Warm Fuzzy Shit
11.30.05 (9:12 pm) [edit]"Brown sugar, how come you taste so good?"
- Thomas Jefferson
Thinking about Amanda, trying to figure out how I want to go in tomorrow. Probably just do the normal routine and nothing else. But I want to be there. I need that energy. Love is the drug I'm thinking of, Mr. Ferry.
Very weird talk with one of the black girls at work today.
"I hear you're trying to get you a girl."
"Yeah, you could say that."
"What are you looking for in a woman?"
(holds up right hand pinky finger) "Someone who thinks this is 11 inches."
"Oh, you're bad."
"No, I'm actually really, really good."
"You're fuckin' crazy. Well, good luck."
"I'll need it."
"This a white girl you're after?"
"Yep."
"You like black girls?"
Is she coming on to me? Nah, just inquistive.
"Yeah, I'm starting to think I really do."
No shit. Man, some of these girls I work with look REALLY good.
"Black girls fuck better, but we'll fuck your mind up worse. You should watch out for that shit."
Wow. Solid advice. HUH???
"Damn. I gotta go. Good luck with that girl."
"Thanks."
What the fuck was THAT all about?
Later, after a really fucking horrible country song called "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" was ending, I looked across the belt at two of the black guys. "Guys, I want to apologize on behalf of all my fellow white people for that shit. See, we had a meeting, and we told these corn-shucking motherfuckers to cut it out, but they didn't fucking listen."
I like getting a good laugh from people.
Back to see Amanda tomorrow. I miss her already. Fuck. The massive confusion of thoughts and priorities going on in my head right now. But I'm really finding some warm fuzzy shit going through my body, and I like the feeling. Little bursts of hatred shoot through me sometimes (like when the news comes on the radio) but I pull my head back there to her and it's all not so bad again. Holy shit. Where am I going with this?
Who gives a fuck? Buy the ticket. Take the ride.
Dougie
Hello, I'm Doug Cheesehead
11.29.05 (5:46 pm) [edit]I just spent fifteen fucking minutes of my life sitting with a guitar, singing a Boston song. You know the one. The one that proves how completely insane I am.
The chemicals in my brain are trying to convince me that this is a good thing. The rest of my brain has tried to reason with the chemicals, but has pretty much given up, because after all, my brain has a tendency to take up lodging in my COCK, and things just go downhill from there.
I want to punch Tom Scholz dead in the face for this.
Woke up this morning from an amazingly over-sentimental cheesehead dream about her. It's not that I feel incredibly strongly about it. It's just a pull towards her I can't deny, and I find that my heart - or at least the chemical reactions that try to make me THINK it's my heart - is becoming as involved as my weiner. I really want a good healthy connection with this girl. I think she's worth it. I hope *I'M* worth it and don't collpase into a puddle of shit.
Joel, I'm scared.
Might as well buy the ticket, take the ride, as Hunter might say. I've never been one to let little things like good sense get in my way before. Why the fuck start now?
Back to the overwrought arena-jizz love songs I go...
Dougie
Return Of The Testicles
11.28.05 (5:00 pm) [edit]Finally.
I didn't get what I wanted, but I got what I needed. Finally.
She looked great. Dress down day, so she had on jeans and a t-shirt instead of the uniform. We mostly had the usual exchange of conversation. When it was time to leave, I went back to the door by the sink where she was at to give her the tip. (No, not that, assholes.)
We talked longer than we have yet. About our kids, about work. She spent a long time looking at the newest picture of Katie, captivated by it. You win the contest there, girl. That was exceptionally cool to see.
Talked about driving long distance. "I don't like it much anymore unless there's somebody with me." I suggested she should drive with me. It actually seemd like she thought that was a good idea.
Her ex and her mostly get along, she's known him since she was 9 years old.
"So, who's the lucky guy now?" Ahhh, my way in. All the other ways I had sucked, which was why I still hadn't said anything to that point about what I was actually thinking.
"I've been seeing a guy for about three months."
Shit. I've been going there for around four. Dammit.
"It's not very serious, but we do have an understanding."
"So, what are you doing Friday night?"
A laugh. "Spending the evening with my daughter."
"I just asked you out." I tried to follow that with a smile. I meant it to be cute. It might have come out more obnoxious. She didn't seem to mind.
A big smile now. "Yeah, I know. See, we do have an understanding, and we don't see other people. But if I don't get a commitment out of him very soon, he's going bye-bye. I'll let you know what happens."
*Thunk*
KLONK
I'll. Let. You. Know. What. Happens.
Holy shit. There was no mistaking what she was saying. it was in her eyes, her smile. I have a shot. I really fuckin' have a chance with her. Maybe. Just maybe.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!
"Well, I certainly don't mean to wish ill upon you,. but I guess I can hope..."
She laughed at that.
She likes me. She fuckin' likes me! Not as much as some other guy, but fuck it. She likes me! Holy jumped up Jesus in a baking dish!
I definitely got that vibe from her. Very strongly. I'm the next guy in line, I guess.
Now I know who she was pissed at a couple weeks back. Not the ex. this guy she's seeing now. I'm a tad concerned about "if I don't get a a commitment" because I wonder what she's lookin gfor, maybe more than I am, but fuck it. I'll find out when the time comes. Maybe she'll stay with him. but at least I KNOW something now. I can live with the outcome. I just needed to know. Now I do.
Holy fuckin' shit. I might just have a chance with this girl.
I left quickly because I was late to work. I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I was out of my goddamn mind for an hour. I blabbered like an idiot to Bob and Al about it. I felt like a teenager. It was hitting me in the chest. Not the groin. Wow. I really like this girl. And she likes me. Not enough just yet, but maybe. Just maybe.
I have work to do. Subtle work, if I can pull that shit off. I doubt I can. Maybe not so subtle. I have to pull back now in one sense, not get too carried away. But I have to keep myself in her view. Have to keep her interest, maybe even magnify it.
I thought about flowers. Hmmm. Maybe a good idea. But voerdone. Typical. No, I need something more special.
A CD. Of stuff. Mine. Full-range, no leaning on one facet of what I do. Keep the more typical things in there, the more sentimental things. Gotta have 'em. But dammit, I'm gonna draw a line for her to cross one way or the other. Some of the weird shit HAS to go on there. Let her know where I come from.
Decisions to make. How to do it, but do it right. Make a damn good impression, but the RIGHT one.
And try not to THINK so goddamn much, which is what I've been doing FAR too much of. I keep running all this SHIT through my head. Slow it down, asshole. Loosen up.
I might have to go back this week. Maybe I'll wait until Monday. but she even told me when she's going to be in and her usual hours. She wants me to know that stuff. She wanted me to know about the guy and about how she might not be with him much longer. I didn't pull this shit from her, she told me herself. that's a big fuckin' walk down the right road.
Man, I really like her. It felt good. The more deranged predatory stuff I was feeling for a while has sunk back down. I really honestly just want to get to know her more now. Make her laugh. Make her happy. And enjoy myself.
My head is all over the place right now. But she likes me. Holy fuckin' shit. I don't believe this.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!
Dougie
An Endless Parade Of Purple Batshit
11.27.05 (1:32 am) [edit]3AM and I can't fucking sleep.
Good gig tonight in Marion. I'm at my parents' house. Katie is alssep in what used to be my bedroom. I picked her up in Louisville this morning an hour late, because ice on I-69 closed the whole damn thing down for over an hour a couple miles south of Seymour . I turned around through the median and went back to Seymour, made a wrong turn, got onto highway 31 and...it was closed down too. I ended up following two semis and a train of cars through county roads until hooking up on another shit highway. Pretty area south of Seymour. Not what I was looking to see.
Oh well. Katie was a total sweetheart today. Her mom had her in a beautiful red dress and she had bells on her socks. Adorable. I played her a CD I burned for her in the car. The best moment came during Imagine. She sat there in her seat looking out the window, very thoughtful. I told her the song made me think of how much I wanted a better world for her. We didn't say anything else. Just shared a beautiful moment at 65MPH in southern Indiana.
She sang for me a lot. Made up songs on the spot. I can't begin to do justice to them here. It was wonderful.
She got to play with cousins at my granma's house for a while. My cousin Heather has three kids now. One of the girls is looking a LOT like her. The boy finally has hair, and is a year younger than Katie. They sat on the couch and talked about toys.
Played well. Katie was there for an hour and a half before Mom took her home. She seemed particularly interested when we played Imagine, which I really love to hear our singer handle. He's a huge Lennon fan anyway. It was another nice moment.
Our drummer met a girl back in September from California, and they've been going back and forth to see each other. Must be nice to have money. She was there tonight. I was amazed at him. How lame he was. He's perfectly capable as a drummer, and he's already got this girl way into him, why the fuck was he playing so little? If Amanda was in the audience, I'd been beating the fuck out of the thing. He did everything right, but any semblance of balls or groove was coming from my corner of the stage. Some from the guitarist. I know he can play better than that. I've seen him do it.
I used to be more static. I'd move around, but not like I do now. I've become a complete fucking poser. It's weird to catch myself doing this shit, because it's coming out naturally now. Just part of the program. I wonder if I look ridiculous, but I get enough good comments to not worry much. Apparantly I'm losing weight, because I was asked about it a few times. The guitarist's wife was very kind to me. She's so cool. Shit, HE'S so cool.. I get really cynical about all this love shit, then I see them - expecting a baby in March - and it brings back some hope. They're both cute as hell, and two of the nicest people I've ever met. She was great to Katie tonight. He's just fun to watch when he's around his lady. I envy them. They're really happy. Poor bastards will be drinking at 9AM and trying to set each other on fire withn a year.
No gigs until New Years Eve. It pays as well as two gigs, so it won't kill me, but I can't get by without at least that. Good that work is being nice to me. I'm not looking forward to that extra hour a day, but I can handle that. Mostly I just need to keep myself detached from the damn place and not start caring too much.
I also need to get my brain onto things I should really be doing. This shit with Melinda and Amanda has been interesting, and fuck knows I really don't want to be waxing the dolphin for eternity, but it's also a goddamn distraction. This is what got me where I am in the first place. Weird distractions knocking me off this damn excuse for a path I'm trying to cut here. Slowly getting more music together. Slowly putting together a stand-up act. Bits and pieces. But I keep getting taken off course by my fucking dick. Women think you're an asshole if you want someone to fuck you and go away. I'll tell you why, ladies. So we have some goddamn TIME. I'd like to be nicer than this, but I've got a head full of bad chemicals and I have enough trouble putting that shit together long enough to save myself from a life of 8-dollar-an-hour hell to have to worry about the shit that goes along with maintaining a relationship. I can't fucking do it. I WANT to. I'd LIKE to be less selfish. But I DON'T KNOW HOW.
What I really need is a switch. Turn the damn thing on and off when I need to. Break the fucking thing off in the "off" position and never think about pussy again. It's only going to cause more problems. For me, and for the poor girl who has to put up with my stupid shit.
