Bacardi Limon Is My New Personal Lord And Savior
10.25.05 (10:10 pm) [edit]I got a link from a freind recently that led to this joke, which I told my co-worker Bob yesterday:
St. Peter decides to take the day off to go fishing, so Jesus offers to keep an eye on the Pearly Gates. He is not sure what to do, so Peter tells him to find out a bit about people as they arrive in Heaven, and this will help him decide if he can let them in.
After a while, Jesus sees a little old man with white hair approaching who looks very, very familiar. He asks the old man to tell him about himself. The old man says, "I had a very sad life. I was a carpenter and had a son who I lost at a relatively young age, and although he was not my natural child, I loved him dearly."
Jesus welled up with emotion. He threw his arms around the old man and cried, "Daddy!"
The old man replied, "Pinocchio?"
An hour later, I said, "You know, when I go to lunch today, I think I'll go to Steak And Shake and tell Amanda the Pinocchio joke."
Bob replied, "You really like to go all or nothing, don't you?"
I like Bob,
So I see Amanda at lunch. She looks utterly delicous. I'm eating that chili five-way, but I'm thinking about her. Yum.
She walks by."Hey, I've got a joke for you."
She sits down across from me. She looks REALLY interested. My weenie awakens with a happy jolt.
I tell her the joke. She LAUGHS. I made a woman laugh! Wheeeeee!!!!!
Then I notice how quickly she gets her ass back to the kitchen.
OK, she probably just needs to get back to work. She isn't REALLY running away from me now. Right? RIGHT???
A few minutes later, looking up from my book (The Encyclopedia Cthulhiana. I'm SUCH a fucking geek) I see her come by and I try to make some conversation. I ask how busy she's been. She tells me a bit about her day (she sounds rather tired) and I say something amazingly full of shit:
"I hope the rest of your day is as beautiful as you are."
That's enough to make ME throw up.
But she didn't. Her face lit up. She looked genuinely happy. I MADE HER HAPPY. Holy fuck.
I wanted to fly out of my seat and attack her right there Tear that uniform off and asault her labia with my tongue. That look on her face. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uck.
She seemed so caught off guard. So vulnerable. And so, soooooo fucking hot. There was something very knowing in her eyes, but still so very....young. Innocent. There's something so much like a little girl in those eyes, yet something so much like a very, very knowledgeable, experienced, FUCKING AMAZING woman in there. Innocent. Yet not. God DAMN it.. She makes me fucking insane. I really have no idea what to think when I'm around her. I'm very sure that she's already taken, but something in her suggests otherwise. I want to know. I want so much to bring her back home and ravage her like a drunken hyena. I'm five feet from my bed right now. I want her to be in it. All the ego-driven male shit I normally abhor is riding high in me right now. i want to OWN her. Control her. Make her worship me.
It's fucking disgusting, isn't it?
But it's not just all that. I keep seeing her face as she sat down and I told her that joke. The smile. The way her eyes lit up while I told her a joke. I TOLD HER A JOKE. I could hear the voice of Sheriff Harry S. Truman in my head as she walked away:
Harry: How long have you been in love with her?
Cooper: Harry, who said anything about love?
Harry: Cooper, you just tried to tell her a joke.
Cooper: I did?
I want Amanda to be my Annie. Well, I don't want her to be kidnapped by a sociopath trying to get into the Black Lodge, I just want to ravage her body. Is that wrong?
Gig with the northern band this weekend in Marion. It's a Halloween party, so I have to dress up. It took a while to think up something, but I've decided to dress in all black, dye my hair black, and put on plenty of black makeup. In other words, I'm going as A Typical American High School Student.. Too bad I only own one Marilyn Manson CD, eh?
The weekend with Katie went much better. We went to the Newport Aquarium, Otterville (a very cool indoor-outdoor playground) and, about two seconds after she fell asleep, a drive through the area where some of our ancestors lived just south of Covington. I rather like Northern Kentucky. The place in question is a gorgeous tree-filled area by DeCoursey Creek, just south of Covington and Taylor Mill. The road winds around a lot, and there's a few trailers on the side of the hills. They're low hills, but the vibe is VERY hillbilly, very much suggestive of old guys sitting on the porch with banjos and shotguns at their side, waiting for dinner to walk by. Then you come up to the new yuppie home being built, the land evens out, and you're back in civilization. The good stuff lasts about five minutes. But it's a great five minutes. I felt CONNECTED.
Katie slept througbh all this.
But I enjoyed it. It was my second time there,. My links there go back to the 1790s. And coming back to the west, I drove up a road named after the part of my family who lived there, past a family cemetery (in somebody's FRONT YARD), and past the courthouse in Independence. Members of my family donated the land that the courthouse now stands on. It was bult in 1840, when Kenton and Campbell counties split.
I'm such a total geek for history.
Anyway, I had a nice weekend with Katie, much less stressful than the previous week. And I got to see Amanda yesterday. Tomorrow I go in to work an hour early, and....does anyone give a SHIT about any of this? Fuck it. It's been a decent week so far. I think I'll go back and see her tomorrow. Drive another nail in. And, just as I've said before, it doesn't really even matter what happens. I care very little about results of ANYTHING I do right now. I just like the game. I've very nearly lost any traces of what used to be my sense of What Might Happen. Who gives a fuck? Very little of what I do means a goddamn thing. That's a GOOD thing to know. It's liberating. It keeps me going. . Well, that and rum. Rum, nihlism, pussy, and music. What more does an asshole need?
Pinocchio?
