHING exactly the same every time. Which is why he's my hero. I love you, Jack.
That was actually the best thing I played all night. It was a good gig and I played well, but it wasn't exceptional except for a few other times. A pretty damn fine Closer To Home (me doing Mel Schacher doing Jack Bruce) and a version of Oh Pretty Woman that sounded damn near like it was Corrosion Of Conformity rather than Roy Orbison. Too Rolling Stoned done up faster than Trower, but not really better. Still good.
Two weeks ago we played the best gig I ever played with them. We DESTROYED a bar in Blanchester (read: fucking NOWHERE) Ohio. We played harder and heavier and tighter and groovier and more metallic than I've ever played with anyone. Before the fourth set, I went outside with the guitarist for some "fresh air." Did you know you can get high from being within FOUR FEET of some people? Our fourth set was incredible. I know this even though I've never in my life been that separated from any usual concept of time. I don't consume herbal entertainment objects often. in fact, this was the 6th time I ever have, I was FUCKED UP. I wondered where the fuck I was at at the same time I was RIGHT THERE. I played the whole set as minimalist as possible, mostly because I was TERRIFIED of playing any more notes. I was convinced I'd fuck up, even though I never once did, and was more locked in with the drummer than I've ever been with any drummer. I was a groove-monster. I've never played so few notes in a whole set. Very different from my normal Jack Bruce-worshipping self. And very, very cool.
I had one fuck of a headache on the drive back, though.
But that was two weeks ago. Back to this weekend. Remember, there's tits involved.
A very athletic blonde with the tightest-looking ass I've ever seen spent lots of time in the pool. A woman with glasses and the firmest, roundest, big fuckin' tits EVER talked to me for ten minutes about how cool the band was. I think she was wearing glasses, andyway. I can't really tell you a thing about her. Except that I want to wear those tits on my head like Carrie Fisher wears those earphones on her head as Princess Leia.
My favorites were Kiera and Amanda. Amanda was a tall big-boned blonde who acted like she owned the place. Kiera was a brunette who had a LOT of alcohol and kept walking around singing Carry On Wayward Son on our breaks, She had a really nice voice. Then she sat in on drums on a weird version of Suspicious Minds. It atarted off just as the singer and guitarist acoustically. Then Kiera came in on drums, Amanda sang harmony, and Dave (the guy who DID own the place, it was his birthday) sang a LOOOOOOOOW harmony. He sounded like the guy with the bass voice in the Statler Brothers if you dropped his balls another four feet. Then he sang American Pie. It was BIZARRE. Same guy came up with his trombone when we did a ten minute funk jam in E.(One of the gutiarist's ideas.) Not a bad player. Not a great one, but not bad. It was stilted and too long, but it was kinda fun.
On one break, I was in getting a burger. (The 40 pounds of ribs Dave grilled were GONE within an hour and I never even saw them.) Kiera was talking loud about something. Amanda was telling our drummer than we should do the Boston song that shared her name.The drummer left right before the best part of the night.
Kiera looks at Amanda. "Do you think tan lines are sexy?" Amanda says "Yes!" Kiera asks me. "Oh yeah." Kiera is really drunk. She's looking at me like she wants to fuck my brains out. It occurs to me that she's probably looking at every guy within 20 miles the same way.
Then Amanda says to me, "Do you think I should bite her tan lines?"
"Only if I get to watch."
She did.
Kiera pulled down one side of her bikini bottom for Amanda. THEN she said, "Here, bite THIS!" and pulled down the FRONT of them. I caught a quick flash of bush before Amanda STUFFED HER FACE IN.
I looked at the two black guys taking a break from putting relish and onion on their weenies (seriously) to get a better view of the action, and I said "You know, it's times like this that I have to just say 'Thank you Jesus' that I took up the bass."
Amanda was laughing as she removed her entire skull from Kiera's snatch. OK, not really. It actually all happened so fast that I saw very little. So what? It ranks up there with the finest moments in my musical career.
Amanda (who at this point had me "standing at attention" for the rest of the night) had an announcement for the band: "If you guys play some Journey, I'll show you my tits."
I immediately turned to my comrades in arms. "Gentlemen, I'm going to Best Buy and spending my share of tonight's pay on the entire Journey catalog. Do an acoustic set without me, and when I get back we can spend the next break STUDYING THE ALBUMS. This young lady has made her request and offered the reward for our compliance, and I believe it is incumbent upon us to deliver her wish unto her. I'll be back in half an hour. Jimmy, think Steve Perry. You are Steve Perry. You ARE Steve Perry. Now concentrate, goddammit! I shall return ASAP with the necessary learning material."