But.........Amanda.........holy fuckin' hell. I'm thinking about her more. Thinking less about the obvious. More about just HER. I like this girl. I really like her. And I've been sitting on my ass about it. Ordering the chickenshit platter. All because I'm afraid to get hurt. Fucking pussy. Take a chance, asshole. LIVE a little bit. You make me sick, you fuck. If I wasn't you, I'd beat your ass. You...you...ME! Fuck Me! Me is an asshole! Hey, Me! You're a goddamn pussy!
My mom was a hoot when I told her about the overtime. "This is an answer to prayer. God gave this to you." Yeah, sure. God took time off from his other shit to take care of MY ass. Sure. Maybe what REALLY happened is that *I* got off my ass and MADE something happen instead of WAITING for it to happen. You know. Like you do with...well, that fucking prayer shit. I don't mean to knock prayer as a valid spiritual excerise for the people who want it, but that's not what's going on here. This is a woman who never made anyrhing happen in her life. Who has the same bad shit happen to her that always has. The same good shit too. No chances taken. Just waiting for Uncle Jesus to pull his magic chute and rain down gifts on her head. Waiting for something to happen instead of going after it and MAKING it happen.
You know. Kinda like me with Amanda.
Fuckin' hell.
I showed Katie my old church and high school today. Just down the road. Drove around the building.
Katie is four. She's already talking about death. She laid some heavy shit on me today as I drove through Noblesville. "I'm scared to die."
"Why?"
"Because I'll turn into a skeleton. I won't have any skin. And my eyeballs will go away. Skeletons don't have eyeballs. I want to keep mine. And they'll put dirt on me. I don't want dirt on me."
Jesus creeping shit. I told her a bit about what some people think about death. But I stressed that what she needs to think about now is what she's going to do while she's here. How to be a good person here. And for now, just enjoy herself. You're four. You don't need this shit right now. OK, I didn't put it that way.
She said today that she wants to be a dentist. Thinking ahead, that kid.
Well, time to lay in bed and itch until I fall alseep. Fuck.
Dougie
Fear & Loathing On Thanksgiving Weekend
11.26.05 (12:33 am) [edit]My failure to strike up the proper chemistry with Amanda today didn't deter me from enjoying my second day off in a row. Two days off. First time since July. And back then, I had two days off way too often, scrambling for work. Two days straight just to fuck off and relax, clear my head? It's probably been since I was holed up in a Motel 6 in Lancaster in early April that I did that. The same place where I decided to come back to this godforsaken sinkhole called the Midwest.
Spent hours listening to the new audiobook version of Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas, read by Ron McLarty. Brilliant, brilliant shit. Read beautifully. Bad craziness was in my mind. But I'm addicted to far less dangerous substances than Hunter, a mere shadow in his wake. Rolling Rock and White Castles. Goddammit, I'm Pat Sajak in comparison to The Master.
But I felt the urge to explore. One bad night in Broad Ripple a few months ago fucked my desire to go out poon-hunting in a wicked way. Alone in a bar full of college kids. No chance of getting laid. Terrible night that was. But I drove around for a while and ended up in Greenwood at some yuppie sports bar. Dressed in black, long coat flapping, hair as good as I could get it. Takes serious work to make my ridiculous self look fuckable.
I had a Killian's and scoped the place out. Half full. Lots of well-to-do low-carb types. Finally, I spied a lone woman. Sitting at a table halfway towards the side door. Blonde. Possibly dyed. Maybe my age, slightly older. Obviously more redneck than yuppie. A little out of place. Nice rack.
"Hey, you look alone over here."
"My girlfriend just took off home. Finishing my drink." She looked bored. Or tired.
"I'm Doug."
"I'm Erica."
We shook hands. She didn't seem to mind me being there. But...something else. I wasn't sure. I don't think she gave a shit about me being there. Just some asshole to talk to and run away from when the drink was done.
"Want another of those?"
She paused. "Yeah, sure."
I looked around, then walked up to the bar. She was drinking a screwdriver. I got her one and came back.
"So, where ya from?"
"Shelbyville. We come up here every week or two." Shelbyville about is twenty miles south of here. Shithole. Looks like Marion with a couple more dollar stores. Yep, this is a redneck woman.
"I'm from Beech Grove. Well, Marion. Moved to Cincinnati a few years ago and just came here this spring."
She didn't seem to care.
"What do you do?"
"Food service."
I didn't feel like asking more about that.
"And you?"
Her question brought forth a sudden rush of chemicals. It seemed very obvious that nothing was going to come of this. She was barely looking at me. Her bleached hair and over-painted eyes weren't unattractive, but I felt my lust deteriorating with the onslaught of her apathy. Fuck it. Uncle Hunter is swimming in my head. Let's see how long I can hold together some bullshit before I lose it.
"I'm a private investigator."
She looked up. A little more interested.
"What kind?"
"Lots of stuff. Currently, I'm investigating a cult."
I was already feeling the urge to start laughing. Somehow I kept it in.
"Cult?"
"Satanists. Damn devil-worshippers. South of here. Not far from your town, actually."
"You've got to be kidding."
Keep a straight face, Doug...
"Nope. Goddamn swine are everywhere." How long can I keep this up? i've only just begun.
"I've heard about that stuff. I didn't think it happened here. Maybe some high school kids. That's it."
"Shit, the kids are the tip of the iceberg. There's respectable citizens into this crap. You should've seen the group we pulled down last week. A couple bankers and a local politician's wife were involved."
"I didn't hear about that."
"We keep it out of the papers."
"Who was she?"
"I'd rather not say. But she was stark naked and crying when we put her in the van." I had to turn the other way as if I was embarrassed. Instead of nearly losing my shit. I think my voice must have cracked. I wondered if she noticed.
"Oh my God." She was getting interested. She looked vulnerable. Scared. Stupid. She was BUYING this nonsense?
"Sixteen teenagers, a couple bankers, and a few people from out of state. She was cranked up on mescaline. I'd tell you what they were doing to her, but..." Had to look the other way again.
"Oh no. Is she OK?"
"OK? She was there on her own free will. We're holding her as well."
"I don't believe this."
"I hardly do myself, Erica." Barely holding it together now. "It was like something out of the Blair Witch Project." I've never even seen that fucking movie. I wonder if she has.
"You do this for a living?" She looked concerned, shocked, and appalled. All at once. Hoo boy. I'm a bad boy for this.
"When I'm not arresting drug lords, yes."
Must...keep...control...don't laugh...
"That's very dangeorus."
"Been shot twice." I almost didn't pull that one off.
"No!"
"Yep. I'd show you, but I'd get thrown out of here." That was enough to allow me a laugh. Let some of the air out. She laughed a little too, but it was weird. She was wondering what the fuck was going on by now. I think she must've have been starting to doubt. Not THAT stupid after all.
"How do you get into this stuff?"
"Well...I'm not sure I want to talk about it..."
"Oh?"
"My sister was abducted by these Satanist bastards twenty years ago."
At this point, I really had to wonder if she still believed me or not. The look on her face was hard to read. Thank God it was dark in there, or I might have been more obvious myself.
She stumbled through some incoherent gibberish.
"It's OK. We found her. But she was in therapy for years." I got that one out fine.
"I was about to go to college to be a minister. I decided to be a policeman instead." Sounds like something a 12 year old would say. When I grow up...
"My father is a minister." Not sure how she meant that. It sounded almost accusatory. Is she seeing through my shit?
"Good man. Does he know you're here?"
She laughed at that. "I hope not!"
"Erica, you seem to be a very nice girl. Any plans for the night?" What the fuck. Gotta try.
"I think I'm going home. I'm tired." Shitfucky.
"Well, be careful. You take the highway home?"
"Back roads. But now I don't know if I should."
"Probably not. These swine will jump right out of the bushes and leap onto oncoming cars. I've seen them do it."
Not sure how I pulled that one off. I'm not sure I even did.
She stood up. Shook my hand. "Pleaed to meet you, Dave."
"Doug. And you are Erica."
"Right. Maybe I'll see you around. Be safe."
"You too. And may I say, you are a very pretty lady. You be careful out there too."
"I will."
And with that, she was gone.
I got a rum and coke, watched a 20-something couple hold hands over dinner, wished I wasn't going home alone, then left. When I got outside, I exploded laughing. Laughed like an idiot all the way home.
Gotta have a hobby.
Love,
Dougie
"I'll have the chickenshit platter, hold the testicles please."
11.25.05 (10:49 am) [edit]I didn't do it.
I got there at 9:30 this morning. I woke up thinking about her. Good thoughts. Pretty good ones, anyway. When I'm away from her awhile, the thoughts get darker. Deranged. When I'm near her, I feel human. Giving. Going in this morning, it was weighted solidly towards the human side. I looked good. Felt good. Confident. As if whatever happened, it didn't really matter. I was getting to see her. That was the important part. And I'd find out where I stood.
I happen to think I look pretty cool dressed in black with my hair right. The hair is getting good in the back. I don't think much else on me is worth looking at, but I haven't let the hair down this time. When I cut it a year and a half ago, it was a disaster. Tangled like all fuck, out of control. But I'm taking care of it now. For a frightful hell-spawn troll-monkey, I looked pretty fuckin' cool.
I was one of three people there. Got a real breakfast. Pretty good one at that. She was warm and friendly as usual. But no mention of the card. Just another day, a regular customer. We talked a bit about stuff. She has to go to Greenfield to get her daughter later because "her dad won't bring her to me." OK, divorced. I had that one mostly figured out. But it still doesn't tell me where she's at right now.
I felt relaxed, but that little nerve ending was back there. Hanging out. Saying, "Hey man. I'm here. Remember MY ass?"
Finally I asked how she liked the card. I made sure to be as non-anxious as possible.
"You are so sweet. Thank you very much. That really made my day. I needed that."
Very sincere. Very thankful. But...that was it. I could have been just another friend. No trace of the feeling that I'm trying so hard to keep under control. I want you. I know you know. Where do I stand, Amanda?
Well, maybe "friend" is fine for now. Why push it? I'm lucky to have that. And she really is cool. Not a shard of weirdness or distrust in there. She really thinks I am a nice guy. I AM a nice guy. I WANT to be the nicest guy on the planet. But I also have this thing in my pants, and it's been a fucking year.
I looked at my coffee for a while. Thought about Dale Cooper dripping motor oil out of a coffee cup onto the floor of the Red Room. No dancing midgets were around. No evil dopplegangers. Well, the one in my head. But even he seemed to be asleep. I was back down on rung one of this ladder. Simply wanting to be there with her. Know that she likes me half as much as I do her. I felt like a 15-year old. Not a totally bad thing, but the insecurity was starting to make itself known.
I couldn't bring myself to go any farther. I wanted to. But it didn't feel right. The timing wasn't there. It felt like a time to be the nice guy regular customer who just so happened to have given her a nice card a few days ago. Nothing else. Not now.