Dougie
Dear God, My Spleen
10.21.05 (12:57 am) [edit]Well, the company lunch didn't get rained on. So we fucked off for two hours with a bunch of new cars in the parking lot none of us could afford. I ate far too much and spent half an hour in the car not reading Breakfast Of Champions, which was my original intent. Work went fairly well, and the extra amount of actually moving around meant my back wasn't utterly fucked at the end of the day.
I should be able to survive the loss of extra income this weekend, but I'll barely be able to do anything other than the most minimal expense during my time with Katie. Rent is coming out of the next two weeks. The gig with the northern band will help next week, but I'm not fond of the idea of spending a third week with just enough cash to pay for gas to and from work and maybe 5 bucks left. I could live with that better if I wasn't a month behind on credit card and power company bills, one of which could be taken care of if Pablo Fucking Escobar hadn't skipped town on the fucking gig this weekend. Goddamn cokemonkey motherfucker.
Well, so much for sleeping OK without the pills.It's after 2AM and I'm wide a-fucking-wake. I feel fine now, but I'm not looking forward to morning. Fuck, who knows. Sometimes I do fine. But I have enough trouble getting through eight hours of bullshit without my ADD-riddled brain going off to lunch. I should be a total basketcase by 5:30 tomorrow. I wonder what these guys think of how I can be totally on top of things somedays, completely burning through my work, then other days I need someone to hold my hand with the owner's manual out if I have to so much as take a piss. OK, that's an exaggeration, but it's embarrassing to have to go to someone seventeen times an hour for help on shit I was doing perfectly well the day before with. I outright forget things OFTEN. Really bad inexplicable brain-blockages that don't really cause problems (I'm at least able to catch most of them before they DO become a problem) but have to be annoying. Bob seems to just take it all in stride like it's nothing, which amazes me. He's remarkably easy to work with.
I'd be surprised that they keep me around, but given how fucking stupid some of the other people are, I guess a guy who still gets it right half the time is a bargain for them. It's still annoying to ME, probably because this is how I operate all the fucking time. The lithium seems to help me deal with my ADD better in terms of acceptance, but it doesn't make the shit go away at all. I'm just not breaking things and saying "fuck" quite as often.
I've had evil, nasty, sinful, delicious dreams about Naomi Watts in my head this week. For no real reason I can figure, I was just online one night and thought "I wonder if there's any really good pics of that chick from Mulholland Drive and The Ring?"
I haven't drank since Sunday. It's not been a hard thing. I've thought about booze, but haven't felt an enormous need for it. I HAVE been eating too much, which is what usually seems to happen. Go towards something else. I'm trying very hard not to think about sugar. Sweet delicious, yummy sugar. You know, I think I want a Snickers bar more than I want to chow on Naomi Watts muffin right now. Which is really wrong, dontcha think?
I hope I'm more fun for Katie on our time Saturday. Last week I was a cranky premenstrual bitch, and I wasn't really sure why, though I imagine the knowledge that I was going through more money than I can really afford didn't help much. We had no big problems, just a whole series of little thigns that all bugged the fuck out of me. I tried very hard to make sure Katie knew it wasn't her, it was just Daddy in a bad mood. I probably overcompensated, but I don't want her thinking of our one time a week as a chore. I doubt it will happen soon, but in a couple years, is she still going to enjoy my bullshit? I'm trying not to think about this too much, but it's there in my skull and not going away.
I told her that I was sorry that I wasn't a lot of fun, but we did have a good time anyway. And we kinda did. We got to see Wyandotte Cave and poke around a bookstore, and had a good time walking through Corydon, the original capitol of Indiana and a very pretty little town that has preserved its historic vibe much better than most of the towns in Indiana. Seems Ohio does better at that kind of thing for some reason.
So we got back to her grandparents' (she was in Louisville, which is about the same drive as Cincy from here) and she sat on Sheryl's lap and said "Daddy wasn't a lot of fun today, but we had a good time anyway."
She cracks me up.
At one point on the drive back from the cave (which is in a wonderful hilly part of southern Indiana, very close to a lovely view of the Ohio River) Katie asked me a question:
"Daddy, what's a waitress?"
I thought I'd been hit in the head with a brick. As I told her what a waitress was, I thought "Have you been reading my blog, kid?" What the fuck was THAT? I'm more baffled by it than really bothered by it, and it might have absolutely nothing to do with what I was thinking, but it sure fucked with my head for a while.
After nearly three months, I see it as more of a cute game than anything to hang the slightest hope on, but sometimes I think Amanda is probing me for a bit more, showing a bit of actual interest. I'm probably imagining it, and other days it's obvious she's just having fun and doesn't really care. But it's in my head anyway. I just don't feel like pursuing it further, and I really don't know why. It certainly isn't because I don't want to do her like a farm animal. But I've come to actually LIKE her. She's funny, she's smart, and there's been a few times where I've seen something beyond the usual, the part of her that is tired, has bills to pay, and wants to go home. She doesn't let it out much, that fabulous smile holds it back in, but a bit slips out here and there. Seeing her as a more complete person has been nice, and it has only made me enjoy seeing her more. For all my over-the-top talk about wanting to bang like bunnies, I not that shallow. I'm just fucked up. :)
But I don't really believe it'll go anywhere beyond having lunch there once or twice a week. Which is OK. And knowing me, I might change my mind at any time and go after her for real. Hey, I haven't made an idiot out of myself in a while, why not?