By the way, I fucking HATE Journey. I'm such a whore. But let's face it: the promise of excellent boobage has brought down many a man better than I.
Nobody knew any Journey. We never saw Amanda's tits. But I knew I could count on Keira. After all, Keira had drank more by 8:15 than everyone else in the back yard had all night. Somewhere towards the end of the night (the details are fuzzy, and I really don't care anyway) Keira jumped up out of the pool onto some bald guy's head and looked right at us. Then she threw her top off, threw her arms out, hung on to that pose for about 15 seconds, then jumped back into the pool.
I immediately started reharmonizing the bass line. With minor seconds. OK, I was a fret off. TITS!!!!
I heard the drummer yell "Holy shit! Did you see that???" and drop three sticks. Which is impossible, since he only uses two at a time. The singer was smiling and forgetting the lyrics. The guitarist was so busy playing some shit that didn't really belong with the song in the first place that he didn't get to see them. They were NICE. Average size, but very, very nice. After I finally remembered what key I was supposed to be in, I heard Zappa in my head."Here's your fifty bucks, Mary."
And that's the story of the tits. And yes, I've already spanked it to Keira. I know the drummer has. He thought he was actually going to have a chance to nail her at one point, but she disappeared. He looked CLINICALLY DEPRESSED when it was time to leave, and if he didn't end up beating the bishop that night into a used towel, I'll eat...uh...Kiera's tan lines.
We got to see tits two weeks ago too, but she was probably 55 and drunk in a far less entertaining way than Keira. Actually she looked good for her age, but there just wasn't much appeal to it. Kinda like "OK, guess I should take my tits out now. Here. Yeah, they're here. OK, you done looking yet?"
Kiera, on the other hand, was ENTHUSIASTIC about sharing the fruit of her top with us. Makes all the different in the world.
And when I think about enthusiastic women happily attacking her work, I think about...Jenny.
I kept hoping for a woman who'd sorta look like her. I finally saw one. Well, sorta. Kinda like Jenny. If Jenny ate a lot more cornbread.
(Now, I like cornbread myself, but a few weeks ago, when I was homicidal over the temp agency fucking with me, I heard myself refer to these rat bastards as "a bunch of cornbread-eating motherfuckers", which I still think is a pretty fuckin' funny phrase.)
As expected, it took a stupid amount of time to load gear up, even with five extra guys helping. I can't figure out how this happens, but I take it as the price for making $20 a gig more than I did with them four years ago.I was irritated. I want my money, I want to leave, I want to find some Kleenex and whatever issue of Hustler's Beaver Hunt that Kiera undoubtedly was in.
I thought about Ohio as I drove out of it again. I thought about the band and ther crazy shit from the night. I thought about my ancestors settling this part of the world 200 years ago, drifting up the Little Miami River. I thought about my family. An ex-wife I made promises to that I was incapable of keeping. A little girl who I love more than anything, and though I spend much of my time questioing why I moved so far from her, I know that even the time we do have together is essential for her growth. For mine even. And given the tone of the gig, I thought about Chris Rock's routine on being a father. "My relationship with my daughter now will affect her relationships with men for the rest of her life. The rest of her life. And I realize when I look down at my little girl, that my ONLY job as a father is to keep her off the pole. Keep my baby off the pole! If you're a father and your daughter is a stripper, you fucked up!"
"Katie, this is a video from Daddy's band recently. Yeah, they had a swimming pool. Now, I want to show you something. see those two girls? See the one with the dark hair and...yep, see what she did there? Honey, if you ever do that, you'll never get to be the Senator from New York. And that's important, you know."
I hit Indiana around 2:30.Goodbye Ohio. I will missyou, but at least i've got Jenny to keep me moving through the week.
Sunday morning I barely slept. I did a practice wtih the band up north. This was after my post talking about how well I sang in the car. At the practice (the singer is on vacation) I sang Get Back. I sucked. Oh well...