But was that it? Simply trying to trust the flow? Or am I a total chickenshit, even at this point when she obviously knows how I feel? She HAS to know. She isn't acknowledging it, but she knows. Why can't I just take the next step? I want the time to be right, I don't want to force things. But is it also not a matter of being terrified of the whole thing? I'm scared to death of fucking this up, even though I've been doing it all right so far. I'm scared to hear "no" even though I told myself I was OK with that. I'm scared to do ANYTHING right now. I can't believe I've pulled my ass this far down the line. To be at this point with her. That's a fucking achievement for me right now.
I wanted a connection. I got it. I felt something very nice between us. And that was it. Maybe it's OK. Or maybe I left my balls here on my hard drive.
Dammit. I didn't plan on this. I was aiming for something far more superficial than this. But now I really like this girl. I hear the way she says "her dad" about the father of her daughter, and I don't want to make her feel that way. I've done that to one very good woman already.
And even if it was the raw animal debauchery I went into this with, does that matter either? Having recently discovered that sex with me is "meaningless", does it make any fucking difference anyway?
Am I losing my chance? Do I HAVE a chance? If I keep holding off, I might be letting it slip by me. She could be waiting for me to go for it. She might be wondering what the fuck is taking me so long. And it might shoot right by me. My chance to be with this delicious, kind, cool lady.
I'm digging for some shit here. Digging for confidence. It was squashed like a diseased rat getting the boot to the head. Buried. But it's in there. There's a lot of things in there. Good shit. I've let that stuff slip away from me. But it's not gone too far. I feel better about myself and my intentions than I have in a long while. Which isn't saying a hell of a lot, but it's improvement. The thing with Melinda helped. Not letting that spin out of control showed some kind of character on my part, even if I did really, really want to poon-pound that twisted little bitch within an inch of her life. Man, the evil, evil little dark desires THAT stuck under the glass. Fuckin' hell. But I got out of it quick. Which was the right thing to do.
The right thing. I think I did it this time too. I think waiting a while longer is the right thing. I don't really know. But I don't know a hell of a lot of anything, it seems. That's alright, I suppose. I'm learning.
Looks like tea for one again.
Dougie
You're A Big Girl Now
11.24.05 (11:43 am) [edit]One of my favorite Dylan songs, from my favorite Dylan album. I recorded this today. It's a fine day. But I miss my girl.
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Dougie
A Thought
11.24.05 (9:20 am) [edit]"The world is like a ride in an amusement park. And when you choose to
go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds
are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and
chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun,
for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time and they
begin to question, is this real, or is this just a ride? And other
people have remembered, and they come back to us and they say, 'Hey - don't
worry, don't be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride...' And we
kill those people." - Bill Hicks
Hats Off To Roy Harper
11.23.05 (10:33 pm) [edit]How could I be such a fool? It's 28 fucking years old, but today I heard for the first time a KILLER Roy Harper album called Bullinamingvase, and it kicked my folk-rockin' ass. I can't say anything intelligent about it right now, Just find a copy and make it yours. Now.
Very, very good news today, which took one layer of shit off my head. I had every intention of spending Friday looking for a new job, but I wasn't looking forward to it. I can't live on what I'm making, but I've really started to like the people I work with, and the job itself is shit, but hardly anything to be bothered much by. Sometimes I even semi-enjoy it. I've asked about overtime, and went to the temp agency about outside work, but nothing has come of it.
Today, I talked to Bob about how shitty the picking area is. We work in packing and shipping, but I've picked from the shelves a few times, and it's often a disaster area. Constant things out of place, and it affects us when we spend two days waiting for shit to come down the line because nobody knows where it is, and it holds up our end. I'm not an organized person, but organizing someone else's shit is kinda fun, and a good way to focus my non-brain into something halfway enjoyable. I LIKE little shit like that.
I went to the supervisor with my idea. He's a nice enough guy, and I do like him, but he's not really one to bring new shit to. He more or less blew me off but told me to talk to the plant manager. Who I happen to like a hell of a lot So I went to him, and within 3 minutes I had what I need. Starting Monday, I'm working nine hour days. The first hour I'll be doing this cleanup shit, then back to my normal job. He talked as if he'd like to find out what my strengths are and put me permanently where I fit best. On top of all that, he said - but couldn't make promises and I won't hold my breath - that he'd look into getting me hired on permanently. That's a long shot the way this company works, but with him behind me, I feel a LOT better.
Even without the extra money per hour a regular hired-on job will bring, that five hours a week will pay the child support I start paying in the next week or two. It's really s small amount of money - I know guys paying as much in one week as I'm paying a month - but I don't have it. I make shit and am barely able to maintain the ridiculous lifestyle I have now, seeing Katie once a week on these four-hour round trips. So I'll still be in the same place, but I'll be taking care of that extra money simply by getting my ass out of bed a little earlier. The court and Sheryl were nice enough to hold this off for six months, and now I can do it. Perfect timing. Sheryl wasn't even asking for anything (and she makes far more than I probably ever will) but it's law, and anyway, I felt really weird walking into court with that on me, and insisted that I do my part to take care of my daughter. I will NOT be accused of not giving her my best. I've fucked up a lot of things, but I cannot fuck this up.
It might not last, and it might even get shot down by people higher up, but I think he's going to take care of me. And that feels good. He seems to actually think of me as being worth it, and I find that baffling given how erratic I feel my performance is. But nobody seems to care. I show up, I do the shit I'm told to do, there's no problems that can't be solved quickly. Good enough, I guess. It sure is an odd feeling to hear him call me a "valuable part" of the company, though. Of course, given how worthless most of these people are, I guess a goofball like me actually IS an asset. Fuckin' Christ. That's scary.
At the meeting today, he brought up how there's been reports of people having their food stolen from the breakroom refrigerator. Been going on a long time. (He's been there only six months.) I found this amusing since it was the first day I'd put mine in there. I always eat out or leave my cooler in the car. But today was our first snow of the year, and it was cold as fuck this morning, so I didn't want it to freeze. The damn lockers are so narrow I couldn't stick my cooler in there, so I took a chance in the breakroom.
He said, "This is just really low. If you are that hard up for food, come to me and I'll give you a couple bucks out of my pocket. Don't steal people's food."
So I went up to him afterwards. "Hey, I'm starving here. Give me a dollar!"
I can get away with that with this guy.
Later, I went to him and said, "I just got back from lunch and thought, you know, I haven't had a good steak dinner in months. Got a twenty?"
I'm pretty happy about this. That little bit is enough to keep me there longer. And keeping me there longer means lots of things. Like getting to watch Jenny walk by. God DAMN she's looking good. Her hair is darker now, and it looks great. I know she's been catching some extra shit lately (they had a stupid situation with checks a couple weeks ago that she had tried to fix, but she's the one getting blamed for it by some people) and the last two days she's showed it. Not the smile that made me fall insanely in soemthing-or-other four months ago. She was practically SCOWLING for two days solid, and it was really unattractive. I felt bad for her. So I told her today how much I appreciate her work, and managed to do it without looking like an idiot. She seems to have become inured to my bullshit, but she did seem to appreciate the effort. She deserves it. The poor girl has a job I'd never want in a million years, handling all us underpaid assholes.
Two days off. I need to be working it, my next check will be a fucking joke at a really bad time when I'm behind on things, but things are picking up just a tad, and fuck it, I need the time off. I've been running my ass off harder on the weekend than I do at work, and I come home from work fucking exhausted. The sleep apnea is still hitting me, and it's been hard to control my diet and get any exercise to work this fucking weight off to rid myself of that disorder. but I've felt a bit better this week. I've made an extra effort in the past month to drink far less, and I might even be able to stop altogether. It's necessary at this point. To be honest, I don't even regret the few months I spent self-medicating that way. It got me through a really horrible period. Other things might have been better for me, but that's what I had at the time. But you can't keep that shit up, and I have to be able to THINK. Not having control over my own goddamn brain is destryoing my will to live, and I'm fighting to get that back. It's slowly happened recently. I've always had this problem, but in the past five years it's been a huge issue just to remember basic shit that a goddamn COW can do. It's terrifying to feel your mind slipping like this. I've talked about it, but it's frustrated me that the people who are closest to me, who have had to endure the worst end of this shit, have been the ones who have shown the least understanding of what I've been trying to deal with. It's a goddamn illness. *I* haven't really understood it until recently. I finally have a grip on what is happening with my chemicals, and I'm finding ways of keeping them in line. It's not easy. But it's happening.
I'm doing nothing tomorrow. Not a goddamn thing. Not going up with family, because I'll see them Saturday when I go up with Katie and do the gig. Friday, I intend to do some local genealogy I haven't done much with yet from lack of time. I wish I had the cash for some documents, because the damn state health department downtown is only open four hours a day while I'm at work and I've got loads of birth and death records to look up (especially since the counties here give you less info on the things than the state does), but it's 8 bucks a copy and I don't have it. Oh well, maybe I'll go make a couple cheap copies of land records or something. I really enjoy this stuff, but I've had little chance to do it lately. If I do go anywhere tomorrow, it'll be back to a couple Quaker cemeteries I've meant to re-visit.
One of the families I'm researching is named Furnas. This is the Quaker family I've talked about who lived in the same county in Ohio I was in until March this year. I've found some fun tidbits about them. A Furnas cousin was the first ever passenger on an airplane when he went up with one of the Wright brothers at Kitty Hawk. Another was the second governor of Nebraska and the man who started Arbor Day.
A couple weeks ago I had Katie in the Indianapolis Children's Museum, and in a display recreating local buildings from the 1890s, there was a sign for Furnas Ice Cream. I did a Google search. Sure enough, one of the Furnas families who moved from Ohio to the Indy area had a son who started an ice cream company that is now known as Borden's.
Little shit, but fun to find out.
OK, now that everyone has fallen asleep...
Friday. I'll find out Friday. Come to me, Amanda. Come to your Dougie-meister. Cum on feel the noize. Girls, fuck your boys.
(Barry White Voice)
Yeah, baby...feel the love...
(/Barry White Voice)
Now I'm making myself puke. Y'all have a great night.
Dougie
The Waiting Is The Hardest Part
11.23.05 (5:52 am) [edit]Bullshit, Tom Petty. I've got yer hardest part right HERE!
Friday. I have to wait until Friday. FRIDAY! FUCKING FRIDAY!
Poor Bob heard me say it a zillion times after lunch. "Fuckin' Friday."
"Yeah, like three whole days is going to kill you."
"Hey fucker, do you have any idea how much one person can masturbate in three days? *I* do."
Got my card ready to go and at lunch zipped right up there. They were busy as hell. I was greeted at the door by a new girl, who Amanda was training. I gave Amanda the card and got that smile. "Thank you!" She looked at the new girl as she slipped the card into her pocket. "I got a card!" It was a happy sentence. Pants, meet Wood.
But they were getting their asses kicked and she said she'd have to wait until her smoke break to read it. Shitfucky. I kept up my best "On your own time, sweetheart" face and tried to ignore the constant fresh flow of bad chemicals into my brain. Resist, Doug. Resist. You're so fucking arrogant. Like she's going to stop doing her friggin' JOB and ignore 20 other people just for YOU? Lighten up. Wait. It's OK. Self-important prick.
