pissshiver

Can'tWaitUntilFridayCan'tWaitUntilFridayCan'tWaitUntilFridayCan'tWaitUntilFriday

02.27.06 (11:04 pm) [edit]
She called back.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!

I'm trying to keep from exploding. She actually wants to hang out with me. Friday night. We haven't made a real plan yet, but we're going to keep in touch.

Control, asshole. Keep control. Man, I really, really, really fucking like this girl. Keep your shit together, man. She's too cool to fuck this up.

Damn, she's so cute. She's got a great laugh. Smart. Funny. Interesting. Maybe I'm too full of wackjob brain chemicals right now to have any objectivity whatsoever, but I think she's amazing.

I feel like I'm not seeing something. I'm not sure what it is. But I can't wait to see her.

I feel like a friggin' high school kid. I'm not sure that's a bad thing right now.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! !!!!!!

Dougie

9 Comments

RIP Dennis Weaver

02.27.06 (1:45 pm) [edit]
Mick Jagger is at a big Hollywood party. He walks in, and goes to check in his coat.

In the coat room, there's Hugh Hefner on top of Dennis Weaver, beating the shit out of him.

Mick yells, "Hey, Hugh! Get offa McCloud!"

Dougie

5 Comments

Fun With Bipolar Disorder

02.27.06 (1:11 pm) [edit]
"Manic depression's a frustrating mess." - Jimi Hendrix

I read more today about the relationship between bipolar disorder and ADD, and saw something interesting.

Apparantly, the stimulants that are often used to control ADD (I was on Ritalin for a while) can actually make bipolar disorder worse. Well, whaddya know. Gee, I can't think of how that might have affected ME when I was taking those drugs and irritable as all fuck and wanting to grab some random asshole off the street and cave his goddamn skull in. Laying on the floor for half an hour at a time unable to think well enough to stand. Letting every godamn tiny insignificant thing on the planet send me over the edge.

Gee, stimulants don't always work, eh? Fuckers.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually getting better, or if I've just shifted into an extended manic mode. It doesn't seem that way for the most part, but there are some signs. It's pretty obvous that I've got some severe hypersexuality going on, which is a symptom of the manic end of bipolar.

I feel pretty damn good for the most part. It's just this crazed sex thing that is (pardon the pun) fucking with me. I don't have the insurance or the money to do anything more than keep an eye on things, read up more, and keep taking my vitamins and eating better, which is really helping a lot in the past few months. My physical health is far from perfect, but it's made a big jump in the right direction lately, and I know that's helping the chemicals balance a bit better.

"Hey baby. Can I buy you a drink? Say, my doctor says I have bipolar disorder, with symptoms of hypersexuality. Seems the only effective treatment is continuous oral sex. So, your place or mine?"

Love,
Dougie

8 Comments

Only The Lonely

02.26.06 (9:30 pm) [edit]
"Maybe tomorrow, a new romance
No more sorrow, but that’s the chance you gotta take."
- Roy Orbison

Disco music emanating faintly through the wall. When I left almost two hours ago, his blinds were open and...sure enough...good ol' fashioned gay cocksucking going on the tube. Apparantly my neighbor is more of a pornhead than I am, because the disco has been going all day. I just got home and a guy was on his back with his feet behind his ears like Bugs Fucking Bunny, taking Jimmy Dean's sausage up the keister. Ahh, what a many-splendored thing love is...

My Roy Orbison mp3s are now drowning out the anal-carnage soundtrack next door though. Few people nail down this feeling I'm feeling quite like Roy.

Money is scarce for a few days. I had every intention of a Steak & Shake run today, needing my weekly Amanda fix. Not to be. I considered going just for coffee, But that felt weird. I am becoming addicted to S&S's coffee, though. I stayed home and made my own. Made a three-egg omelette with mushrooms and tomatoes. Baked some squash. Cranked up some Funkadelic.

A nice day at home, doing some cleaning and organizing, but mostly fucking around. Took a bit of a nap, even. That hardly ever happens.

I called A around 6PM and left a message. I had my doubts all day. I was running myself through the wringer again, over-thinking, over-everything-ing. Maybe I shouldn't call. Maybe she was just trying to get rid of me when she said I could call. Maybe I'll never see her again and she's creeped out by my hairy ass. Maybe...maybe...