I came home and took a sleeping pill and was out for nearly ten hours. What a fucking weekend. When I woke up Monday morning, I re-read my card for Jenny about 47 times. You know what happened next. It's Tuesday morning as I write this, and I'm PRAYING TO GODS I NO LONGER BELIEVE IN that some little thing, some cute turn of phrase from me when I see her today, ANYTHING will melt her heart and make her love me. I want this move to indiana to be worth it. I still don't know if I'm going to get a guitar teaching gig, and I know I can't keep up this psychotic weekend schedule of driving all over the goddamn place for another year if I'm still just a shmuck in a warehouse. Gawd, I hope I don't fuck this up.
Gotta go to work. Jenny's there.
Love,
Dougie
I Did Something Right! I Did Something Right!
08.15.05 (5:37 pm) [edit]I got her a card.
It was a simple one. Flowers on the front, open it up and it says "Thank you so much." I wrote "For the job! For being the nicest person in the company! For EVERTHING! You rock!" and signed my name.
It reads as if it's about nothing more than what she's done for me professionally. And I AM thankful for what she's done there.
But it's also a pretty obvious "Hey, you are REALLY cool" move from a guy who has already referred to her as "wonderful" and a "goddess" and tends to stumble a bit through his sentences in front of her.
I had no idea whether this was a good move or not. It felt like a great idea. It might also have been a horrible idea, I kept thinking. I kept preparing myself for the worst, because that's what I usually do. Just in case.
I shouldn't have worried.
I wanted to just leave it on her desk first thing this morning before she got there. You know, increase the "mystery" a bit. But I thought she might be there before me, and I wasn't sure what to do. I tried to rehearse in my head. I've been doing that constantly anyway. Rehearsing in my head for anything I can imagine happening with this beautiful, beautiful woman.
I couldn't think of anything. And sure enough, she was there.
Her cubicle is set up so that you can only see her if you are right in front of her. So I turned the corner, and there she was at her desk.
"Oh, hello. I have something for you."
"What's this?" A look of genuine surprise and interest.
She opened it and read it. The look on her face was PRICELESS. I turned into lemon-flavored jello in about half a nanosecond.
"Doug...thank you! Thank you! This is...so nice! Wow, somebody else gave me some bread pudding this morning, and now this! Wow!"
No jokes about the bread pudding, you filthy-minded assholes. That's MY job.
She was in shock. *I* was in shock. Wow. I made this woman happy.
"You know, I usually hate Mondays, but this was already a good day, and now you've given me this." She put it up next to her business cards and the picture of her dog. "This really made my day. It made my WEEK!"
I was floored, but somehow kept my momentum. "Well, my work here is done. I'm so glad to be of service. You deserve it."
She still had that look on her face. She really honestly loved what I'd done for her. HOLY FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Not much more was said. I think I wished her a continuing great day and left. I went to the line, not 20 yards from her. I did my job. Did it pretty damn well, too. Got a lot done and the supervisor went out of his way to compliment me on it.
I seldom have days this good, and almost never when I have to go to work somewhere I don't really want to be.
But as long as she's there, I have ONE reason to show up and slog through it all.
I made a woman happy.
I. Made. A. Woman. Happy.
I MADE A WOMAN HAPPY.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!
I couldn't stop thinking about her all day. I saw her a few more times. Got to say hi as she walked past once. She was occupied, but still smiling.
I want to die inside that smile.
A few not-so-good things came to mind. Primarily "if you'd been smart enough to do this kind of thing for Sheryl more often, you might still HAVE a wonderful woman instead of merely be trying to get one, you dumb bastard." But...I don't want to think about that much. Even though it's probably true. Dammit.
But mostly I was really happy today. I felt strong. Confident. Completely and utterly in love with a fabulous, intensely beautiful woman. Who reacted to something I did in such a positive, strong way that I HAVE to find a way of keeping this going. I can't POSSIBLY let this go. Dumbass that I am, I still haven't looked for a ring yet. I'm too busy looking at that lovely face. Yeah, and her tits too. OK? Ya happy now?
I have no idea if she's attached. I barely CARE. Fuck, I'm having a good time.
What can I do now? I have to let it rest for a couple days. Can't go too fast. But at least one more time this week. Maybe think of something to say Friday when she hands out checks.
"Hi Jenny! Say, wanna go out? I'll spend this whole check on beer, get you loaded, and you'll wake up tomorrow married but unable to remember why! It'll be fun!"
Nah. A little too...I don't know...UNSUBTLE.
"Hi Jenny! You know, I just found out I have a fatal disease. I'm supposed to eat nothing but fish and grapefruit juice if I want to last more than another twqo months. But the doc says if I eat pussy twice a day, I might be able to see my grandkids! So, wanna donate to a charity? You'll certainly be relaxed at the end of the day!"