She did say I was "very sweet" and...I couldn't read much else. It was a cool little exchange of eye contact, though. Man. Fuckin' Friday.
She came back with a Sprite and said something about being hot. "Yes, you are." She was facing the other way when I said it, so I have no idea the reaction. Cheesy thing to respond with, but fuck it.
She told me exactly when she's going to be there Friday. That's a good sign. Maybe. Maybe she passes this info out to the 90-year old women who order patty melts too. Fucked if I know. But it's earlier than normal. Since I'm not working that day (I'll be out job-hunting) I guess I'll be having breakfast at Steak & Shake. I'll break my religious code and eat something different this time. It's a special occasion, you know. Gotta close in on this fine sexy lady and see where I'm at. Fuckin' Friday!!!
I told Bob that I'd spent all morning rehearsing in my head for every possible scenario I could think of when I'd give her the card. "Mostly the ones revolving around either restraining orders or oral entertainment options." But I KNEW it would be something I hadn't even considered. I never considered that she'd be there but wouldn't be able to read it before I'd have to leave. Shit. I'm not imaginative enough. Well, I am about those oral options, but...
Decided to do my shopping where I damn well feel like it, and picked up a couple things at Kroger after work. Saw Melinda for the first time since she was over here fucking with my brain a week and a half ago. I stayed away. Got my stuff and walked past her register on the way out. She saw me, and gave me a little smile and a little hand-at-chest-position wave. I returned it. She looked sick. I guess her asthma (I mentioned this in a comment on another post recently) must be getting to her. Me, I just have a slight cold. I hope she's OK, but....oh fuck it. I've got another priority right now. I couldn't care less. Well, that's a lie. But I really don't have the energy to go after two women right now. I've got the JIZZ BUILDUP, mind you, but not the energy. I can't remember to tie my shoes or put my pants on the right way out half the time. How the fuck could I possibly handle two women? Well, with a bit of rope and some jello and..........look! A penny!
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!
Currently listening for the very first time to the album Sister Phantom Owl Fish by Trevor Dunn's Trio-Convulsant. I DEFINITELY recommend this to Mr. Bungle fans. It's not as crazy as them, but it certainly has much of that spirit of musical schizomania. Some of it is even quite pretty. I got a slew of Bungle-offshoot albums I hadn't heard yet from the library this week. I've heard little Fantomas, but now have three albums worth. Mike Patton is a fucking God, I tell you. I got a couple other projects of his as well. On the other hand, I also got a dozen Elvis Costello albums, a ton of Sam Bush CDs, and the complete piano music of Debussy. A wonderfully deranged stack of CDs borrowed from my friend D9 sits at my left side. Replacements, Meat Puppets, Roy Harper. What a mix.
Fuckin' Friday!!!
Love,
Backed-Up Dougie
A Card For The Lady
11.22.05 (6:32 am) [edit]To my favorite waitress,
I wanted you to know that you are appreciated. You really are great at what you do, and you always have a smile. And what a smile it is. Seeing you is a true highlight of my week, and that smile and your killer eyes grind my brain up like that chili I get every time. That's a GOOD thing! :)
In nearly 4 months, I feel like I've got to know you just a bit, and I'd love to get to know you better. But no matter what, you are a fabulous waitress, a stunningly beautiful woman, and your friendliness and the sound of your voice and your laugh makes my week.
I hope the rest of your day is as lovely as you are. All the best to you and yours.
Sincerely,
Doug
March Of The Ferocious Penguins (AKA Venomous Duck)
11.21.05 (10:46 pm) [edit]Standing in line tonight at the Sprint store (which can take centuries - great phone, fucking SHITE customer service), I struck up conversation with a cute blonde girl in a Purdue sweater named Monica. Kept it simple, and she actually seemed to like talking to me. Of course, then she left. Oh well, it was nice to talk. I'm obviously 15 years older. I'm finding more gray hairs every day, and she still has a bit of acne. Yep, Hellbound therefore am I.
I had a shitty few days. But it started interesting. I was feeling a bit out of balance Thursday when I went to Steak & Shake, and seeing Amanda really threw me. It was as close as i've come to truly hitting on her. She was having a bad day herself, and it was clear that it was a guy causing the problem. I offered to kill him for her.
"No, I don't want to hurt him. Just hit him a couple times maybe."
Shit, that's no fun. Maybe if I used a brick. "Well, I'll do that for you. Then you can run off with me."
"I need to run off somewhere. I need a three week vacation."
"Well, we'll save money and you can come with me when I repeat my trip west I did back in March. Want to go to California with me?"
"If I went there, I'd never come back. I love it there."
"So do I. If you were there with me, I'd never come back. Come on, gas is cheaper this week. Let's go. Well, you might not want to leave your girl here. That's why I came back, for mine."
"Maybe I can mail mine there."
"Great idea. So, wanna run off with me or not? I know this GREAT Mexican place in Phoenix we can stop at."
She just laughed and went back to mopping. I was standing next to her. I'd never done that. I am always either across the room from her or sitting at the table. Standing next to her, I was struck by how short she is. She's such a little thing. And....wow...I really want this one.
It feels almost normal. No sick daddy-lesbo games like with Melinda. No "I simply must worship you and make a complete drooling ass of myself" like whenever I'm within 20 yards of Jenny. It's mostly pure animal fuck-energy, but I've got to know her a bit over nearly four months, and I feel a certain weird almost-connection with her on a level that has little to do with sex. Which is nice. We're both working shit jobs, we both have young children, and as far as I can tell, we're both divorced. That comes from overhearing stuff she's said. I still don't know where she's exactly at, but I'm pretty confident that the guy she was pissed at last week is a boyfriend, not a husband. Fuck him. I'm closing in. I expect nothing. Well, I expect to be shot down. But I'm trying anyway. It's taken four fucking months, but I'm finally ready. I just have to know where I'm at now. I've gotta know. And I hope to find out tomorrow. Wish me well. I'm going in on a thread here, but goddammit, I gotta know. Those eyes are calling me. That smile is making my knees turn into liquid shit. I've got a fucking Boston song in my head, for Christ's sake. I'll do anything to get Tom Scholz out of my goddamn head! God, help me!!! I know I don't even believe in your invisible ass anymore, but fucking hell! Help me out here!!!!!!!!
Standing there looking down at this sexy little lady (and the word "sexy" always seemed goofy to me, but it fits her perfectly) with her dark brown hair (man, I need to see here with her hair down), sharp blue eyes, and that smile seeming almost trained to scramble the brains of man, I wanted something about as close to a healthy desire as I've had in months. Fucking? Sure. but there was no guilt attached to it. None of that stupid Christian shit that plagues me normally. No, this time I felt like I could really share something. Not take too much, not feel compelled to over-give to the point of being psychotic. No following-like-a-lost-pup py like I felt about Jenny. Just...a connection. That's all I wanted. A good strong connection with a real live woman right in front of me, not some idealized whatever the fuck I was thinking about 12 seconds before that.
So I carried this with me as I left. And it stayed through Friday.
I felt wretched Friday. I had a horrifc case of the shits. I was on the toilet every 45 minutes, sometimes more. My head was pounding. I was tired as fuck. And it wasn't food or lack of sleep. It was stress. That was obvious. All the shit I'm carrying around was working me over. I'm terrified of what's happening to me financially. I'm terrified of my insane need for female companionship at the same time I'm thoroughly enjoying living alone. I miss my daughter constantly and hate myself for being so far from her. My parents are making me batshit and I despise feeling beholden to them once again. I had a 21-year old girl in my arms one minute and a limp sausage in my hand the next. This computer is filled to the brim with time-sucking, porn-spawn vermin that slows down my attempts to pirate every last CD known to man.
You know, important stuff.
Bob expressed concern over my condition. I told him it was stress. He seemed to understand.
"You know, if I could get my hands on a thousand dollars and a blowjob, I might be able to have a solid shit again."
I'm proud of that one. It's been a year since I've had any without paying for it. Well, you pay for it no matter what...
I ended up leaving a few hours early. I had to ask four people today if anyone was pissed at my sudden decline in attendance (late twice and leaving early once within one week) and I was happy to find that it's OK. Not that it matters. I'm looking for a new job Friday on my day off. I can't live on this money, and I'm out of CDs I'm willing to sell just so I can afford gas to Cincy.
Speaking of shit...
I took a dump today at work. Over the weekend, it went back to the other direction and I was constipated again. Fifteen minutes of pure joy.
Two stalls down, someone was worse off than me. This is comforting. i'm trying to pass Elvis through my colon here, and another guy is actually in worse shape than me. But I had to wonder...
That sound. What WAS that? Was that someone's ASS??? Or is there a giant snake vomiting up partially-chewed chunks of gorilla meat at the bottom of a well? What the FUCK is that noise?
So maybe I'm a lucky one. Pass me another roll of paper, buddy.
Weird moment at this week's gig. Shithole bar behind a bowling alley in Marion. Not a lot of people, but we did well, it really rocked in the last set, I was about as consistently good as I've ever been with this band, and my tone was happening, I only felt slightly constipated, I resisted the urge to drink gallons of rum, and I nailed our "theme song" down to a T. I even worked Stanley Clarke's School Days into Mark's intro of me, and it's always fun to work the Low Rider riff into Evil Ways while Matt pretends to know what feedback is for. My backing vocals on All Day And All Of The Night RULED. For once.
A middle-aged guy came up to me excitedly after we finshed.
"Man! You are the best bass player I've ever heard in my life!"
Three things shot through my head in unison:
1.) You obviously haven't heard many bass players.
2.) Why don't I ever hear that from a CHICK???
3.) Damn, that's really cool. Somebody likes me.
I thanked him. It was very kind of him. I've got good comments before, even being compared to some of my favorite players. But it's been a while. And for once, I felt like I almost deserved it. It was a good night.
I drove home thinking about Bill Hicks talking about the guys who come up to him backstage after shows. Never women. Just guys. "We jerk off too!"
I am Goat Boy. Well, he was Goat Boy. I'm Goat Boy Wannabe. Anyone wanna drive to Arizona Bay with me in case Amanda backs out?
Very nice weekend with Katie. We went to the Newport Aquarium, the library, a drive around for a bit, and Bill's house.
Coming back from the Aquarium, we drove down Third Street in downtown Cincy. The Colts-Bengals game was starting soon. Not much traffic yet, but it was starting. I looked to the right and started seeing signs.
I should have spent my college money on a parking garage. I'd be a rich fuck by now. Do you realize that people are charging TWENTY FUCKING DOLLARS to PARK A CAR at a football game? A couple places were $25. I have nothing against football, but I'm sorry. If you're paying $20 just to PARK, you're taking your sports a little too fucking seriously. Stay home, drink beer that hasn't been watered down, and watch it on the fucking TV and stop using so much goddamn oil in your fucking SUV. If I'm going to pay 20 bucks for ANYTHING on the streets of Cincinnati, it's going to be a BLOWJOB.