Oh, shut the fuck up. She likes you, asshole. Probably not the way you like her, but she does. Loosen up.

Of course, she hasn't called back yet.

I decided a new approach was needed. I didn't feel like going to a bar. Hmmm...why not go down near the university and hit a coffeeshop. Find some nice young college girl to talk to. The fuck-drive is back in low gear, just cruising a bit. Tonight I mostly just wanted to re-enter the game, try to simply enjoy an evening out, no expectations. Just find someone to talk to. That would be nice. The dick can wait. Fuck knows it's been waiting a long time anyway, why worry?

The sun was mostly down when I left, taking a moment to check my coolant level. I found a leak yesterday. I figured it was a hose. Thought I'd taped it up good, but it's still coming out from somewhere else. Shit. A slow leak, nothing major, but something to keep an eye on until I have money in a few days.

I drove through Beech Grove and over to the University Of Indianapolis. I still know approximately DICK about the area (and thank you to the magnificent D9 for the phrase "approximately dick", I intend to make fine use of it often) but I figured I'd find something. I at least would get a better feel for where things were at.

Nothing. Shit, not even a fucking Starbucks, believe it or not. Not that I wanted to go THERE.

Sunday night. Shit, nothing's open anyway. This is Indiana. Everybody's inside either doing Bible study or fucking their sister right now. What am I doing out here?

Well, I'm driving. Listening to Chris Squire's Fish Out Of Water with the window down, smoking. It's a chilly night, but pleasant. I'm alone, but that isn't a bad thing.

I felt contentment coming in. It wasn't a bad thing at all. Ahh, fuck it. I'll go home. There's nothing wrong with going home alone. I knew I would be anyway, even if I did meet someone.

I drove east on Southport, up to where it meets I-65. I still felt like coffee. Sumbitch, there's a Steak & Shake. Not Amanda's, but there it is. Have coffee there, and go home.

I sat down and ordered my coffee. Took a few sips. Nice.

Two girls walked in. Beautiful. Incredible. Around 20, both brunettes. One with somewhat shorter hair than the other. They were both smiling, happy. They sat down near me.

I managed to keep my eyes from being glued in their direction, but I stole a few glances. Christ, they're gorgeous. Radiant. They look happy, balanced. Goddamn, they look great.

The voice came in my head. A voice I know well, but I hate that wretched cocksucker.

"Forget it. They'd rather fuck giant sandcrabs than you, you filthy bastard. I hear they're expecting a heatwave in Hell tomorrow. What the fuck are you even looking for?"

Rat bastard. Fuck you in your ass. Why aren't you out spreading self-doubt through the Republican Party? THOSE assholes need some of that shit. Not me. Go fuck with somebody else's shattered ego, you heartless swine.

I went to the restroom. Took a piss, looked in the mirror. I thought I looked pretty good. But I'm not a hot young girl. I'm a graying 30-something fat hairy guy.

I had nothing to say. If I opened my mouth at either of them, I'd have said something utterly, hopelessly fucking retarded. Goddammit. I'm listening to that voice again.

There was a guy sitting next to my seat when I got back. About their age. Jock-looking. They were talking to him. I sat down with my coffee. Fuck.

A waiter tried to give me a hot fudge sundae. It was the girl's with the shorter hair.

"He's trying to give me your food. Hey, that looks pretty good if you don't really want it."

She laughed. And went back to talking to her friend. The extent of our fascinating conversation.

The jock left. So did I.

I was about to turn the key when I saw her come out with the manager who had served my coffee. Apaprantly the girls either worked there and were visiting on off hours, or the crew just knew them. Another waitress was with the other girl. They were standing outside looking at something. Their young fresh faces looking upwards. Smiling. Beautiful.

In that moment, the dick was quiet. I only wished I could feel one of them next to me. Her warmth. That was all. All I needed. All I really wanted, even. OK, maybe both of them. With leather.

Nah. Just the warmth. Some reassurance that I'm still human after all.

I turned the key while screwing a Winchester into my cigarette holder. The batteries had died on my portable CD player, so it was on a classic rock station. U2 filled the car as smoke.hit my lungs. They were still standing there. I turned it up. Yeah, Bono. I still haven't found what I'm looking for either. I'm not even sure what the fuck it is anymore. But until I figure it out, one of these lovely young women sure would be a nice stand-in.