Dougie
I Need This Shirt
10.20.05 (7:46 pm) [edit]http://www.cthulhulives.org/store/store.lasso?1=product&2=12
Crap
10.20.05 (5:51 am) [edit]I was looking forward to the gig this weekend for a few reasons, mostly because it's been three weeks and I need the fucking money.
So the guitar player calls last night. The coke-head asshole lead singer just took off for Mississippi for a few months. Thanks for the notice, pal. Now WE have to find out how to do this fucking gig.
We can't. We have an easy replacement (the guy who sang for them when Cokeface was in jail a couple years ago, and also played third guitar for them at a gig I saw after I left the first time) but he has another band and isn't available this weekend. FUCK.
I'd like to ditch these swine altogether, but I don't have a choice right now. That extra bit of cash saves my ass each week, which has been proven by how I've barely got by the past two weeks not playing. I'm trying to get a couple other things going, but I'm also trying to survive at night after work. I spent all of Tuesday evening in bed. The sleep apnea seems to be back, and I was fucking worthless Tuesday. I've stopped taking the sleeping pills (the two don't connect, the apnea was kicking back in before I stopped) and I seem to actually be sleeping more or less OK without them, but that's only getting to sleep and staying there, not getting decent *quality* sleep. Yesterday wasn't so bad. But I don't need days like Tuesday to fuck with the little momentum I have going right now.
Fucking coke head. Part of me hopes he gets his shit together and gets some help. Part of me hopes he dies of the worst form of ass cancer a vengeful god can deliver. OK, that's not very nice. But I'm pissed off anyway.
Had dinner with my friend D9 last night, and hopefully we'll soon be checking out a place in town he'd told me about when I first moved here. They have a very left-field arty vibe there and we might be able to concoct some off-the-wall improv shit that won't make any money, but will at least be out there occasionally. We've got other ideas too. But we've got other things to deal with (he's had a massive change in his situation lately that I won't talk about, but he's only just starting to really feel good about it) and I doubt it will be flying anytime soon.
Well, time to get ready for work. They're having an "employee appreciation day" in the parking lot. Grilling burgers. In the rain. Woo hoo. Hey, it's a two hour lunch break that's paid for. Fuck it. I'm there.
Dougie
Cute Game
10.18.05 (6:04 am) [edit]Stole this idea from Sheryl. Pick song titles from your favorite artist and spell your name with them. I already did Neil Young titles on her blog, here's the magnificence of FZ at work:
Dead Girls Of London
Oh No
Uncle Remus
Gee, I Like Your Pants
Latex Solar Beef
Alien Orifice
Sinister Footwear
Eat That Question
Undaunted, The Band Plays On
G-Spot Tornado
Eddie, Are You Kidding?
Nasal Retentive Calliope Music
Electric Aunt Jemima
Be In My Video
On The Bus
Uncle Meat Main Title Theme
Catholic Girls
Harder Than Your Husband
Evelyn, A Modified Dog
Ride My Face To Chicago
I Don't Get It
10.17.05 (6:03 pm) [edit]Just got home and met my next door nieghbor outside. He asked if I'd been home this afternoon and saw anything next door. Nope, I was at work. Saw Jenny's ass a few times. Watched another guy watching it at the same time I was and we ended up trying to keep ourselves from laughing our fool asses off. But I didn't see anything here.
His girlfriend (who's been living with him) just left today. Left a note and disappeared. Went back to her old boyfriend, who is twice her age and used to beat the shit out of her. Keith thought he'd rescued her from that, and she often told him how glad she was to be away from the asshole.
Damn. I hate to see this guy go through this. As little as I've got to know him, he strikes me as a really cool easy-going person, and I can't fathom what would drive a beautiful young girl like her back to some shithead who used to beat her. The incredible lack of self-worth she must have stuns me.
I don't understand assholes who physically abuse their women. At all. OK, I've met a few women who one might WANT to punch in the face, but you still don't DO it, fuckhead. Shit, I understand O.J., that doesn't mean you DO it. And especially not with these sweet quiet young girls with fragile egos. Christ, it breaks my heart to see that shit. I want to teach Katie to love herself more than that. And if any guy tries to hurt her, fuck it, kick him in the balls. I've been a selfish prick sometimes to the women I've been with, but I've never once even thought of doing that. Makes my fucking skin crawl just typing this crap.
And she is an INCREDIBLY beautiful girl. Nineteen years old, looks like one of these hot blonde teen pop stars, but BETTER. The walls are good here and don't let a whole lot through, but I've had a couple nights where I thought I heard them banging away next door and I've had to stuff entire rolls of toilet paper in my ears to keep from going insane thinking about THAT girl getting boned. Hell, I even stuck a roll up my ass. Because...well...actually, I did that just for fun. Never mind.
Seriously, I hope things go well for Keith. She also has the extra key to his place, so I get to play good neighbor and keep an eye out for a while. Should be fun. Woo hoo.
Amanda cracked me up today. She looked great, in jeans and a T-shirt. I told her she really needs to do that more often, her uniform doesn't do her justice. "Tell the managers that! I like dress-down day."
Yeah, I'll do that. "Hey, you. Guy in the paper hat. Let Amanda wear real clothes. Makes her ass look nicer."
She's just on the right side of not being too skinny. Thin, but not too much. I like those jeans on her, yeah baby.
Anyway, there were two guys who also seem to be regular customers, because the Oriental guy in the suit kept giving her shit in a funny way and she was blowing him off in a cute way. He obviously was just fucking around, but he kept complaining about stuff. Then, she walked over and he said "You are a very intelligent, smart young lady..."
"Thank you very much! Now what do you WANT???"