Wait a minute...where's that piggy bank...damn....I need to start saving my quarters....
I related a story to Bob today about women using sex as a bargaining chip:
"I'll blow you if you clean the bathroom."
Fifteen minutes later I'm at a counter at Dollar General. "I need six gallons of Pine-Sol and a mop. Make it snappy!"
Listening to old Elvis Costello, eating a bit of gorganzola (not too much, I'm sick of waking up at 3AM with a large brick in my colon) and burning some Tibetan incense Bill gave me. Bill treated Katie to some cartoons last night. It was so cute seeing her on his lap in front of the computer watching old Looney Tunes. He's wonderful with kids. I'm lucky to know the guy, and the piece he recorded yesterday on my 12-string is GORGEOUS.
You know what the difference is between a pickpocket and a peeping tom?
A pickpocket snatches watches.
Redd Foxx rules.
Love,
Dougie
Pretentiousness
11.20.05 (10:41 pm) [edit]I'd like to write what's on my mind right now, but it sounds like pretentious horseshit when I try to. You know, even more so than usual with my crap.
All this inner conflict between my good side and my assfuck side isn't coming together right now. It all sounds like the product of a 13 year old girl's diary.
The pain
I hurt so
My life is hell
I can't rhyme
That boy made me cry
My mom made bad stroganoff
My dinner is a reflection of the utter hell that is my life
I can't rhyme
It's all so confusing
My daddy is boozing
My favorite team is losing
It's stupid, but at least now I can sorta rhyme
And I can't fight this feeling anymore
I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for
It’s time to bring this ship into the shore
And throw away the oars, forever
Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymore
I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for
And if I have to crawl upon the floor
Come crashing through your door
Baby, I can’t fight this feeling anymore
Somebody kill me. NOW.
Dougie
Don't Stand So Close To Me
11.15.05 (5:54 pm) [edit]"Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me."
- Warren Zevon
I got the call. There was a message on my cell at lunch time. I listened to it as I waited on the guys to come out so we could go have Chinese for lunch. My work-friend Dave (60 year old jazz guitar nut, giant John Scofield fan) has even bought lunch for me a couple times.
"Dougie, this is me."
She sounds like she's almost crying.
"I'm so sorry, but I think we can't see each other anymore. It's my fault. I hope you can forgive me."
Forgive? Sure. In fact, I'm fuckin' thrilled. You saved me from making this call myself.
She wants me to call her one more time, just to check in. I'm not so sure. I think I'll try to call when she's gone and leave my own message and be done with it.
God, she's so beautiful.
Wet bus stop...she's waiting...his car is warm and dry...
I told my co-worker about the call. I'd filled him in on the details through the morning. At one point I said, "And the moral of the story, boys and girls, is this. Don't jack off to teen porn."
I like it when he has to turn around and walk away to keep from losing his shit. That's my job - keep the help entertained.
I spent over half an hour in the plant manager's office after work. Damn, what a cool guy. We bullshitted about a little of everything. Too bad I'm going to have to leave soon, becuase I like these people. But I have to. I can't live on this money. And there's no overtime in the forseeable future. I was told to get it while I could, and it dried up a week later. Maybe an hour or two per week if we have to stay longer at the end of the day, but nothing more.
Jenny killed my hopes of anything more from the temp agency. No part-time or weekend stuff even exists, and I couldn't have it if it did, because they'd have to be the ones to pay me overtime, and they won't.
Gigs the next two weekends. But one of those merely makes up for not working two days over Thanksgiving. The day after, I'll be out job-hunting. Nothing more to be had here. Damn. I almost like this shitty job.
I thought about her all day, which somehow made it more tolerable. I don't really feel bad things toward her. I really doubt she meant to make me feel like this. I hope she finds what she needs. But it hurts to still feel her ghost in my arms. The ghost of a beautiful young girl.
Just like the...old man in...that book by Nabokov...
I'm going to Hell.
Dougie
Dazed & Confused
11.15.05 (5:40 am) [edit]"Been Dazed and Confused for so long it's not true.
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Lots of people talk and few of them know,
Soul of a woman was created below."
- Led Zeppelin
Now I'm not so confused. Dazed, yeah. I just woke up from a dream about her. You can guess what it involved. What fucked me up wasn't her illness. It was how much I LIKED it. Enjoyed it. Got INTO it. Sick fucking bastard.
It's going to take a lot of psychological effort, because part of me is still really twisted, but I can't see Melinda again. For my own sanity.
They say things happen for a reason. I say hurricane. Tsunami. Fuck your reasons. But I'm trying to find something good to pull out of this.
A beautiful young lady likes me.
Maybe it'll happen again and she WON'T be a psycho-bitch creamy-filled nutbar. Or maybe not. But it does feel good to know I had a beautiful young girl in here last night, even if it turned out the way it did.
"You're very cute, Dougie." "I want it too." Her voice. Such a pretty voice. Saying things that would drive any man insane.
But I ain't playing doctor to her disease. My own is bad enough.
Dammit.
Time to go to work,
Dougie
Beyond Repair
11.14.05 (6:32 pm) [edit]Didn't see her last night. I fought with myself all the way back from Cincy about whether or not to go to Kroger, but I figured I must be fighting it because I wanted it so bad. Fuck it, I'll go.
She wasn't there. And I was tired and looked like shit, so that's probably for the best.
But tonight...
I just got home. I FLEW to Kroger after work. Fuck it, i'm not going to hide it this time. I've gotta see this girl. I've been thinking about her all day. It's weird, I was still a bit terrified of her, but I can't stop thinking about her. Last night the girl at the register obviously knew who I was, because she said "If you're looking for Melinda, she and Kara just left." Melinda had told me about Kara, but I asked this girl just to make sure. Yep, who I thought she was. Tall skinny girl with long black straight hair, looks like one of those pissed-off alterno-rock girls.
Imagine the girl in the picture I posted last night with her face in the pillows and her ass in the air, getting poon-pounded from behind by Avril Lavigne with a 12-inch strap-on. You might as well imagine it, because it sure as fuck is most of what *I'VE* been thinking about all day.
Poon-pounded. Yes, you're welcome.
I was laughing all the way there, the absurdity of all this about to make me go over the edge like a complete lunatic. I'm all bubbly inside for a girl who likes girls. I'm really going to have to find a good shrink, because I obviously have some serious gay issues of my own to work out. LOL.
She was there. I went to the U-Scan and she saw me first. She practically RAN to me. Threw her arms around me. Almost knocked me the fuck right over. Literally and figuratively.
"Dougie!!!"
Holy fucking shit.
They were light on business, and she went to ask for her break. When she came out, she told me she was on her lunch break. But wasn't hungry, so let's just talk for half an hour. Hey, your apartment is two minutes away, let's go there.
I swear to you, I heard dogs barking in my head. I thought I was Lewis Black. Dogs. Barking. In my fuck head.
So I did it anyway.
She likes the place. So do I, but it looks a bit like shit right now. I'm a terrible housekeeper. It hasn't looked good since Katie left last week. I brought her in here and flipped on the computer. I picked up my guitar and started playing some pseduo-Neil Young licks. She sat down on the bed with her back against the wall.
Oh my fucking gawd. There's a 21 year old girl sitting on my bed.
She was smiling. She looked a LOT looser than Friday night, a lot more alive. But still, those eyes. Those beautiful broken eyes. They still look like death and unparallelled beauty at the same time.
I had to laugh as I reached in my pocket. "I almost forgot something." I wasn't sure if I should do this or not. "Have you ever heard the group Nickel Creek?"
"Yes, they're really cool...oh, I know where this is going." She laughed as I took the CD booklet out of my pocket. "You think I look like her, don't you?"
Even more so than I'd thought. When I pulled out the CD this morning, I remembered that the monitor on this computer is shit and everything looks darker than it should. Looking at the booklet, especially the picture on the back of it, and the picture of her inside by herself, Sara looks a LOT like Melinda. It's uncanny. Different hairstyle and different eyes, and that's about it.
"Well, I guess you must hear that often."
"Once a week at least."
"Sorry if I..."
"No, it's cool. She's very pretty. I'm flattered."
"You're prettier."
"And YOU are just trying to get laid now."
We both fell apart laughing. She's so....HOT when she talks like that. Little vixen.
Fuck it. I sat down next to her.
"Hi."
"Hi." She giggled. A sharp reminder of the age difference. She was giggling like a schoolgirl. She IS a school girl. College, granted, but I'm 35 years old. This is fucking bizarre.
Then she put her head on my chest and leaned into me.
I'm sitting, and I have my clothes on. But I'm in bed with a beautiful 21-year old girl.
Up to this point, I actually was so fucked up in the head that my weenus was passed out. But the second her head hit my chest and the thought of being where I was flew into my brain, I had an erection you could hang a dozen donuts off of and drill through steel with. It HURT I was so fucking hard.
Stop thinking about it, Doug. Stop thinking about how her head is pointed down towards it. How her hand is on your leg. How...how...
"Melinda, you are making me completely fucking crazy."
She giggled again. And looked up. Put her arms around my neck. Looked right at me. And kissed me. Full on, her killer lips against mine. Her lips...which...were just pointing down at my....
Must...stop...brain....from imploding...Spooooooooooooooooooooock !!!!!!!!!!!
"Careful, Kara will see."
We both laughed. but I think my voice must have been nearly an octave higher than normal. I felt like my throat was cracking and my cock was about to shatter like glass.
She just stayed there like that. With her arms around my neck, looking at me with..with...oh fuck, those eyes. You're destroying my mind, Melinda. Three nights ago I didn't want you at all. Now I want to ravage you until we both pass out.
And it scared me. Because it still seemed wrong somehow. I couldn't get that out of my head.
It was a quick kiss. She didn't linger long. No tongue. Just a very sweet short kiss.
And it's nearly got me out of my head. Even now, an hour later.
"Are you sure we're just friends? That kiss was a little too nice, sweetheart."
There was a strange reaction in her face to that.
"Yes, we are. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not thinking."
There was a pause.
"My dad used to call me sweetheart all the time."
Red lights and fire alarms went off screaming in my skull. Who let those fucking dogs out?
But the hard-on didn't go away.
Shtifucky.
"Dougie, you're shaking."
I hadn't noticed. But I was. Not out of fear. Well, probably some. but mostly out of utter unbridled lust. Classic example of dick-thinking on full display. Warning lights all around, and it doesn't change the fact that there's a beautiful woman in my arms and I want to fuck her brains out right here, right now, no holding back. Pure animal fuck-energy. A rock-simple drum machine pattern is in my head, a snakey bass line starts up, Trent Reznor whispers in my ear. Melinda, I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to feel you from the.....
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!
Her head dropped back onto my chest. "Dougie, I'm sorry. I'm really leading you on, aren't I?"
"You're doing something to me. The problem is, I'm enjoying it too much."
"I feel safe with you. I don't know why. I just think you'll be better to me than most guys have been."
"That might not be saying much. I try to be a nice guy, but I'm not always very good at it. Just ask my ex."