I drove up Emerson singing along. Thinking I needed some Roy when I got home. He knows how I feel right now.

Maybe tomorrow...

Dougie

My Sunday Feeling

02.25.06 (10:34 pm) [edit]
Listening to a 60s comp CD I put togehter, currently with some early Jethro Tull. Fat Man!

Had a great day with Katie. I'm sitting here with high octane cheap beer and a can of clam chowder, with no intention of writing at length until tomorrow.

I'm worried about a friend. She's not being very good to herself. I want to be good to her. Make her feel better. Make her know that everything is OK. I suppose she can only find that out for herself, but I wish I could help.

I'm calling A tomorrow. I can't wait to see what happens. God, I want this girl. I can't remember the last time I met a woman this interesting.

Katie was a NUT today. We had a lot of fun being very, very silly. I can't begin to do justice in writing to how loony she was in person.

I have an almost overpowering desire to jump in my car and drive to Arizona/New Mexico, play in the sand like a little kid, take superhuman quantities of cactus products, and watch the UFOs land in Roswell...

Ahh, now we're onto some Procul Harem. I'm lost in a sea of wheat...

Good night, you fuckers.

Shining on brightly,
Dougie

6 Comments

Whee?

02.23.06 (9:54 pm) [edit]
I'm going out with the lawyer.

Of COURSE it's a big wheeeeee!!!!! Sure as hell is.

But man, oh man, I've gotta move slow. Gotta take my time. I CAN'T fuck this up. She is too cool for me to ruin this with my usual stupidity.

Her lesson (last of the night) went over by 20 minutes. We just kept talking and talking, back and forth, and I kept eye contact locked in the whole time. I had to work very hard to keep up my confidence and not turn into an emotianlly-insecure DOUCHEBAG like I do damn near every other time I'm around a woman I really, really like.

Dammit. I have to stop that shit. There's no REASON to be such a whiny little insecure putz. Stop that shit, Doug. Just fucking stop it.

I did. I felt really good tonight. She's making my chemicals swim around like rabid motherfucking crack-bunnies in a pinball machine, but I SOMEHOW kept it together while still managing to be very open and honest with her. It worked.

It's not a "date" yet. She said she's not ready for that. (She had a date two weeks ago, but apparantly it didn't go well, and she said she took down her match.com profile.) The fact is, I'm so over-the-top filled with raging hormones, I'm probably not ready either. Not with a woman this good. Oh, I wanna fuck SOMETHING. Hell, I NEED to or I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. I think I need a good shallow fuck-buddy arrangement.

But not with this one. This one needs to have much more depth. But I have to be patient, move slowly.

We're going to get together - as "just friends" and hang out sometime, somewhere. Probably in the next week. "You have my number." God, I about imploded when she said that. Nearly left nothing behind but a little green globule on my stool, like a friggin' Spinal Tap drummer.

I'm very close to being completely crazy about this girl, but it feels SO much healthier than usual, and I really think I can just be friends right now. I can wait on anything more, and I THINK I can be fine with it if nothing else ever happens. I hope so. Dammit, she's a FABULOUS lady, incredibly interesting and intelligent and warm and open-minded and...damn. She's also SO FUCKING CUTE I just want to throw my arms around her and kiss her until her head falls off. But I can't. Not now, maybe not ever. And that HAS to be OK, because I HAVE to do this right.

It's been 8 or 9 years since I've had a close "just friends" relationship with a woman . Plenty of more distant female friends, but nothing close. I've had a few VERY good "platonic" relationships in the past. I put that word in quotes because I WANTED to fuck these women, I just knew very early on it would never happen and accepted it because I genuinely liked them and was happy to be friends. I miss them. I haven't seen any of them in years. Though I did hear from one of them via email before the divorce. She's married now, lives not far from here (though I haven't got back with her since I left for SoCal) and we were good friends in high school and for a couple years after. So I might see her again seomtime, and she's married to the guy she was seeing when I last saw her (Fifteen years ago? Maybe more?), and I remember him being very cool too.