Hilarious. The "thank you very much" was in her normal sexy voice. The "What do you want" was pretty harsh. And funny as hell in context.
She has the greatest laugh. Starts out lower then reaches up to a much higher peak that made my dick hard in nanoseconds. I heard Jenny laughing over the phone last week and that was cool too. Hers is lower and even just a tad strange, but very cool. I love hearing a woman laugh. When I'm the reason, it's VERY cool. Well, not when they're laughing at my tiny excuse for a pud, but that doesn't happen often. Probably because I'm not getting LAID enough. Goddammit.
Anyway...
Dougie
She's Not Your Fucking Mommy
10.17.05 (6:10 am) [edit]This is what I want Satan Klaws to bring me for Xmas this year.
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She can throw my ass down a well any day, baby.
Dougie
Nazi Punks Fuck Off
10.15.05 (9:38 pm) [edit]Toledo, Ohio. What a bunch of dumb motherfuckers.
I've got news for you shitheads. If you let a group of racist neo-Nazis march in your town, you DESERVE a fucking riot. You are fucking idiots. How does anyone with a brain not see this coming? This isn't about free speech, it's about USING YOUR FUCKING SKULL.
If white racists are going to march with their ignorant hate-filled bullshit, there WILL be problems. There WILL be rioting. The question of whether it is RIGHT or not is completely irrelevant. IT WILL HAPPEN. Period. End of fucking story. You want to exercise your free speech? Go do it in a fucking cornfield, you cracker-ass Toby Keith-listening motherfuckers. Just because you have the RIGHT to do something doesn't mean you SHOULD do it. The other guys shouldn't be burning down buildings. But hey, you got a four hundred year head start on the brothers. Shut the fuck up and go back to the barn and fuck your sister, you cornbread-eating shitstain.
What the fuck do white people even KNOW about black people in this country? Jack fucking shit, that's what. I grew up in the Midwest, I've heard all the bullshit cliches. They're stupid. They're criminals. They're all on welfare. They're all on drugs. If you get more than three of them together, they'll bust a cap in your ass. They all like fried chicken and Colt 45.
You want to know the one generalization that you CAN use? They're NOT WHITE. That's about it. I work with dozens of black guys. You know what? I can tell them apart! And they are all different. Just like us white fuckers. And something else - I like fried chicken, (name me a white guy who doesn't) and Colt 45 might suck, but it tastes a lot better than that damn Bud Lite shit you fuckers drink.
The moron mayor of Toledo wants to speak with "neighborhood leaders" and find a "solution" for "the problem." Want a solution? Stop letting dipshit racist groups march in your fucking city. Tell them to do it somewhere else. If they don't like it, let 'em call a fucking lawyer. Chickenshit white people who don't know how to stand up to ignorance in *their* hood need their asses kicked by people who know better. If we can find any. I'd like to say "most white people aren't like this", but I KNOW white people and they're largely a bunch of pussies who look the other way when other white people are doing their shit. If you think that's wrong, look at who is a second-term president right now. If you don't like the analogy, fuck you. I'm not apologizing for the TRUTH anymore. I no longer have the energy. You are WRONG. Fuck you.
You know something else? I like black women more these days. I'll tell you why. White girls are way too uptight about the size of their ass. We all know the cliche. "Does my ass look big in these pants?" There's never a right answer, men. They're fucking with you. But black women never ask that question. You know why? They ALL have big asses. (My contribution to racial generalizations. Thank you, I'll be here all night.) And GOD BLESS THEM for that. I work with a lot of black girls, and I'll confess - I'm white. I like pale white girls for the most part. I don't get attracted to too many black girls. But I'll tell ya, I LOVE them big butts. I cannot lie. Even the little tiny 95 pound black girls have asses bigger than mine. Thank you Jesus. If Shaniqua wants a big butt, let her have that big butt. I ain't complainin', because it looks damn fine to me, motherfucker.
Talk about mud flaps, my girl's got 'em,
Dougie
My Asshole Is A Doom-Laden Tract Of Despair
10.12.05 (10:34 pm) [edit]Currently listening to Alice Cooper's Hey Stoopid album. Very, very hairy metal cock-rock, but it's Alice and I love him, so I'm more tolerant of this shit than I'd otherwise be. I'm irritated at myself for not going to see him soon (most of the guys in my northern band are going) but I'm happy to enjoy the stuff here.
There's a hilarious song on this album called Burning Our Bed. It's pretty cheesy but it cracks me up. Go look up the lyrics. It has little to do with how I actually feel these days after my divorce, I just think it's fuckin' funny.
(It also has Feed My Frankenstein, used in the Wayne's World movie. I adore the line 'I ain't evil, I'm just good looking.' Yeah, Alice. you sure are a treat, baby.)
I had a nice time this weekend with Katie. I drove down Friday night and stayed with Bill, and was up until nearly 6AM with him. I got a couple hours sleep and went to get the girl. We bought some stuff for a picnic lunch and went to Ft. Ancient, a beautiful park just up I-71.
It's an ancient indian earthworks, built by the Hopewells some 2000 years ago. The mathematics behind it is stunning - it was used for their ceremony at the winter solstice, and the precise measurements lead to remarkable sights at that time of year. It's a testament to the kind of intelligence that white folk were unable to give Native Americans credit for when we came over here and ran those "savages" off and took their land, often destroying similar structures that used to cover this part of the country.