Nah, too bad porno.
Or maybe I'll whip it out right there in front of her. Right when she walks up. Just let it all hang out.
Nah. All the black guys there will do the same thing and I'll be back down to number 597 on her list of Things To Do, right behind "get trichinosis from eating uncooked monkey sphincter." Not a good idea, and I can't afford a lawyer right now.
Well, I'll think of something. I want something cute, romantic, funny, and subtle. In other words, I'm totally fucked.
Love (and lots of it),
Dougie
Love Is All Around
08.14.05 (12:00 pm) [edit]I'll write later about last night's gig (which was insane and lots of fun, and involves cocaine-ridden singers and crazed beautiful yuppie women flashing their tits), but I was just re-reading my last few posts (yes, I'm that full of myself sometimes) and I saw something.
I said I didn't want to fall in love, partially because it would get in the way of all the music inside me. I meant that, and I know that what I intended to say was that I don't want to get TOO invovled with anyone, but really that doesn't make complete sense.
I'm in Marion now, about to go to practice with the other band. I drove up here this morning, singing along with CDs, and singing better than I have in a LONG time. I was mostly singing love songs. I was HAPPY. I was even driving the speed limit. Not any concerns about going anywhere fast. TOTALLY unlike me.
The best music that has come out of me all week was this morning, singing Then She Appeared, and Utopia's I Just Want to Touch You. I sang both about six times in a row. Not a care in the world.
I've got no illusions about anything happening with Jenny. And I've got few about my own emotions. I know how I am. I'm usually ADD as all fuck, but every once in a while, something will come along and grab me for hours, days, even weeks. Then I'll come crashing down. It might not happen this time, but it probably will. I suppose that's OK. I'm happy to be here right now.
I played well last night. Not incredible, btu well. I thought about her a lot. I also got heavilly distracted by the other women. Yeah, that's me in a nutsack. :)
Dougie
Then She Appeared
08.12.05 (6:28 pm) [edit]Thursday night
This is a strange time to be wondering if I'm falling in love.
It's not that I don't believe in love at first sight, or love at a very limited exposure to someone. It's just that I don't TRUST it. I'm a complete goob-head when I start feeling this way. I say and do even stupider things than I do in daylight. It scares me a little.
And feels good too. I'm surprised to find that I still CAN feel the way I've felt the past few nights. A week, really, but only really concentrated in the past few nights, and tonight in particular. I even wrote her a ridiculous song. It's cheesy and dopey and what the fuck. I'm happy, goddammit. Let a guy be stupidly happy for once. Here it is:
You're the brightest bulb on my Christmas tree
You're much better looking than my friend Lee
You're the perfect match for my asymmetry
You're the cure for my constant ADD
Jenny
Yeah, Jenny
Gotta get me into your smile
Jenny
Damn, Jenny
I'd like to makes biscuts and gravy with you for a while
I'm the stuttering fourth grader in your past
I'm the guy who never said it, and came in last
I'm the eyes currently superglued to your sweet ass
I'm the guy offering you the stone, and I'm the glass
Jenny
Yeah, Jenny
Gotta get me into your smile
Jenny
Sweet Jenny
I'd like to get dizzy and fall over running through your turnstiles
Love ain't free
And I cost too much
But I've got extra napkins packed
Wanna make you my lunch
Yeah, Jenny
I'm the oversized hormone who wants to make good
You're the balancing act for me to reign in my wood
I'm trying to make my intentions fully understood
You're the engine for my dreamin', can I be the hood?
Jenny
Oh, Jenny
Gotta get me into your heart
Jenny
Yeah, Jenny
You hit me like an expertly thrown dart
Jenny
Oooh, Jenny
Gotta get me into your brain
Jenny
I love ya Jenny
Even though I'm obviously completely insane
Jenny
And I can't stop thinking about how much I want to make HER feel good. I feel good just having this thing in my chest. I just don't know what I have to offer her other than this crazed feeling. I've joked about it, but the only thing I feel capable of in terms of making this woman happy is to bury my face down there for an hour or two. And i'd gladly do it. I think I could make her laugh too. And I love doing that for a woman. But what else am I good for right now?
"Well, Jenny. I've thought through it, and I know now why you should be my baby tonight, ooo yeah. Sorry, just thought I was an Eddie Money song or something for a second there. These things happen to me when I fall in love with women who have no real reason to care if I live or die. You know, like all of them.