A (the lawyer, she's "A" from now on) hits me in a very different place than any woman I've known for a long time. And I think I need to have that part of me in place. I need to know a great woman I can have a true friendship with, and maybe, just maybe we can fuck like bunnies someday. Or not. If not, fine. I have to keep that in mind. My fuck-drive is on an insane level these days, and getting worse because I keep getting NOWHERE with it. But I'm gonna do my best to leave it at home when I'm around her, because I can sit and talk music, politics, relgion, bipolar disorder (her ex had it too), and much more in such a comfortable way. I have to leave it at that.

She knows I really like her. Hell, she knows I think she's really cute. I somehow got that out in a decent manner and she accepted it and was very gracious about it ("I don't think of myself that way, thank you very much") and still wants to hang out with me.

I can't believe this is happening. And I can't believe how much time I'm spending in my head trying to work through the HUGE amount of emotional bullshit I'm typing right here. I've been such a douchebag at times, and I'm sick of myself. I finally feel capable of getting past that shit, but I don't KNOW I can do it yet. Maybe now's the time to find out.

But dammit, I still wanna fuck something. The dick refuses to be denied much longer.

Wow. This is a great possible opening to a beautiful relationship, and here I am over-analyzing the shit out of it just like I always do, because I refuse to believe in my ability to be a decent human being. Dammit Doug, you really need to be better to yourself.

So I will. I'm gonna go jerk off now. LOL.

Love,
Dougie

7 Comments

I Think I Have A New Favorite Band

02.23.06 (10:52 am) [edit]
The Mars Volta. Holy fucking shit on a stick. I have nothing particularly intelligent to say about them right now, but Deloused In The Comatorium has been fucking with my brain more and more in the week since I first listened to it, and their live album Scabdates is currently making me drool. I have more of their stuff (my library rocks) waiting for me. It's like some crazed modern prog-thing I can't really quite describe right now. But I like it a HELL of a lot. Love, Dougie

I'll Be Back (?)

02.23.06 (1:55 am) [edit]
Current listening: Genesis - The Way We Walk, Vol. 2: The Longs

Just watched the season premiere of Real Time With Bill Maher. Wanna know my politics? Watch Bill. I'm with him at least 90-95% of the time. (I'll forgive his ignorance about parenting and his animal-rights all-hunters-are-drunken-r ednecks horseshit given how fucking insightful and articulate he is abotu damn near everything else.) Very fun show. Go to hbo.com and find his New Rules. Wonderful, fabulously-written stuff.

Also watched the last 20 minutes of a repeat of the Sopranos from the last season. I love that show, but wasn't able to watch the last season. Tnoight's repeat was the one where Adrianna got whacked. Her character was like most of the others - you wanted to feel sorry for her, and you wanted to punch her in the face at the same time. Christ, what an annoying cunt. Shit, they're ALL annoying cunts on that show. I LOVE it. Good old-fashioned senseless violence. Good shit there on HBO.

It was nice to kick back in my new chair with a pint of Murphy's and watch TV for an hour. I haven't watched an hour total of TV in the past month, and probably 54 minutes of that was porn.

I've got a myspace page now. I'm not putting a link to it up, because even though it's pretty fucking easy to find me given all the psychotic shit I've written online in the past 9 years, I want to have some distance between this blog and a more open place for me to actually use my full name on a regular basis. This blog will become more vague, actual names and places will be more obscured. I'll still write the same insane shit, of course. Go find my myspace page yourself (a few of you have, given the friend requests I've found there, so I know it ain't hard to find) and it will be a more guarded thing, where I'll post info about the band's dates and shit like that.

The last day at work was strange. My supervisor - who hasn't acted like he gave two fucks about me for weeks now, including when I gave him my notice last week - caught up with me on the way to the restroom and we had a very nice, friendly conversation. He asked what I was going on to, and when I mentioned I was still looking for part-time work during the day...

I've had a feeling for three months now that me leaving would call their bluff on not being more flexible with me about scheduling. I got a nice ego boost today. C immediately offered me a possible opening for part-time employment there. He can't promise anything, it's not up to him, but I MIGHT be going back in a couple weeks and working a four-hour shift over lunch breaks, getting out in plenty of time to still fill up my teaching schedule. This is an amazing development even if it doesn't happen. I've been shown how much they value having me around, and even though it's a shit job, that's a nice feeling. They're starting inventory tomorrow (I got out just in time, it's going to be NUTS in there for a while) but he told me to call Jenny on Wednesday and see where we stand. I have few real objections to doing this (the drive to the opposite end of town from the music store being one) and I'll be glad to do it for a while, though I doubt it will last long. I've got other priorities now, and I've also got ANOTHER cool devlopment.