I'd been wanting to do this for over a year, since we'd been there with Sheryl. At the time we went through the little museum and went to the point on top of the hill where you get a lovely view of the Little Miami valley. There's a trail there that goes down the hill for a quarter of a mile to the river. I'd wanted to do it, but we didn't at the time. So I was very much looking forward to it with Katie, especially given how much of our best times together in recent months have been spent out in nature.
I missed the turn up I-71 and was trying to find an illegal spot to turn around (hey, I used to deliver pizza for a fucking living, it's an instinct now) when Katie said something remarkable.
"My teacher told me that if you can't go down the path you want to, you just make another path."
Holy shit. Where did that come from? Well, I loved that idea. "Katie, we're going to make a new path. Let's go up to the Waynesville exit and cut back through the country and see what's there. It'll be a special path for us."
So we did. And drove through the rolling Ohio farmland for a while. At one point I saw something to the left, and made a turn back for Katie to see it. A chicken farm. Katie loves animals, and I don't think she'd seen chickens before. Certainly not 50 or 60 of the little fuckers at once. So our "new path" let us see something we wouldn't have if I'd made the right exit. We sat on the side of the road for a couple minutes and Katie had fun watching the chickens.
She fell asleep right as we entered Ft. Ancient, and woke up ten minutes later as we sat parked and I was hioping for a brief semi-nap myself. We got out and had our picnic. She wanted to sit by me, so we snuggled close on the bench and ate our strawberries, grapes and flatbread. I felt very close to her in that moment.
I feel a certain connection to southwest Ohio I can't quite describe. It floods back to me now when I go back each week. Something about that landscape, much of it relatively unspoiled. Even the stuff that's been taken over by humans has an air of history to it. Just north is solid farmland forever. My ancestors came there. And cut all the trees down and planted zillions of acres of fucking corn. But for 20 miles or so north of the Ohio River, there's still plenty of beautiful land, and it makes me think of when my people came here 200 years ago, but it also makes me think of what was here before them. Indians. Ancient astronomers. Glaciers. Friggin' inalnd seas millions of years ago. For whatever reason, in the five years I lived there, I felt a strong connection that went well beyond my own family history, even as I learned how much of it had happened right there. The Little Miami River respresents something much bigger to me than simply the route these people took north to find new homes. But I'm not really sure what it is. Something long lost and primal. Something whispering back to me from Lovecraftian epochs of evolution, and gulfs of eldritch time. Something that just made me write some bullshit that sounds like a fucking Iron Maiden lyric, for fuck's sake.
So that walk down to the Little Miami was something that I was very much looking forward to, and sharing it with my daughter was especially important to me.
We made it a hundred yards. Katie wanted to be held. The path down wasn't too bad at all, but it was steeper than I'd thought, and trying to negotiate a slightly wet trail with an extra 30 pounds on my left side wasn't easy. I kept thinking about a few weeks ago when I fell with her in my arms, and I think she was too. She was scared. She was cold. She wanted to go back. I'd made sure to dress her good, but it was in the mid 50s and even though i felt fine (hell, I'm loving the cooler weather) I knew she might be more sensitive to it. And I didn't want another fall.
But I wanted to take that walk. Badly.
She was so grown up about it. No whining. Just a simple "Daddy, I want to go back." I knew it was a bad idea to mess with it at that point. I didn't want her to get hurt. I didn't want her to be uncomfortable. But...dammit. I wanted to walk down there. Touch the floor of the valley, meet the river and stand there for a while. Perhaps find something of what I felt a year and a half ago on one spring morning at Ceaser's Creek, looking across the resevoir to where my people once lived, looking at the trees and feeling the sharp wind off the water, some kind of strange connection that took days to shake off. A month later I was in the "behavioral ward" of a nearby hospital, trying to make my head stop wanting to explode from wanting far too many things at once, not being able to have them all, coming to the point of wanting nothing more than to go stand on that boat ramp at Ceaser's Creek and listen to the voices telling me where to go, because I couldn't fucking figure it out on my own. They'd travelled from their homes in South Carolina for newland, new opportunity, an escape from a slave-driven culture they new was wrong. They did much to build this region once the first pioneers ahd come and ran the Indians away. I owe my existence to these people. And something there, something in tha triver and its streams speaks to me. Not just through them, but through millenia of what was there before them. It feels like HOME. In much the same way that Southern California felt like home. Or eastern Arizona. These places reached out and smacked the fuck out of me in a way only home can. My real home is an hour north of here in the fields of central indiana. But it's not the home I feel called to.
We turned around and I felt it hit me like a bucket of water. This usually happens either when I'm pissed, or when I follow beautiful blonde women distributing paychecks up staircases. A massive overpowering bipolar attack. Sadness. Not anger. Not lust. Not anything but sheer fucking LOSS.
I tried to fight it. It seemed so out of balance. I knew we could go back, even though it's closed for the year in a few weeks. I knew that I wanted Katie to be safe more than anything. But I felt like I'd been torn away from something I needed as a healing, a personal experience. And feeling things the way I do sometimes, it came over me in such a way that I just couldn't throw it off. It's not a lot of fun having your inner chemicals fuck with you like this.
I fought off tears. Christ, this is ridiculous. Why am I feeling this so strongly? The same reason you feel everything too strongly, dipshit. Your neurocenters are fucked up. You can't change it. Just work it through, try not to weird your daughter out too much, and you'll be fine in an hour or so. You've been taking your lithium, you're doing everything right, this shit just happens anyway sometimes. So let it happen. Buy the ticket. Take the ride. A great man said that once. You owe it to him to be honest with yourself. You owe it to YOU, asshole.