Anyway, here's what I have: I like to eat pussy. I make a damn good stir-fry. And I haven't killed anyone with a hatchet or a book of stamps yet. So, am I your man?"
Jenny...
Less than three months ago I wanted to die. And I was putting myself in situations where it could happen. Now I'm not so into death. I think being with my daughter sounds like more fun. Being with Jenny too.
Jeezus Fucking Kee-rist! I barely know this woman! I'm going off of very limited information here! I WORK for this woman! Am I insane???
Who gives a fuck?
I like feeling this way. I like having these little daydreams. Most aren't about sex, believe it or not. Some, yeah. Most are about the initial ice-smashing. I'd say "breaking", but I'm not very subtle. You might have noticed that about me by now. (Ho ho.) I keep thinking about her handing me the check tomorrow, and smiling at her. Not being able to stop smiling. Then stammering through some half-baked bullshit about anything except what's actually on my mind, just to keep her there ten seconds longer. So I can look at her for ten more seconds. Maybe get just a bit deeper inside those eyes. And I'm smiling, and stammering, and trying to be cute and funny and finally she understands. She gets it. And she tries to get me to admit it. Finally I do. I try to phrase it right. I can't say "I'm madly in love with you", or "I really really really like you and oooh baby, gee whiz, would you like me too, in my lonely teenage room, woo woo woo", or "I want to weatherproof your pussy with my tongue" or even "Jenny, I'm crazy about you." All these things would eventually require lawyers.
"Jenny, I really like you. I'll leave it at that."
And of course she'd say,
"Oh God, I thought you'd never say it. Take me right here on the concrete floor in front of all the black guys who have bigger dicks than you. I'm YOURS! Take me, you savage mouseketeer!"
Or:
"Sorry, I'm a lesbian."
Or:
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. And you want to weatherproof my pussy with your tongue too, right? Dammit, I've gotta call the company for ANOTHER new temp? Get out of here, asshole."
Or:
"That's really nice. Now excuse me, I've got paperwork to do."
Or:
"Thank you, that's very sweet. I'm already married to the most wonderful man on the planet, and you, after all, are but a measly temp, but that's still really sweet of you."
Or:
"Yawn. Uh...what was that?"
Or:
"Doug, I really like you too. but seeing as how this violates about seventeen codes of professionalism, I guess you can go back home and jerk off. sorry."
Or:
"Doug, I really like you too. Here, let me write my phone number down for you. Call me tonight? I'd love to get to know you better."
Or:
"AIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!" (runs headlong into forklift and knocks self out)
All these things actually go through my head. But mostly I just want to be allowed to stand there and stare at her for about forty-six days. Follow her around like that little puppy. Beg for scraps. Just be NEAR her. Absorb her special energy.
Holy fuck, I AM falling in love. I simply don't say shit like this unless it's about Keneally. How can I break his heart like that?
"Dear Doug,
Got your note. You WHORE!
Crushed,
Mikey"
I think it might also be hard to explain to Jenny. "Well, babe. I know we've been together for three months now, and I regularly chow your muffin like it's Jesus' Salad Bar, but I have kept a secret from you. See, I'm actually bi. And I really want to fuck this guy with a green guitar. I hope this doesn't interfere with our beautiful, blessed love."
To paraphrase Bill Hicks, it's going to take a very special woman to deal with me. Or a whole bunch of average ones. Either way, I'm fine.
Well, The Lord Of The Flies has come to drag my ass to Hell. I'll be thinking about Jenny the whole trip.
Sweet, delectable, fun-filled, creamy nougat centered Jenny.
Poor kid, she's gonna need a damn good shrink if I ever actually do start anything,
Dougie
------------------------- ------------------------- ----------
Next morning.
The alarm goes off. Jenny? Are you there?
Oh shit. I'm starting to lose my mind, right?
I usually don't want to get out of bed anyway. But this morning I have a reason. Because there is a soft, warm, beautiful ghost there, and I can't possibly leave that, can I? I can't get up and go to work when I have a complete figment of my derangemagination here with me, ready to keep me warm?
Here, let me snuggle in a little closer. Have I told you lately that you are the most beauitful creature in the entire universe? I love you, Jenny. I............
HELP ME! I AM IN HELL!