Long pause.
"Melinda. Let me tell you something. I'm 35 years old, I just went through a divorce. The only other real relationship I was in before that ended badly, and I've got some serious issues of my own, mostly dealing with religion and how it's fucked with my sexuality. My intentions are not very pure. You're a sweet girl and I want to be your friend, and I'd love to help you work through stuff, but...I really don't think I can."
Nothing.
"I really just want something more superficial right now. That sounds bad, but I don't think I can do much else right now."
She still has her head on my chest.
"You're incredibly beautiful. Your eyes destroy me. You're very warm. You're very young. And you make me insane. I'd never want to hurt you in a million years. But I don't think I can stop myself."
Jesus creeping shit. Am I in a soap opera now?
She looked at me. There was hurt there, maybe a little anger even. But mostly...I wasn't sure. It wasn't sadness. It was...
"Thank you, Dougie. I needed to hear that."
Christ, she's holding me tighter now.
"I can't do that with you. But I do want to. I want it too."
Oh fuck. There's a beautiful 21-year old girl in my bed. She just told me she wants to fuck me.
But she's not going to.
Part of me thinks this is proof that there is a God. And he hates me. This is his Holy Vengeance for all the time I spend wanting to fuck college girls. I AM a dirty old perv. But goddamn it, who ISN'T??? Fuck you, God. You made 'em, I eat 'em. That should be the deal.
Not the deal. The deal is, I spend half my time wanting to fuck 'em, one of 'em drops herself into my lap, tells me she wants to fuck me, then GOES AWAY.
Actually this is all bullshit. God's busy talking to George Bush, he doesn't give two fucks about where my penis goes. But it DOES feel like some twisted justice at work.
"What can you do?"
Shit, did I just ask that? I heard it come out of me before I even thought it. You selfish prick. After all this, you're still thinking with your cock.
But she didn't take it that way. She didn't take it as "Please blow me. I need that mouth REALLY bad."
"I can be your friend if you can be mine. If you can't, I understand. I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry. That was selflish and manipulative."
Yes, it probably was. Into all the other things I'm feeling comes another emotion. Anger. Not much. I held it in. You little tease. You run up to me and hug me, get me back to my apartment, sit down on my bed, snuggle into me, giggle at my hard-on, KISS me for fuck's sake, and...god DAMN it. I'm more pissed now than I was at the time, but I felt it. Don't work me like this and expect me not to have a raging erection. Don't be a hot little girl in my bed and not expect my older-guy dong not to crave you. I'm almost old enough to be..........
Dogs. Barking.
It took an enormous amount of effort. I didn't want to do it. I wanted to feel her longer. Just feel her at least. But I stood up.
"You're going to be late back to work."
If she saw where I was coming from, she didn't show it. She smiled, stood up. And...dammit...hugged me again.
And, dick-thinker that I am, I let her.
"Your hair smells really nice."
Oh fuck, I just said that, didn't I?
Brain. Dick. Brain. Dick. Braindick. Dickbrain. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..............
Back and forth like...like....man, her tits are pretty big...AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!
I couldn't help myself. I bent in like some kind of vampire, and kissed her on the neck. Why, I don't know. Complete insanity, probably. Then I let go and walked out of the room.
Some kind of vampire. Shit. I just read that again. Ouch. Truth hurts, Douglas. You're doing the same shit to her that she's doing to you now.
She followed me lightly, with a pleasant lilt in her walk. She looked happy. She looked like...
Like she got what she wanted.
Flashback. Laying in bed. After love time. She's in the bathroom cleaning up. She got up almost right after it was over. And I laid there wanting her to come back, wanting her not to have left. Feeling like I thought the woman was always supposed to feel like. Like it wasn't over for me yet, I needed more. But she got what she wanted. Onto the next project. Later, Dougie.
Anger coming up again. All my life I've been trained to think that - by the very non-virtue of my having a dick - *I* am the selfish one. *I* am the one who is using people. Women don't do that. Never. They're sweet little fucking angels. Rotten lying cunts.
I AM a selfish prick. I HAVE used women. If there is such a thing as a Hell, I AM on the highway sitting next to Bon Scott. But there isn't a Hell. Not one that burns as much as this. Like they've burned me. Like I've burned them. It's all the same. Nobody's innocent here, sweetheart.
Shit. Her dad used to call her that. I need a brillo pad for my skull now.
I look away, and I'm pissed at her. I look at her, and I want to make her feel better. I look at her a little longer, I want to make ME feel better. With her. In her.
The battle rages on, motherfuckers.
As we went back out to the car, I asked her what her schedule was this week. Thank fuck. There's a good chance I won't see her for the rest of the week unless we do this break thing again, and I'm going to try to avoid that. She said something before about how she usually has her break earlier, so maybe we can't anyway. I now have to train myself to stay away from Kroger the same way I'm training myself to stay away from booze. I'm mostly succeeding, but I have fallen off that ol' wagon a few times. That Bacardi Limon tasted a little too good. I bet it tastes like shit compared to her pu....no....don't think about it.
Yeah, right. It's ALL I'm thinking about. Even while typing this. While feeling all this. I want to eat her like...I've used all those metaphors up by now, haven't I? About Jenny. About Amanda. About a lot of other women who'd be far better for me than this one.
We took off down the road and she asked me, "What is this you're listening to? It's really cool."
Same thing I had in Friday night. "It's called Fish Out Of Water. It's by Chris Squire. He's the bass player for Yes."
"Hmmm...I think I've heard of them."
Another reminder of the age difference. Hey Nineteen, that's Jon Anderson. She don't remember the kings of prog.
I did a Beavis impersonation of the guitar riff of Owner Of A Loney Heart, then sang part of the chorus.
"Oh! i remember them! My dad used to listen to that."
Am I on Candid Fucking Camera???
I feel like I'm in a fucking movie, for Christ's sake. I don't think she had a clue. Ick. Please. Stop making me feel like I'm your dad. I HAVE a daughter, and....don't even go there. This is fucking sick, you little bitch.
For some reason I'll never understand, I pulled out my wallet. New picture. Test time, round 2.
"Oh, she is so cute."
Much stronger reaction that time. And you know what? It still ain't good enough.
I dropped her off at the door. A girl with long black hair was standing outside, taking her break. Yep, this must be a movie I'm in.
I rolled the window down. "You must be Kara."
Melinda got out of the car. Good.
"You must be Dougie." I would have preferred just Doug at this point.
She held out her hand. I shook it. Shit, she's really hot.
STOP IT!!!
She looks like a pissed-off alterno-grrrl, but she was very friendly. More alive than Melinda, very...professional. In a weird way, she reminded me a little of Jenny. Who is very professional, and very friendly, and at least appears to totally have her shit together in every way. Probably just an appearance, but it is the vibe you get from her most of the time.
Kara's a bit like that. Except she apparantly has a bigger dick than me and uses it to poon-pound a girl who has dragged me through more emotional sludge in the past four days than I'd like to see in four years.
And now, after all this, I'm going to go jerk off thinking about that. Because I'm a guy, and I have a dick. I feel no shame whatsoever about this.
But I sure better find someone else to not feel it with. Because this one is fucked-up beyond repair.
Dougie
A Pic
11.13.05 (9:09 pm) [edit]I noticed something today. Looking at the cover of the first Nickel Creek album, I realized that Sara, the violinist in that band, looks a LOT like Melinda. Not as much in this pic as in the one on the back of the booklet, but I couldn't find a copy of that and don't have a scanner hooked up. So here's the front cover shot of her:
http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/melinda -almost.jpg" title="http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/melinda -almost.jpg" target="_blank"http://www.geocities.com/eras...
Imagine her with lighter hair, a bit younger looking. With incredible deep blue eyes. Maybe a smaller rack, but not by much. That's the lesbian of my dreams.:)
Dougie
(Who hasn't seen or heard from her since yesterday's conversation.)
Dykes On Fire
11.12.05 (9:51 am) [edit]I seem to be meeting a lot of lesbians these days. Several this year. And that's great. I'm fine with that. I'm all for lesbians. I'm saving up money for a camcorder. Lesbians are our FRIENDS, guys. That's all they are, but hey. You've gotta have a woman around who can tell you when you're being an asshole who you KNOW you'll never have sex with. It's a good thing.
But dammit, where is the woman who is addicted to blowjobs? Come on. There's gotta be one out there somewhere. The girl who LIVES just to suck the tiny cock of a fat hairy bass player. She has her magnifying glass and a bottle of Jack for afterwards to wash away the foul taste and the stain from her soul, and she's ready for my lovin'. There's at least ONE out there, I'm sure. She works in a circus and has no friends, but she's out there SOMEWHERE, right? RIGHT???
I need to get serious about that stand-up thing.
Dougie
Now This Is REALLY Weird
11.12.05 (9:35 am) [edit]But cool too.
I was sitting here eating my eggs (topped with some Alien Ambush hot sauce that I got in Roswell. Man, I want to go back there and take shrooms with the Zargothians) listening to Lennon and burning CDs, when the phone rang.
Melinda. Somehow I knew it before I picked it up.
"Hi, Dougie." (I told her she could call me that.) "How are you?"
"Eating eggs and listening to stuff from before you were born. Told you I'm an old fart."
She chuckled at that.
"Hey, I want to apologize about last night. You seemed kinda scared of me."
"Well, I just thought we probably didn't have a lot to connect with. I like you, but I'm probably not what you're looking for."
"Well, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. But I'd like to have a friend who is a guy again. I've been hanging out with the girls too much." She chuckled a bit.
"So, you like boring old farts then."
"You're not boring. And you're really cute. But...that's why I called. If you're going to be my friend, you neded to know a couple things, and I understand if you don't want to be."
"Nothing wrong with friends." (Now I'm thinking this is both weird and frustrating. Is this going to be Welcome To My Psychosis Night or what? And did she just say I'm really cute? Christ, she IS a basket case.)
"I'm not very good with guys. I've been avodiing men for a long time."
"You've really been hurt, haven't you? If you don't want to talk about it, I understand."
"I do want to talk about it. Everyone else knows. So should you."
"OK."
"My dad used to molest me. He tried to kill me."
Oh my fucking shit.
"I nearly killed him. When Mom pulled me off him, he was unconscious."
So, I don't want to piss her off. That's nice to know...
"Jesus. I'm so sorry. But at least you were able to defend yourself."
"It wasn't defense."
Uhhh...
"He tried to kill me and I got away. I came back a while later with a baseball bat and tried to kill him. He didn't see me coming."
I bet the sex is LOTS of fun with this one...
"Can I say something? I wasn't scared of you before. I am now." I laughed to let her know I was half-joking. Well, maybe a third. OK, a tenth. 90% of me is scared shitless of her now.
She laughed at that. A lot. She'd laughed at me before, but it was more reserved. This time she sounded relieved.
"I don't hurt people. I've never hurt anyone. Not even animals. But I hated my Dad." Long pause. "I loved him too."