The owner of the music store was out for the night, and his wife was running the store. I hadn't met her before. She is VERY cool. I told her about the job I'd just left, and mentioned how cool it was to work in an environment with 80% of my co-workers being black. She said "See, that's perfect for me, because I have black guys follow me like I'm a magnet."

"Oh?"

"It's my ass, you see." She stood up. She's got a BIG ass. Big fat fuckin' ass. I'm starting to think *I'm* black, because goddamn, I like that big booty.

We went from ass-talk to religion, and I repeated to her my personal theme of the past year - I've come to realize that even if there is absolutely no higher power at all, if everything is random, if almost nothing we do means ANYTHING except that we must treat others as we want to be treated...so what? It sounds nihlistic and negative to talk about the universe in such stark terms, but I think that's bullshit. It's LIBERATING. It's what has made my life FAR more tolerable. It takes the heat off. I don't REALLY think it's all random, I have no doubt that SOMETHING put all this shit into motion and in some way binds us together, but I don't really know shit about it and I don't really care, because I've got rent to pay, music to channel, and pussy to fuck. "God" hans't shown me shit, and I'm not interersted in hanging around and waiting on his ass. There's been some amazing coincidences pop up in the past few years that one would WANT to believe is some kind of guiding hand at work, but I know that NONE of it would hav ehappened if I hand't got off my ass first. So fuck it. I've got about as much use for religion right now as I do for yeast infections.

She's a lot of fun to talk to.

Anyway, the cool thing that happened was that the store owner came in right before closing with thweir son (who is CUTE AS HELL at two years old, and I asked if he liked older women so I could set him up with my daughter) and we talked about the new policy - lesson prices are going up. It won't affect current students, but I'll be making four more bucks per lesson on all new students from this point on. this can add up QUICK. Shit, if all the current students were paying that rate, I'd be making what I made at the warehouse, instead of being just short enough to need that part-time work.

I'm heading in a good direction. Shit be happenin'.

I'm having serious fantasies about the mother of one of my students. I've mentioned her before. I said she looked like Teri Hatcher. Well, not exactly. Definitely diffwerent, but god DAMN I want to bury my face in that. She's very involved with her son, she sits in on the lessns and probably knows more about what is going on than he does, probably becuase he's so ADD that he makes me look like King Focus. We exchange a LOT of glances adn smiles, and I know it's 99% about the job and not me personally, but she seems very comfortable around me, she trusts me to give her son the right information, she laughs at my jokes, she notices how much I like teaching him (he's totally scattered, but a VERY fun kid) and...wow...what a great smile, a great body, a great face. I like her a LOT. And, of course, I can't say a fucking thing. Shit. Oh well, I enjoy the energy between us. It feels very nice.

I hope the lawyer shows up tomorrow. She had to call off last week.

Time for go to bed, Tor.

Goodnight,
Dougie

7 Comments

Done Me Wrong, Same Old Song

02.21.06 (11:44 pm) [edit]
Listening to Genesis at Earls Court in 1977, one of my more-often-played bootleg things. Ahhh, Phil Collins back when he didn't suck huge disease-ridden corporate monkey cock. What a joy to behold...

Leaving the warehouse tomorrow. Been getting nice comments from the people I work with, and it seems they'll actually miss me. Imagine that.

One girl, Angela, didn't know until I told her today. She's the one I mentioned a while back that is really cute but looks slightly evil at the same time. Something in her eyes. But she has the prettiest smile, and, well..OK, a really big fuckin' rack. There. ya happy?

Her son, who is only ten years old, recently had heart surgery. Jesus. Looks like he's doing fine now, though. She's a very nice girl, and yeah, I'd like to boink her, but she's cool and I hope her kid recovers completely.