OK, I'm awake now. I'm going to fry a couple eggs and go to work. This is what I told the picture on my bedside table. The picture of my daughter. Katie, Daddy still has feelings towards your Mommy, but it's over, and she has been seeing someone, and I'm happy for her for doing that. But I need to do that too. I didn't think I did. I didn't really want to. Not for a while, anyway. But now I know I need to. There's a girl I'm crazy about who I can never possibly be with, but maybe I'll find someone else soon. The main thing I want YOU to know is that YOU are the most important woman in my world, and I never want to let anything or anyone get in the way of that. Like when that cat hurt you. I was right there to stop that. I'll be right there to stop anyone who tries to take you from me in any way, even if it's someone I also love. So don't worry. Daddy might find someone to be with, because grownups need that, but she'll never take YOUR place in my heart.
I'm getting serious again. OK, time to go to work..
------------------------- -------------------
Friday evening
Well, still have that Tommy Tutone song in my fucking head. I saw Jenny this morning when she handed out checks. Her hair was about halfway between yesterday's and before. White sweater (too hot for it outside, but inside it was a bit cool) which perfectly presented her frontal assets. Very smiley and professional.
"Hi Jenny! how are you today?"
"It's a wonderful day. Absolutely wonderful."
Hey, I haven't brought her down yet.
"Well, that's great. Glad that dealing with all of us hans't ruined your day. "
"No! You guys are great. Everyone's here on time, doing their job. you guys are great to work with."
"So are you!"
"Thanks!"
"I hope you continue to have a wonderful, fabulous day. And hey, you got everything on my check right. I knew you were wonderful!"
"Thank you!" Big smile from her. Not the slightest edge off her professionalism, seems totally unaware (though I know she's not) that I'm not just talking about her work performance, but a big smile, great attitude.
Holy shit. I'm not nearly good enough for this woman.
She walked by a couple more times, smiled each time. I wanted to fall to my knees and scream "My face is your chair! Sittith upon me, my love! I want to wrap you in bacon and play Ethiopian Refugee! Your lawyer doesn't have to know! Come on, it'll be fun! I'll buy you a pizza! Of course I'll introduce you to Warren!"
Adds water, makes its own sauce...
I'd made myself all pretty before I came in for her. Yeah, right. I'm as pretty as an overcooked frozen pork fritter. Which taste OK, but aren't pretty.
But I did get my hair about as good as it gets (not bad these days, it's about he only thing on me worth looking at) and didn't wear my usual hat. Pulled it back and tried to look semi-professional in my black pants and one of my better shirts. Took extra time shaving.
I NEVER go out of my way to look good for ANYONE unless its a job interview. Obviously, Jenny has caused me to come unhinged.
I saw her walking around to and from her desk most of the morning. Bob - the guy I usually work with, and whose job I'll be doing by myself Monday while he's out - chuckled a few times, noticing that my head went wherever she did. He told me a couple days ago I'd break my neck if I wasn't careful. Fuck it. Everyone ELSE is checking her out too, why not me? This is one fine looking woman. Every guy in there (80% of whom are black, and I've gotta say, I enjoy working with them all a lot. This is new for my white ass.) who I've mentionend her to thinks the same thing. My immediate supervisor rolled his eyes this morning. "Damn, I try to just look away. Don't need THAT breaking my concentration." One of the other guys said "Yeah, she's OK alright" the same time I was saying "That's one fine lookin' white girl." He thought that was pretty funny.
I just took a quick break from typiing to get some more baked beans. I reached for the pepper and got the salt instead. Uh...shtifucky!
The supervisor also asked me this morning how I was doing. "Bob said you just went through a divorce. I've been through two, got two kids from each."
I liked Al's advice. Next woman I get? Don't fall in love with her. Wait til the one after that. "It feels like your using her to heal yourself, and you are. But you've gotta take care of yourself. Be good to her. Just don't stay around too long. Fall in love with the one after THAT."
Of course, I WANT Jenny. Who I'm already...nah, I don't think this is really love. I've had myself in a pretty good frenxy the past few days, but I've cooled down a bit. It's neurochemicals. Same shit that always fucks me up. I can't let myself get too caught up in this. But I'm glad I did for a while. Just to know that I CAN feel this way again. It's worth it for that. I'll likely have a flood of chemical reaction through my skull every time I see her, but I have to remember that's what it is. A good thing, in fact, a great thing if allowed to flourish in a healthy way. But that's it right now.