"I know that feeling. Well, not like you do, obviously."
"When I was little, he was my best friend. He made me feel like the most important girl in the world."
I thought about Katie. Then I thought about Laura Palmer. Then I wanted a shower. Ick. This stuff really fucks with my head.
"I have nothing useful to say to this, Melinda. I'm sorry. But I'm sure you've heard that before."
"Don't be. I was sorry enough for myself for a long time. I don't want to be anymore."
"That's good." Shit, I'm not much help...
"I had a couple really shitty boyfriends too. I'm not good with guys, I guess. They sure haven't been good to me. But you're very nice and I wanted to tell you."
"Thank you."
"I'm bi."
"Uhhhh...OK."
"Is that cool? And no, you can't watch, you dirty old perv."
That's when *I* started laughing. We both did. I nearly had an asthma attack.
"You can't join in either." She was laughing too. "I guarantee you my girlfriend has a bigger dick than you do."
I had to put the phone down. I was DYING.
"OK, now I DO want to be your friend. Come on, can I at least PEEK?"
"No, but you can help put the website up."
Holy shit, this girl is fucking HILARIOUS. And I thought she had no personality? Well, last night she didn't...
It went on from there. We'll probably not see each other much. I'm always gone, so is she. She's a full-time student and working 30 hours a week. Which is good. I still don't feel like getitng very involved, but any woman who can make me asphyxiate with twisted lesbian jokes is definitely worth SOME time. She said she felt the need to have a guy friend again. I could use a friend who is a girl. Perspective, you know. And she said I'm cute, but she also seemed to suggest a few times that I was sort of like a big brother. That normally would annoy the fuck out of me, but let's face it, I'm 14 years older than this girl. I was guilty of trying to turn a woman 8 years older than me into my mother (which disgust me about myself) so where's the surprise here?
She drew the line pretty hard towards the end and told me outright that she likes men but she's in love with her girlfriend and has an "exclusive relationship" with her. I'd prefer a "No, I'm not gonna fuck you" but that said the same thing. And I liked that. I like knowing where I stand. And I said it before - she's damn pretty, but I'm scared shitless of the emotioanl baggage that goes along with fucking someone with those kind of issues. I REALLY don't want to be on top of a girl when she starts crying. That SUCKS. I'll settle for lesbo jokes and a twenty-second hug.
Now I've gotta go back to Steak & Shake and see Amanda again. LOL.
Love,
Dougie
Well, That Was Weird
11.11.05 (8:48 pm) [edit]The "date" lasted an hour and a half. I don't think I could take anymore.
Melinda is a nice enough girl in all respects I can see so far, but I really think this one is a dead end, and I'm likely just as bad for her. She seemed to like me, and it was pleasant enough to a point, but it was also disturbing and uncomfortable for me.
She's younger than I thought. 21. Now, I'm a guy. I LIKE young women. What guy doesn't? I admit it, I wanna fuck some sweet young thing. OK? Can you handle that?
And it didn't seem to bother her that I'm 14 years older, not at all. Which was pretty cool.
But that isn't the problem.
I found myself bored within 15 minutes, uncomfortable in 30, and ready to leave in 45. We went to the ultimate romantic dining establishment, White Castle. Her choice. She's mostly vegetarian, but she hadn't had a burger in a month and wanted to go there. She also insisted on paying her own way. At White Castle. I could handle the extra three bucks, but that was her decision.
I wanted very much to not dominate the conversation, because I'm often guilty of that and I'm trying to break that narcissistic bullshit. But she wasn't opening up much. Not in a bad way. She was laid back, friendly, laughed a lot at my stupid jokes. It wasn't even that she seemed to be holding back, she just seemed...dead. Nothing there. Not a lot of personality, and just nothing to really hang onto. The best part of the night was the few minutes talking about music. She plays saxophone and her band teacher got her into John Coltrane back in high school. It's the only jazz she listens to, but she loves Coltrane. So she certainly can't be all bad, ya know?
But the lack of personailty grated on me quickly. Then, when discussing family, I asked about her parents, which was when it got weird. Her mom is a nurse in town. They rarely see each other, simply because she's a college student (English major) and her mom works nights. They haven't lived together in a year, she hasn't spoken to her in a week or seen her in two. It sounds like they get along well, they just don't have time for each other.
When I asked about her dad, she showed the only strong emotion of the night.
"He's in prison."
It wasn't sadness or concern. She said it like she was GLAD about it. Hell, there was even a touch of a sadistic enjoyment of her father's jailbird status.
The next thing she did was like something out of a movie.
As she was saying "He's in prison", her hand went to her forehead. She brushed back a bit of her blonde hair, and there was something I hadn't seen before. A scar, partially hdiden by her hairline, probably four inches long on the left side of her forehead.
The whole thing came off like an intentional statement. My dad is in jail because he hurt me, and I hope he dies there. But I don't want to talk about it.
She didn't say that. Possibly didn't even mean anything like that. but it certainly was what I got from it. I don't know. But in that moment, I felt bad for her, and suddenly felt like I might be understanding why she was so hard to get through. Fuck. Poor girl.
She also has a scar on her neck, one on a hand, and two on the other arm. God knows where else.
She's very pretty. More so than I first thought. When I picked her up at work, she pulled her uniform shirt off to reveal a plain blue t-shirt that actually looks rather cute on her. Very nice build. Curvy. Not thin, not fat. Somewhat athletic. I love her hair. It seemed a darker blonde than I remembered,more towards my color. Long and wavy. I'd love to have it all over my face. She uses something good to clean it with, because she smelled great, and it seemed to be mostly coming from her hair.
And her eyes...that was hard to deal with. In one sense, they are astounding. Deep, deep blue. I looked right into them for a full ten seconds at one point, and she seemed to barely notice, evne though she was looking right back. Incredible, beautiful eyes.
But I also saw something else. She really does seem dead in places. The beauty in her eyes was the beauty of a carefully managed graveyard. I've been in enough to know that feel. Immaculately cared for, mowed and trimmed. No stones turned over or broken. Flowers and trees arranged like something out of a magazine.
But it's still full of dead people.
All this went through my mind in that ten seconds. As pretentiously poetic as it sounds, it's precisely what those eyes created in my head.
I had to fight off the urge to look more. Partially out of respect, but mostly out of a sinking feeling that I was about to pull myself into a world I really don't have the time, energy, or inclination to be part of. Those eyes are deep enough that Cthulhu could be down there in his eternal slumber under the stones of R'yleh. But that's the problem. Miles of deep beautiful blue, with a fucking evil space-squid at the fucking bottom.
God, she's pretty. Part of me wants to get in her eyes, her mind. Help her sort things out, maybe alleviate in some way whatever pain is in there. That's the good part of me. The bad part is full of knights banging coconuts together screaming "Run away! Run away!"
Actually, the bad part of me wants to fuck her, THEN run away. Fuck her really, really hard, then run naked out of the house yelling "Don't call me, I'll call you!"
I'm a sick evil fuck. I accept that.
But I think I can get over that. After an hour and a half, any desire to fuck ANYTHING (women, poultry, small rocks, a Telefunken U-47 with rubber) was mostly gone from sheer mental exhaustion. I had a shitty day anyway (no overtime at work tomorrow, called off two hours before I left, I'm SO fucked financially), and it ended with me driving back home thinking I'd just met a really fucked-up chick who could make things worse. Not that she'd try to. She's a nice girl. But most of what we do to each other is shit we don't mean to do. Fuck, have I ever learned that in the last few years...
At one point I was talkng about work, and the temp agency. I thought I was pretty calm and balanced, but even what little anger I let out caused exatly the reaction I don't need to see - she seemed to shrink back away from me. Oh no. Not THAT shit again. Just what I need. Another woman who takes every tiny bit of negative emotion I might ever express and somehow convert it into a personal attack on HER. Done that, sweetheart. Yep, a girl with severe daddy issues. Like a big neon-fuck sign. Fuck that. i'm having a hard enough time trying to not fuck up my own daughter's head. Hell, I haven't even got over MY daddy issues, for fuck's sake. Strike two.
Strike three with the Katie Picture Test I referred to last night. She said the right words, "She's very pretty." But it was the least response I've got to a picture of my girl. The black girls at work go nuts over it. Amanda went nuts over it. Jenny was more reserved, but she always is, and I think when she said "She's really cute" three times in a row, that was a pretty good indication of a real response. Guys I show the pictures to like them a lot.
Melinda? The right words. the right look. Nothing behind it at all. Sorry, this is important to me, and I'm sticking with this test. I think that's fair. She didn't fail the test. She just got a D- on it. Not good enough.
She has a car, but her roommate usually drives them to work. Her roommate works at Kroger too. I've seen her. And yes, I had evil little three-way fantasies.
So I took her back to her apartment. Only a couple miles from here, off Thompson Rd., just like me. I checked those apartments out when I first came here, and they were among the better ones I saw.
She gave very little of herself until the end. That was also weird. When we got out of the car and walked to her door, she suddenly turned around and reached out to me. She hugged me. For a full 20 seconds or more. It totally took me by surprise, and I can't say I didn't like it, but it was odd. She has a very warm body. Almost a perfect fit next to mine. Unfortunately, there's little warmth inside, and I actually thought less about Recreational Physcial Activity in that twenty seconds than I was before, and I was thinking less about it all the time. I miss being close to a woman, and right now I can feel her arms around me. I kinda wish they still were, just for the warmth that she did have. But...no, I'd rather not. I'd rather spend half an hour flirting around with Amanda without actually touching her than spend a whole week in Melinda's arms. I think that says it all about as strongly as I can say it. It would be nice and warm. But so is my blanket. And my blanket doesn't fold itself up and crawl into a corner when I'm pissed off at somebody else 25 miles away. Maybe I'm just focusing on my intense desire not to go apeshit over the first girl who pays attention to me (you know, like I went apeshit over Jenny) but I think I mostly just don't want this girl.
But it was nice in a strange way. She said nothing the whole time. Just hugged me. Then, still holding onto me, she looked up, with some hair in her face. She looked happy and sad at the same time.
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a girlfriend. I doubt you'll want me for one."
THAT was fucking weird. What she said, but mostly the way she said it. It wasn't self-depreciating. It wasn't "I hate myself." It was "I'm broken and you can't fix me."
"But I do like you. You're the first guy I've been out with in a year. You're the nicest guy I've met in a long time. Thank you."
A little warmth that time. And more than a little neurosis. But she thanked me. For spending time with her. Women never thank me for that. They're too busy reaching for the mace. OK, now I'm getting confused. I DON'T want this girl, but I also don't want to let go of the first girl who has...like fuck I don't. Pull away, Doug. This is NOT the one.
"The first guy in a year? A pretty girl like you?"
"Nobody's asked."
I found that hard to believe. and...easy to believe too.
Shit, I'm not sure about this. I felt really fucking weird the whole time, then she throws this curveball at the end with that hug and those nice words. She leaned back in for a quicker hug, said goodnight, and went inside.