Katie noticed, though. And I had to talk to her, because she obviously felt responsible for how I felt. "Katie, honey. Remember last week when I told you about how people's insides work and how sometimes things aren't quite right inside us and we feel things we only have so much control over? Well, that's what is happening to Daddy right now. Those little chemicals in Daddy's head aren't doing what they're supposed to do. It's not your fault. I want you to be safe, that's the most important thing. I really wanted to do this, it was really important to me today, but YOU are more important, and if you don't feel good about walking down there, it's OK. I understand. I just feel really sad right now and I can't help it, but I'll be OK. I really will. I love you, Katie."
We sat in the car for a few minutes. She laid her head on my chest, and much of it went away just having my little girl there close to me. I made sure to tell her that. She already has a tendency that bothers me, a tendency to take on other people's feelings and assume she is to blame. I think at least some of that comes from me, and I know my mother sure has a majority of the stock in that kind of shit. I don't want Katie to have to feel that way. So we've taked about that a lot. I've lived with irrational guilt all my life. I don't need to see her dealing with it too.
We went to the museum, which is mostly about the early Indian history of the area. And we both felt better.
Afterwards, we drove down the road to a canoe rental, and walked up to the river. We spent almost half an hour at the Little Miami, throwing rocks and watching a dog running around splashing. (We could have walked across, I doubt it was more than two feet deep at that point.) She felt much more in her element there, and I enjoyed looking around and imagining wooden rafts full of Quakers on their way to Waynesville in 1804, drifting up this river. It wasn't the same as that walk down the hill, but it was good. It helped. It was something.
We spent a couple hours at Bill's, trying unsuccessfully to record a couple XTC tunes, and also trying to get Katie to nap, which she never did. Dinner at her favorite Chinese place brought the evening down to a near close.
I had to drop a couple things off at the library before taking her back. She fell asleep for about five minutes. When she woke up, she began singing to me. She writes her own stuff, you see:
We're going to be apart soon
We're going to be apart
But we had a very good time
And I love you very much
We're going to be apart
But we'll see each other next time
And we love each other very much
Katie, you're killing me here. My lord, she's so thoughtful and sweet, and I can't believe this little girl, who isn't even 35 pounds yet, is so full of love and happiness, and is mine. I'll see her again this weekend. She'll be in Louisville with Sheryl and her grandparents, so we'll find something new to do together in a different place. I'm thinking about the Wyandotte Cave, where I haven't been since high school.
When I got her home, we went upstairs to see Mommy. Sheryl looks pretty gosh darn good considering what she's gone through recently. but Katie stood there by her mother's broken ankle as I prepared to leave, and with a sad look on her face she said "Daddy, be careful."
I'm lucky to be her Daddy. I really am lucky.
------------------------- ------------------------- ------------------------- ------------------------- ---
Back to the classic Alice Cooper via a compilation. I used to know tons of these bass parts. The original Cooper band was something really special. They weren't big on chops, but they were highly creative and had a incredible sense of rock and roll humour. Everything both transcendent and ridiculous about rock music in one big mascara-lined ball. Dennis Dunaway is one of my favorite bass players. Never leaving the primary rhythmic role of his instrument, he stll manages to swoop and soar and be melodic and driving and fun and make me steal his licks. I wish I had that job.
Man, Generation Landslide. What a song. Alice Fuckin' Cooper, man.
I spent Sunday at home, doing not much. I'd like to have had a gig, but I'll take a nice day off too. Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling that good. Some kind of stomach flu. I was planning on meeting my friend Dave at the Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show (I've missed them far too many times) but I had to bail out. I had a fever and my asshole was doing things to me that are normally reserved for ketchup bottles.
I even had to stop drinking the wonderful beer I found Saturday night. Flying Dog Ale, with the magnificent artwork of Ralph Steadman. Their tribute to the late great Hunter S. Thompson is the Gonzo Imperial Porter. You could power a riding lawnmower with this shit. It grew thick cords of canine fur on my ballbag in nanoseconds. It is a JOY to drink. I need more.
But not then, I had to revert back to water. Monday I went to work in a not-wonderful frame of mind, but I got through OK. Considering how much I wanted to leave.
Monday night I was back to feeling out of sorts, and when I woke up Tuesday morning, the fever was back, but this time it wsn't the chocolate squirts that had my bunghole in despair, it was the Holy Fuck There's A Brick In My Bowels Blues. I was constipated so bad I could have formed a Bob Seger tribute band. "Nrrrrrnnn! Like a.......ROCK! GRRRRRNNNNNNNHHH!!!!!"
I felt like I was trying to pass Elvis through my colon. If it had made it out in evenly cut square pieces, I could have used it all as building blocks to make my own replica of the Eiffel Fucking Tower. There was a LETTER IN MY MAILBOX. Fuck letter. It was a goddamn box full of DVDs from Amazon dot fuck com.
I'd had enough. Fuck it. I was planning on going in early all week for overtime, I'll just go in early the rest of the week and make up for lost time today. I called Jenny. Left a message. Which was probably good. I can just imagine saying something stupid to an actual live Most Beautiful Woman Ever Who Knows By Now Exactly How Full Of Shit I Am like "Hi, Jenny! I'm sure you look fabulous today. But I have one of those 16-ton weights from the old Monty Python sketches stuck in my sphincter and I'm gonna be on the bowl all day, so I can't make it into work. Give yourself a big kiss for me, you sexy little vixen."
Nope, just a message. A coherent, sane one at that. Who could imagine?