I had a bizarre waking dream today at work. One that kinda goes on its own path, and it fucked me up a little. In it, I lost my daughter. And went completley fucking insane. I was inside myself, and outside watching at the same time. And I was completely out of control. I'm not sure why this hit, I think it must be part of the same kind of weird parental paranoia that affects most parents, but I'm still finding that being apart from Katie leads to some serious fears about her well-being, even though I know she's in the best place she can be. Shit. I don't want to be thinking this kind of thing.

I got on another forum recently and I keep getting emails from girls who say their friend read my profile and thinks I'm exactly like some lost love who's no longer around, and would I like to talk to them? I got FOUR of these today. Maybe I should just go back to hanging out in bars. This internet thing is as full of shit as anywhere else.

Holy Christ on a crutch. Steve Hackett, circa 1977. Firth Of Motherfucking Fifth. This is some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard in my life, and fuck knows how many times I've listened to it. It never gets old.

New students this week. More money. Yay!

I have a new chair. Dennis is leaving for Massachussettes on Friday, and I took his rocking chair yesterday, and will take another chair Thursday. The rocker reclines back VERY far. Quite comfortable. I've been using fucking office chairs since I moved in. This is nice.

Dennis came up at the gig Saturday and we did two songs together. A nice version of Roger Miller's King Of The Road, just bass and vocal. Then we did Lay Lady Lay and I completely played the rhythm on another planet than usual. Somehow, he got through it. I don't know WHAT I was thinking. Then I did Neil Young's Heart Of Gold by myself. I sang it beautifully, I thought, but for some insane reason I managed to forget the first verse to the one song I've sang the most in my life, and ended up singing the second verse twice. It's one way of learning English, I suppose...

I want to drill a hole in something with my dick. Jesus, I need to be put to sleep before I'm a danger to myself and others...

Sweet dreams, you fuckers,
Dougie

Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On

02.19.06 (11:13 pm) [edit]
A great weekend. With the band, with Katie. Nothing out of the ordinary, just very nice.

Been listening to old Funkadelic a lot. I want to grind myself into some hot little lady to this music, dammit. I fell asleep for half an hour last night (well, at 3 this morning) on the side of an exit ramp, while a recent Funkadelic compilation was playing, and it must have sent subliminal shock waves through me, because I woke up wanting to fuck EVERYTHING IN THE WHOLE GODDAMN WORLD. George Clinton, you are my personal savior.

Got an email tonight from an 18-year old girl from a town near here. Very cute. Of course, she's probably actually a truck driver from Texas sending me pics of his niece. Dammit. What I *really* need is a girl I KNOW about in my life. She's a big teaser. She took me half the way there. Now, if she'd just come to Indiana.........................................

I'm tired as fuck. Three more days at the warehouse.

Love,
Dougie

http://www.ubersite.com/m/518...

I Am But A Puny Amateur

02.18.06 (9:46 am) [edit]
Wow. I feel like Jesus when I read this:

Dougie

My Next Door Neighbor Is Watching Gay Porn RIGHT NOW

02.18.06 (2:07 am) [edit]
2AM. 3/4ths of a bottle of Bacardi Limon down the gullet. I'm in the mood for a 74 cent pizza from Kroger. The kind that is used by science to study the effects of ass cancer.

I walk out to the car. I see my neighbor's TV through the window. You can always see the TV. His blinds are always open. There is porn. A short-haired blonde woman is sucking a REALLY BIG COCK.

I have a love/hate relationship with this kind of porn. I hate it becuase MY DICK ISN'T THAT BIG. Mine is average. OK. Adequate. NOT THAT FUCKING BIG. You rotten bastard with your big dick, getting more poon than I'll ever get. DIE.

But sometimes I love it. Yeah. Suck that big cock, you dirty little bitch. SUCK IT!

I'm going to Hell. Have I mentioned that?

I go get my shitty pizza. I like it. It's shit, but I'm half drunk and my neighbor is watching porn. I think *I* need to be watching porn. I've got some Tiffany Mynx here waiting on me to spank it to. THAT is a girl who knows how to suck a big fuckin' cock.

I come back from Kroger. His TV is still on. but now...that isn't a short-haired blonde chick. Where is she? Where did...uh...she...he...

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!

The guy who was getting blown a few minutes ago is now fucking a bald guy in the ass. Suddenly, gay porn is raging through the half-open blinds into my eyeballs.