That evil part of me is thinking about the only real reason I have to take her up on meeting up again. She gave me her phone number (she had mine already) and left it wide open, but suggested something vague about seeing her at work again. Didn't even say when she was working next, though I think she'd earlier said something about Sunday night, So maybe I could go by when I get back in town from seeing Katie.
But I only really want one thing now. Take a guess, The thing is, she doesn't exude a drop of sexuality. Which in a weird way makes me more into the idea, but also turns me waaaay off. It's not like someone like Amanda, who can with one smile suggest thirteen new positions and 1001 ways to suck a cock. Amanda probably isn't what most guys think of as being as pretty as Melinda. But she IS pretty, and she DOES know it, and she also is funny and smart and a lot of other things beyond merely being something I'd like to stick my dick into. Melinda might actually be the prettiest girl I've EVER gone out with. But there's a big lesson in here. It really IS what is inside. Amanda's sexuality, Jenny's, most women I've wanted to fuck. It came as much from inside as from out, often even more so. There's a woman at work who has to be twenty years older than me and looks it, but I'd fuck her in a heartbeat, because she is COOL. Great sassy attitude, swears almost as much as I do, likes beer, and can make me laugh. She's got lines all over her, she wears too much makeup, and she's obviously abused herself with some kind of substance (probably whatever the guys watching the game are drinking) but she's sexy in a way that Melinda doesn't get anywhere NEAR. I'd fuck her just to show her how cool she is. Damn, you're fun to talk to. Let me make you come a few times. What are you, sixty years old? Fuck it, I wanna bang the hell out of you. You rock, babe.
I think I'd be really lousy for Melinda. I know she's lousy for me, because I don't feel this way about girls often, and when I do I feel guilty about it.
No, I'm not into this one. I'm gonna sit here and listen to Geddy Lee,. drink some tea, and wax my dolphin. I don't want to use a perfectly nice girl who has issues, I don't want to hurt her, but mostly i'd rather jerk off than fuck someone who has the potential to waste a lot of my time. That sounds cruel. Maybe it is. But I'm not that desparate yet.
Dougie
Remember Kids: Schedule Your Yearly Rectal Exam TODAY!
11.11.05 (6:07 am) [edit]Melinda left a message on my cell last night. She might be working late tonight, but I can still come by at 7 and we'll still plan on getting together. She sounded tired. Or bored. Not a lot of energy. Come to think of it, she wasn't exaclty bouncing around when I saw her last. I hope she doesn't fall asleep on me. Though I wouldn't be surprised...
Had a nice practice with Dennis last night. I think our "acoustic duo" is going to actually have me playing electric guitar at least half, if not two-thirds of the time. It seems to suit us better. It's a different sound, it fits his voice well, and I just feel better about it. He's very set on only having so much of a "folky" vibe. He wants it to be more rock, and I'm fine with that. I can get my folk side out on my own if I ever get around to doing my own solo thing. I'm more interested in this right now, because...well, because it's easier not to have to work so much on singing. I'd rather let someone else do that for now, and anyway, I will be doing a fair amount of harmony for him.
He played me something I hadn't heard in ages. A version of us doing I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry, just the two of us. It's just a bit too raw a recording for my liking, but he sings it beautifully. I love hearing him on the lower end of his range. I'm looking forward to this getting out on the road, though it will likely be the beginning of the year.
The only gig I knew about in Cincy is cancelled now, which is irritating. I don't know how I'm going to survive December. I'm already fighting to keep up on bills, and I start paying child support in a few weeks. It was made clear today (like I didn't know already) that neither I or anyone else will be hired on regularly at the warehouse anytime soon. Ain't gonna happen for at least six months, probably longer. So I can forget about the extra buck or two an hour that would pretty much not actually save my ass but at least not land me in fucking debtor's prison in a year. The temp agency won't find me anything else unless I quit this job first, which I'm loathe to do given how pathetic they were at working me more than a couple days a week before finally getting me here. I doubt they'll find me anything better anyway. I kinda like this job. Not really, but at least the people are cool, all the way up to the plant manager. I spent ten minutes with him yesterday, watching him fuck with the new handheld PCs we'll be using soon. I can joke around with the guy who leads me and a hundred other employees, and that's a very nice thing. I have security here. I'll have to fuck up hugely to lose this job. (You know, like fall to my knees and beg Jenny to allow me to be her love slave. That's ONE way to fuck up, you know.) I'm one of two people responsible for over a quarter million dollars of merchandise out the door each week, I've been there long enough that if I fuck something up it can be fixed quickly, and they don't want to train a new guy. The guy I work with likes me, and he's really the one who could kill my chances there if he didn't. So I know I have a job. I just don't get PAID worth a shit.
Jenny has looked even more utterly amazing than normal recently, so it's good that I've learned to avoid her. I can't be near her more than 20 seconds without wanting to explode. She walked by a few days ago, her hair down, wearing those black pants that make her ass look so perfectly round, and I looked at my co-worker and said, "She is truly the Incredible Edible Jen." I'd bring napkins and a bottle of Bacardi Limon to that luncheon. I'd lick every spare millimeter of that lucious little vixen.
The last time I saw Amanda, she mentioned her six-year old daughter. The love in her voice struck me hard, and I pulled out my wallet to show her a picture of Katie. She went NUTS. "Oh my GOD! She's BEAUTIFUL! Wow! She is such a beautiful little girl!"
That's the test. If a woman doesn't react strongly to a picture of my baby, she can go fuck off. I'm gonna hold on to that little test, dammit.
I had Katie all weekend. We met my parents and went to the Children's Museum here in town, which was a lot of fun. We had a nice dinner and they went back to Marion. Katie and I went to bed very early Saturday night and slept for a long time. (Well, she did. I woke up three or four times.) We spent Sunday watching MST3K and playing around.
She wasn't as heavy on it as last time, but she did say a few times how much she missed me during the week. The previous time she brought it up a lot. This time, the second most painful thing I had to hear was "I wish our family could be a family again."
Damn, Katie. That hurt.
I told her we are a family. But we have a different way of being one now. She said, "That's the way it has to be." Which REALLY hurt. I've said that to her, and so has Sheryl. And it's the truth. But the way she repeated it back was like a parrot. Like a soldier reciting marching orders. It was stiff, rehearsed. Fuck. Hearing my little girl reciting something she is expected to believe but doesn't actually feel herself...I hated myself for a while after that. It IS the way it has to be, because I'm not now and honestly never really have any intention of being a good husband. It's not my priority anymore. I tried to make it a priority and failed miserably, and I just don't give a shit anymore. I have other things to do. But unfortunately, she's caught in the middle of that, and I HAVE to be a good father, or at least the best I can be under these stupid circumstances I've inflicted on both of us. I'm close enough to be an important part of her life, but too far away to have any real control over anything other than the limited time we have together. It IS the way it has to be, but it feels like I'm setting her up for some real disappointment. Having to stay home last weekend being sick really tore me up, because I don't want to have to fuck with her expectations like that any more than I absolutely have to. And it terrifies me to think what will happen in upcoming weeks when I'll suddenly be paying the state of Ohio the same amount of money to send her in support that it costs me to have that one day a week with her. I can barely pull it off right now. Why the FUCK did I move here???
Well, I know why. But it doesn't make it any better. I did it because I saw some small opportunity here that I didn't have in Cincy. The chance to fall back into music with minimal time and effort. Playing again with people I know, people I like, doing stuff that comes very, very naturally to me, and getting paid for it. I HAD to come here. Hell, the little money I've made has been what's got me through these months, and it might have taken longer to do it otherwise. It might not last, but it has to be this way right now. (Oops, said THAT line again.) Starting something from scratch would have sucked on a lot of levels, not the least of which is the simple fact that even doing what I'm doing now, I'm only hitting maybe 20% of my musical personality, and I better have something to hang onto if I'm going to be skimming the surface like that. I have guys who I like to be around, who are easy to work with. Working with Dennis is a treat because I know exactly what I'm in for. He knows exactly what he wants to hear and I give it to him. There's not a lot of gray area. Which is why we'll be able to be road-worthy in about six practices. That beats the shit out of doing something with people I don't know, with no defined boundaries, which is always what happens. I don't operate well that way. I'm scattered enough, I don't need three or four other people who don't know shit either. The band in Fairmount works for me becuase there's a lot of mateiral ready to go. Working on new material with them usually sucks. I've HATED most of the practice time with them, because nobdoy has a real handle on making shit work. But it hasn't mattered, becuase we require practice only when learning new shit, and there's been little of that. We're quite capable of playing two very different shows back to back with the amount of material we have, so there ya go. I can come in and do my thingt, and I'm good enough to bullshit my way through even the stuff I barely know as long as everyone else knows it. I get paid, I drink a couple brews, I watch drunken redneck women dance. It's a good thing. It ain't the psychotic psychedelic-prog-polka-fu sion-death-reggae unit of my dreams, but it'll do for now.
Well, off to work. And I've got a log the size of a redwood waiting to exit my orifice.
Love,
Dougie
Well, I'll Be Darned...
11.09.05 (8:39 pm) [edit]I've got something to do Friday night.
Taught my friend d9 a guitar lesson tonight, talked to Dennis about practice on the way back home. I stopped into Kroger to get some produce (eating better for the most part lately, and I've felt much better for it this week) and I saw a very cute blonde working the U-Scans, about to shut down. I've seen her before. Her name is Melinda.
I got my stuff and was leaving when she wished me a good night.
"You too. You've been busy tonight?"
"Nope. Not at all." Very bored sounding.
"Sounds like you need some excitement in your life." OK, where did THAT come from? Suddenly I'm feeling something. A "go for it" sign is starting to blink in the back of my head.
"I guess I do. Know where I can find any?" she laughs. Cute laugh. Cute face. Nice curvy body. Wavy hair, blonde/light brown halfway down her back. She looks sorta like a I'd=be-goth-if-I-had-the- balls-to-wear-that-makeup chick. Somewhat sad looking. I'm guesing she's around 25.
I'm getting wood.
"Well, you should hang out with me. Hell, I'm the most exciting...oh, who am I kidding. I'm boring as hell. You should hang out with me anyway." Pulled that RIGHT out of my ass. I gave her the most charming smile I'm capable of.
"Well, I guess I should." She laughs. Holy shit.
"What are you doing Friday night?"
""I'm off at 7:00. Want to meet here?"
Holy fuck. I'm going out with a cute girl Friday night.
Now all I have to do is not pay one of my bills and I'll be able to AFFORD it.
I'm not sure what to think right now, but I'm pretty happy about this on first impression. Melinda. Cute girl. Apparantly likes fat hairy guys who buy tomatoes at 9:30PM. Who could imagine?
Now I've gotta go two days to find out what happens next.
Dougie
I Like This
11.04.05 (8:22 pm) [edit]Today's quote on my George Carlin calender:
If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you'd expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. In any decently-run universe, this guy would've been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago.
Dougie
You Learn Something New Every Day
11.01.05 (4:37 pm) [edit]http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=jizzmonkey&defid =122082