Sure feels good, though. I'd worship her given the chance. It's just not fair that women that look like that exist. :)
Before I left today, I ran over to her desk. She'd left at lunch. I saw her go with her purse, and felt a little tinge of sadness. She does the same job at another place down the road, and I knew it was over until Monday. I'll see her again then.
Her card was there. I know her last name now. The only picture on her desk is of a very cute dalmation.
I'll be thinking of her a lot. It brings a song into my head that is almost as beautiful as she is. Yeah, I had that damn 867-5309 thing circling around, but ever since she left at noon, XTC has been drifting in and out of my noggin. I wish I had half the ability to write that Andy Partridge does:
Then she appeared, apple venus on a half open shell
Then she appeared, the first photograph on Fox Talbot's gel
I was a little frightened
Flying with my senses heightened
Cherubim cheered
Then she appeared
Then she appeared, as the giggling crew of Marie Celeste
Then she appeared, pale Atlantis rising out of the west
I was a little dazzled
Catherine wheeled and senses frazzled
Know it sounds weird
Then she appeared
And the sun which formally shone
In the clearest summer sky
Suddenly just changed address
Now shines from her blue eyes
Then she appeared, brittle shooting star that dropped in my lap
Then she appeared, dressed in tricolour and phrygian cap
I was a little troubled
Hookah with my senses bubbled
All Edward leared
Then she appeared
And the moon which formally shone
On the marbled midnight mile
Suddenly just packed its bags
Now shines from her bright smile
Then she appeared
Out of nowhere
See you Monday, sweet Jenny. Thank you for awakening a part of me I thought had died a long time ago.
Still a bit fluttery,
Dougie
867-530 Niiiiiiiine
08.11.05 (5:41 pm) [edit]OK, her name is Jenny.
She came up to me today at work. Just a glimpse from the corner of my eye and my pants were wet. I turned around and...oh my fucking God...she changed her hair.
Looked great. I liked it better before, but it looked great. She was wearing this fuzzy pink top that made her look a little too professional - even a little older - in contrast with the youthful energy she usually emanates (my guess is she's about 30, probably a couple years less) but my God...I want to eat her for hours.
"Got something for you!"
A free trip inside your pants? Please oh please oh please???
It was a check.
Hey, I need the money.
The check for the other job I worked at one day last week. I figured they'd take care of me this time (fuck knows I've bitched at them often enough in the past couple weeks) but it was nice to see it a day earlier than expected. I knew it was Brad at the office who got this out my way, but I'm a smooth motherfucker, so my response was:
"Jenny, you are a goddess."
"I know!"
She's so cute.
She walked back to her cubicle (less than 20 yards from me, but the walls keep me from completely fucking up my work by actually being able to SEE her more than five minutes a day) and something went through my head. I followed her. I got there and...uh...
"I forgot what I was going to ask you."
"Oh, that's OK. Nice to see you!"
Wow, she sounded serious.
"Nice to...uh...see you too. I see you changed your hair."
"Yeah, its a little more blonde now." Actually, it's a different style. Funny that I hadn't noticed the slight bit of extra shine. Maybe the sun shining in her eyes had distracted me and...Christ, that sounds cheesy...
"Looks great."
"Thank you!"
"Well...uh...see you. Still can't remember what I was going to ask you."
"That's OK. Have a nice day!"
Fuckity fuckfuck FUCK. If I'd said ANYTHING else it probably would have been incredibly stupid and/or out of line. I left. I remembered two seconds later what I wanted to ask (no, not "Can I worship at the altar of your pussy?" but an actual job-related question of little actual import) but I didn't go back. I wanted to. I thought about Mary, the woman with the same sort of job as Jenny back at the office in Ohio. The last woman who destroyed my mind like this. Mary sat and talked with me (while she was on the clock) about religion for 25 minutes. Mary is married. (Cute sentence, that.) I actually came very close to falling out of my chair when she mentioned her husband, and I KNOW she knew it. She kept talking. What a sweetheart.
I want Jenny a lot more, though.
I really hate being male sometimes. I hate some of the more base, lower-brain things that go along with this stuff. The I Am The Mighty Conqueror bullshit that men feel, or in the case of men like me, I Am NOT A Conqueror, I'm A Fucking Putz. Why can't it be solely about fucking? Women THINK it's solely about fucking, but it's acually got a lot of weird ego things tied to it, and I don't enjoy any of that. I enjoy sex. And giving too. No, really. I think the greatest feeling in the world is knowing that you're making a woman happy.