OK, I admit it. I had wood. Fuck you, you homophobic cretins. You RENT this shit when nobody is around. Don't come whining to me about being HONEST about it.

So I'm standing outside this guy's window watching gay porn, when I realize...I'm standing outside a guy's window watching gay porn.

I RAN inside.

Suddenly, I know what all that bad disco music I hear on the other side of the wall is about.

Have I mentioned that my neighbor looks like a slightly less Chippendales-esque version of Al Franken? He's an UGLY, UGLY MAN.

Something tells me I'm not sleeping tonight. I think I'll be in the fetal postion in the shower stall like Bob Geldolf, yelling "STOP!"

Oh, my aching head,
Dougie

11 Comments

A Fortress Of Solitude

02.17.06 (11:24 pm) [edit]
Right on top of shit tonight. I sucked down a sugar-free energy drink at 6:30, and i've been running strong all night.

My last Friday at work went well. Bob was gone for the day. He figured he'd grab a vacation day while he could since he thought he'd be training a new person when I leave. Turns out that won't be necessary.

I'm impressed that my job means enough to them (let's face it, I'm one of two people running a quarter million in shit out the door a week) that when I told Bob and Al I'd be leaving the day before I made it official, they went to the supervisor and gave him a heads up, then put a few hours into scrambling around trying to figure out how to replace me. Seems they REALLY didn't want to hire on a new person, both for payroll reasons, and becuase it's just involved enough that they don't need to take a chance on hiring an idiot. I guess Bob has went through quite a few helpers, many of which were morons at best.

One of the older ladies who's been there a while is out after spraining something or other (don't know the story) but she'll be back next week, taking over my job. She knows at least 2/3rds of what she needs to already, and Bob likes her well enough. I like her too. She's got a nicely dry, sardonic sense of humour, and she's a good worker. So it's all good.

I promised myself I wouldn't get emotionally involved in this job, and i've pretty much succeeded, but I do like the people a lot and don't want to fuck them over. I'm glad it's going well.

One of the black girls gave me a nice buzz today. Being so awfully white means that the slightest thought of being with a black girl is a bizarre, out-there experience for me. I LOVE working with mostly black people, I've always hated the racism I grew up with, but seldom got to be around blacks enough to really feel like I fit in. But this crew has been great, really cool people. And some of the girls...wow.

S is an amazing girl. Incredible body. Her ass is a thing of holiness and artfulness. I can be quite the animal-perv, but sometimes I see a woman so utterly amazing, I feel like I'm studying Nature's Work. I don't NEED to be with a woman like that, I'm quite happy checking out a LOT of nice ladies who aren't models but still look good to me. But when you see one like S, ya GOTTA linger a while. She has a killer big round ass, the kind only a black girl can have it seems, narrow hips, a firm rack, and a killer smile. Changes her hair a lot, always great. Very stylish lady. I figure she's five years or so younger than me. She's always been nice, and we joke around a bit, even vaguely flirting sometimes.

Today we were leaving for lunch and she was behind me, walking a bit faster. She started to come around me and said "I'm beating you, Doug!"

"Oh please? Wait, you meant something else by that. Damn."

She laughed loud at that.

I couldn't help myself at the end of the day. I was staying the extra half hour, she was leaving. We were walking opposite directions, and I finally said what I've wanted to say for seven months, tonight in particular because she was dressed great. Tight pants, a blouse that often came up over her belly. She looked ready to kill a man with those dangerous curves. A white boy like me would be nothing but a puddle after five minutes with that.

"S, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you look GREAT today. You always do, but today you look especially fine."

The smile that lit up on her face nearly made my spine cave in. Her eyes were big and bright. There was a warmth and sensuality off her that could melt steel.

"I NEVER mind a compliment from a man. THANK you!"

The way she said that...you'd think I'd be hard in an instant. But no, the dick was surprised too. The dick was saying "You'vwe gotta be kididng me. She LIKED you saying that? Sorry, I can't move right now. I have to process this information."

Actually, my dick isn't that articulate. He just passed out with a weak groan.

Being Indiana cornfield white, I'm very much into white girls. But S...brown sugar, why DO you taste so good, anyway?

Fuck, I just realized I'm missing the season premeire of Real Time WIth Bill Maher. Oh well, I'll catch the repeats.