I spent about three hours drinking enough water to cover the whole goddamn Tennesee Valley Authority. and finally started feeling like a human instead of an industrial shit processor. I went down to the grocery store and ate at the salad bar. Try it sometime. You can get a great make-it-yourself meal for four bucks a pound. Leave off the cheese and use a low-fat dressing (and throw on about six tons of mushrooms and onions, which is my favorite) and you're set.
Back home for more water. And you know what? I'm enjoying my day off. I knew when I called in that I could be back in shape before lunch time, but I also knew how much I've wanted a break in the action. i felt no guilt. If they want my devotion as an employee, they can pay me another couple bucks a fucking hour.
So I went out for a while. To the Indiana State Library, located on Ohio Street. Go figure. I've been wanting to do some genealogy work on a greatX4 grandmother who moved to this area. I'm descended from her first husband of three. The third, William Kenworthy, was also her second cousin. Esther Furnas was born in South Carolina in 1799, four years before her father Robert took the family to Waynesville, Ohio in the great Quaker migration of 1800-1810. By the time she died (supposedly in 1875, though I've yet to see proof) her daughter Hannah had fifteen kids, one of whom moved to Lafayette and gave birth to my great-grandmother. I found Esther and WIlliam in the 1870 census in Decatur Township. I currently live in Franklin Township, which is the southeast corner of the county. Decatur is the southwest side, south of the airport. I worked a few days only a mile from a neighborhood with roads named after pioneer Quaker families, including Furnas Road.
I found a book on the Furnas family at the library I hadn't seen befor.e Probably becuase there's only 50 copies around. There's a picture of Esther's brother in there I hadn't seen before. I have pictures of her parents as well.
I cna't find where she or her husband are buried. I know where his first wife is, and his son. But not him or her. Dammit.
Just as I was getting ready to leave, I saw the plat map on the wall. Marion County in 1866. I had to get down on the floor and squint, but sure enough, there was a couple Furnas landowners, and...son of a bitch. W. Kenworthy. Twice. Land in one section, then another tract just southeast of there. Hmmm...I've driven through that area, I wonder....
I went to the car and found my excellent map book of the current Indianapolis area. It has section numbers, though the lines aren't there so it's a bit vague. And I compared the two and....I know where my great-great-great-great grandmother lived. Shit, I've been there. Flew right over the motherfucker.
Indianapolis International Airport. Built right the fuck over my ancestors' property.
If I read the map right, I-70 (which goes right next to the airport) forms almost the southern boundary of where they once were. I'd like to nail it down sometime, but it kills me to know that on the other side of the highway is open property. If the airport was built a quarter of a mile north, you might be able to go right up to where these people lived at least 125 years ago. Right now there's a fucking 747 right on top of the old outhouse, for all I know.
It was nice to find it, though. I crave these kind of experiences when I get into this stuff. I love being able to know right where people lived. I loved telling my dad that he was born on the same exact spot where his maternal grandmother's family had been since the 1830s. Driving next to property on the Little Miami where distant cousins have lived for two centuries.
I then drove up to Carmel, hoping for good news on the teaching front, but knowing I was doomed. I don't expect a teaching gig anytime soon, it's past school opening, and it'll be the beginning of the year before I have a good shot at it. And fuck Carmel anyway. I don't know why, it's an easy town to figure out, but I still get lost every fucking time and do some massive circle around, driving thirty fucking miles out of my way beforer I find where I'm going, then I get lost leaving town too. Goddamn over-populated rich person fucking town. But I finally got to the store where I'd talked to the owner two months ago, and...nothing. Not a thing. Nice guy, not jerking me off any, he just doens't need a teacher right now. Complete waste of fucking time. I could have been standing on the center line of I-70 watching airplanes fly overhead screaming "Get off my lawn, ya damn kids!" but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I had to drive all the way across town to fucking CARMEL (I prefer chocolate, you fucks) and get my monkey spanked for no good reason. Fuckin' hell. Oh well, I'm putting up signs soon and getting a few students myself. You know, about 10% as many as I'd get from a fucking store if I could work there. Oh well, I guess Jenny's gonna have me checking out her ass for a few more months. Ain't leaving the job anytime soon. But it was nice to have a day off. Even though I felt worse by the time it was done.
The best thing to happen since Sunday was the discovery of Doug Stanhope albums via the magical powers of the internet. I'd been vaguely aware of this guy from seeing him on The Man Show, but that doesn't begin to cover the breadth of his sickness. One of the most crude, disgusting, vulgar comedians I've ever heard. I LOVE him. I'm about five years behind on this guy, but that's nothing new for me.
I cracked up my co-worker today with a Stanhope bit.
I blew a speaker in my car today.
Yeah, he was a motivational speaker.
Left a bad taste in my mouth, but I feel so much more positive now!
Well, that's all the shit I have. Y'all be good to each other, and don't get rolled by any transvestite hookers, ya hear?
Love,
Dougie
I Aspire To This
10.12.05 (8:51 pm) [edit]Lifted from the album Shame Based Man by Bruce McCulloch. I once had a months-long online lovefest with a girl in New Jersey (never fulfilled in reality, as would be expected) because of this thing, the source of my longest-lasting online handle. Enjoy.
http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/Eraserh ead.mp3" title="http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/Eraserh ead.mp3" target="_blank"http://www.geocities.com/eras...
Love,
Eraserhead667
Everyone's A Stranger
10.11.05 (5:07 pm) [edit]I've got a guitar track down for this, but I can't come up with a vocal melody worth a shit right now. Hope you like the words. I think they're funny.