OK, maybe I like blowjobs better. I'm TRYING to work through this shit honestly, goddammit!
I don't really want to feel this way about anyone right now, and it certainly is going to do me no good to feel it towards a woman I can't possibly APPROACH, let alone have any kind of relationship with. I've got other things to do right now, and I don't need all this getting in the way. I don't want to think about my dick, or anywhere it might want to go. I've got bills to pay and music that would really like to be coming out of me. I can't do all this at the same time. I know that full well now. I'm not in any mental condition to try to give my energy to a woman. The last time I tried, I failed.
It's selfish, probably. But it's true. I wouldn't be living alone right now if it wasn't.
But holy fuck. I want this woman in a BAD way. I want to get to know her, find out why she's as smart and confident and full of life as much as she is beautiful. Dammit. It's bad enough that I want to fuck this girl, I have to want everything ELSE too?
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !
I'm gonna go back home and read some Hunter Thompson and try to forget about this.
Jenny...oh sweet fuckin' Jenny..................
Dougie
My pants are falling! My pants are falling!
08.10.05 (5:28 pm) [edit]Chicken Little, meet Cock Little.
Apparantly my current diet (consisting mostly of beans, various soups, assorted things that grow in the ground, and grapefruit juice) is doing its work. OF course, I eat like this because I can't AFFORD to eat anything else. But that's good, I suppose. My pants are falling off. The last three pairs I wore require belts now. This makes me happy.
I'm still getting the shits every week or so, but at least there's been little or no blood in in for a while now...
Speaking of pants falling off, you've GOT to see the chick I work for. Well, I don't have pictures. She's the on-site rep for my temp agency at my new job (which I've been at for five days, a new record for this company)and I want to WEAR HER ON MY HEAD LIKE A FEED BAG. Holy fucking shit. Amazing blonde, very curvy, light tan, unfuckbelievable smile. Killer eyes. She has a small scar on her right cheek, which hurts nothing. I have no idea why it's there, not going to ask. The only question I really feel like asking when I see her is "PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH FUCKING PLEASE WILL YOU HAVE SEX WITH ME YOU UTTER FUCKING GODDESS???????"
Which I doubt would work.
Last week I followed her upstairs to get my new badge. I watched her hair 10% of the time - she walks with this great confidence, and her ponytail bounces around in a very cute, somehow assertive (if hair can be assertive) way). The other 90% of the time I watched her ass. Christ, and I thought I couldn't keep my eyes off her rack when she was facing me. This is the kind of ass that TALKS to you as it so perfectly moves. "Hi! I'm the ass on this hot babe! See me? You wanna FUCK me, don't you? I'm her ASS!!!"
I see beautiful women often. I don't see many who make me want to follow them around like a puppy begging for scraps. (In fact, the last one worked for the same temp agency back at the Cincy office when I was there.) Since this isn't an option, I go to Plan B, which is "Make Everything You Say To Her As Funny As You Possibly Can."
Strangely enough, this one actually thinks I AM funny.
Unfortunately, I don't see her more than five minutes a day. No minutes yesterday. Damn. Her effect on my psychology is remarkable. I can't stop thinking abut how much I want to fill her pussy with taco meat (properly cooled down first, of course) and DINE AT THE BUFFET.
"So Doug, looks like you've got a few hours of overtime this week."
"I want to eat your pussy."
""Checks will be her Friday."
"I want to eat your pussy."
"I spoke to Brad at the office and he's making sure you get paid on time this week."
"I want to eat your pussy."
Me single-minded? I need this luscious creature in my life. I NEVER think about the same thing for more than 14 seconds. She is the cure for my ADD. I want to eat her...oh, you get the idea.
And she's incredibly nice, great energy, always smiling. She comes off like the girl who grew up both making all the boys want her, and beating up all the boys. Just for fun. I think she's fully aware that she's the most amazing little vixen within a 20-mile radius, but she's more amused by it than anything. God, I'd love to TALK to her for an hour. I'd just sit there and...well...drool.
This is a woman I work for. Goddammit. Oh well, back to waxing the dolphin...
ASS!
Dougie
For Katie
08.02.05 (9:14 am) [edit]The bike-path to Eden
Decorated with your smile
It's time to see Mama
But I'd rather stay here for a while
Little river, he lives there
Tossing us buckets full of happy
You caught one!
Frisbee arc perfectly skewed
To your antenna's frequency
I'd like to fly with you
Each step of life's sequence-ee