Dark times in the back room
Drinking old Kentucky brew
Times like these remind me
Of the reasons I hate you
Went down to the corner
Thought I'd get a little head
My last ten bucks and my prayers are gone
This is what my new friend said:
Everyone's a stranger
Don't take no shit from them
Everyone's in danger
Security is a fleeting friend
Quit my job and sold my appliances
Now I'm back in this fucking bar
Let's drink to the New World Order
After all, it's got us this far
Everyone's a stranger
Your education's been a lie
Everyone's in danger
Get in line for the big fish fry
Make a break for the things you love
Hold on while it lasts
''Cause there's no guarantees once you come down from the trees
Makes you want to kick Charles Darwin's ass
Everyone's a stranger
And lots of them are whores
But I'm a re-arranger
And I'd like to meet some more
My New Favorite Comedian
10.09.05 (8:14 pm) [edit]From the Doug Stanhope album I've been listening to tonight:
At no point in the sexual act do I want to hear you go, "Ewwwww! Ewww, you like that? Gross!"
Yeah, it is gross, but it's the only way I can come anymore. So just put on your safety goggles, keep a mop handy, sign your insurance waiver, and for Christ's sake, don't get any on your skin.
I nearly pissed myself,
Dougie
The Shit Has Hit The Fan
10.05.05 (9:02 pm) [edit]Since I keep referencing the damn thing, here's an mp3 of my version of Warren Zevon's Lawyers, Guns & Money.
http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/Lawyers GunsAndMoney.mp3" title="http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/Lawyers GunsAndMoney.mp3" target="_blank"http://www.geocities.com/eras...
As always, this is on a Geocities page, so it might crap out on you the first few tries. It's the first thing I've recorded here at my apartment, the new home of Froggytown Studios. And it was done very quickly, so it's hardly representative of what I can actually do. I'll work on the real thing soon, because it's going on my CD I'll use to try and get solo gigs.
Hope you enjoy the quickie version.
Dougie
How Was I To Know She Was With The Russians Too?
10.05.05 (5:41 am) [edit]No, I didn't go home with the waitress. You know, the way I always don't.
Thursday I went in at the same time as a manager. He asked me where I wanted to sit. "At one of Amanda's tables, please." So he called for her to tell him which table was hers and there I was.
"I asked to be seated at your table."
"I know!"
"I had to, since you REJECTED me last time." (Big smile.)
( Bigger smile) "Well, I was filled up. I'm sorry."
"I was broken hearted. I felt terrible. I went home and I cried myself to sleep. I'm totally full of shit, but I have to say SOMETHING to you, right?"
That made her laugh. I LOVE making her laugh.
Later, she came back and brought me my check.
"Thank you!"
Then she smiled at me. That killer, unbelievable smile that makes my weenie warm. I swear, it looks like a "please fuck me"smile, but it comes along with a complete detachment that makes me fucking nuts. This girl knows her shit, I tell you. She's probably destroyed the hearts and minds of thousands of hapless fucks like me, armed only with that sweet, sexy, lying smile. And those sharp blue eyes. Oh my fucking lord, those eyes.
"Amanda, if you keep smiling at me like that, I'm going to gain 30 pounds and go broke from being in here eating these damn five-ways every day."
I've been waiting to use that line for a while.
"Well, I'll have to keep smiling then!" And she did. That little tease of a girl. God, i'd eat her like a buffet.
I went up to the coutner to pay my bill. She walked by. I found myself standing there, with a stupid grin on my face. Just looking at her. That was it. Just looking at her, with some damn stupid smile on my face.
"What???" She laughed.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."
Yeah, right. "Nothing" in this case translating to "I want to bury my face in your snatch and fuck you until your legs go numb." There's no hiding my intentions. Oh, the things I'd do to her. I've got a list. And she will be mine. Oh, she WILL be mine.
I went back yesterday. She calld me "babydoll." I called her "my little sweetheart." That was about the extent of it. but I'm convinced of one thing - any woman who'd look at ME and use the word "babydoll" is either A.) A waitress looking for her two dollar tip, B.) Clinically insane, or C.) Both. I'm hoping it's C. I need a sociopathic chick who craves my hot dysfunctional lovin'.
On the way home tonight, I found myself doing something I haven't done in a month ormore. Gripping the steering wheel like a life preserver, trying to keep from screaming my head off at nothing at all. Filled with hate and rage. For no real reason. It scared me a little, until I realized why it was happening. I hadn't played the game today. I didn't see Amanda today. When I saw Jenny, I was nothing but business. (Lost my badge and couldn't clock in, and an hour after I had her put in a request for another one, I found it jammed in between the crack by the seat in the car.) No play time. No fucking around. And I've been getting by merely on that for two months. Playing that fucking game. It's been all I've really needed. But I didn't do it, and I should have. In some way. I realize now how important it is for me to do this stupid shit. It keeps my ridiculous male ego from imploding on itself. So tomorrow, I'll do it somemore. Maybe feign an excuse to go see Jenny and comment on her hair. Maybe take the ten bucks I made selling CDs today and go have lunch at Steak & Shake, and flirt with the hottest waitress around. Fuck, I don't know. Maybe I'll take ten bucks and go downtown looking for cheap disease-riddled fun. I don't know. Maybe I'll come home and get drunk. Anything to keep my mind off how much I don't enjoy being alone at the very same time I really, really enjoy being all alone. I don't know where this schizoid, bipolar shit is leading me,. but I do know one thing - it's one hell of a lot of fun to play the fucking game.
Dougie