Talked with the plant manager for a few minutes before I left. He's really sad to see me go, which means a lot. I REALLY like this guy. When the boss who's over 100 people, three levels above you, is a guy you can joke around with and give good-natured shit to, that's a mighty fine thing. He said that tonight too, that he likes having me around for that reason. Shit. It's a dull job for shit pay and the company is loaded with idiotic procedures and policies, but most of the actual PEOPLE are very cool. I'll miss them. And particularly him.

But I've got better things to do.

Sitting with the guitar for hours tonight. Waited a long time to bother with dinner. Been hitting some old and new songs alike, really working my voice out. I need things that challenge me. So, try some XTC. It's a BITCH to do that stuff properly sometimes.

A relatively easy one for me, and the one I've worked up a solo arrangement of tonight, is That's Really Super, Supergirl. From Skylarking, one of the best known XTC albums. It's a knockout tune, with a great sarcastic love-gone-bad lyric, supercool chords, and one of those killer Partridgey melodies that fills my pants with ball-sweat. I don't know what has made me gravitate so much towards chewy pop in the past year, but I ain't complaining.

I'm hoping for a phone call from a lovely lady soon. She's been gone for a while, but I heard from her again tonight. As I drove down to pick up a pint of Bacardi Limon (hey, I've been a good boy and have busted my ass all week, I happen to think I deserve it) I put on a Smithereens tape and sang along to A Girl Like You. Made me think of her.

It's been a tiring week, and my doom-shit adventures on Wednesday were no picnic (Christ, I hope no picnics come from THAT) but I feel strong and healthy tonight. I got on the scales today and I'm holding around 235. Still a long way to go, but that's 15 pounds down from last year.

A year ago I was mostly miserable, feeling like I'd made the tiniest bit of progress back to some kind of mental stability, but not much. And I was feeling the wind blow, vibes coming through that signalled danger up ahead. A month later I was on my own.

I look around this little apartment and think, shit, I like it here. There's a lot of weird edges around my life, a lot of things I'm not comfortable with or happy about. But I feel myself DOING shit for once. All the guilt, fear, hatred and self-loathing of last spring/summer started to drop away around the time I got into the warehouse gig, and now that I'm leaving I need to carry that momentum forward. I NEED out of there. It's becoming stagnant. Too comfortable. I need some adventure, some hunger, some edge-of-the-pants moments that I know are coming with the money situation being thrown into a whirlwind in the next few weeks. It's scary, but it's exciting at the same time.

High hopes, low expectations.

Andy sings to his supergirl about her fortress of solitude she put him in. I've found some doors leading outside of this one. but I like coming back in sometimes. I've turned it into my home. I need to learn more about taking what's given me and turning it on its head to my advantage. I'm getting better at it. And I feel the need for a dick joke right now, becuase this self-important shit is getting boring.

A man goes to his doctor to have his eyes examined.

The doctor walks in and says, "Look, you have to stop masturbating."

"Why? Am I going blind?"

"No, but you're upsetting my other patients."

Nighty-night, motherfuckers.

Love,
Dougie

The Universe, Providing

02.17.06 (7:58 am) [edit]
Leaving the job is working out in interesting new ways.

Sheryl is doing a business trip in a couple weeks, and Katie will be staying with me and my parents. I've tried to work out a schedule so that I can still teach but not have to leave her in Marion any longer than necessary. It's a little weird knowing that she'll have a full day and a half away from me and Sheryl, but I think she'll do fine.

This is a nice opportunity, and it's perfect timing for me. By the week after that, I'll have to be scrambling for money, but I think I can do this week OK. This is about the only time I really can do a week like this, it would be nearly impossible after that. (Which makes me stop and think about how my current financial situation HAS to keep improving. I have to find ways of making things work for both of us if more days or weeks like this come up.) I'll likley skip one of my trips to Cincy to make room for it, maybe two, but still have the same amount of time with her. And it'll be time here. I love going down there, but the only home base to realx in is the car. So this will be more comfortable for both of us, I think she'll be able to loosen up more, and I know I will.

I can't wait. I love my Katie.

Love,
Dougie

Ten Things I Found Out Driving Across America

02.16.06 (9:56 pm) [edit]
This was written a few months ago. I don't think I ever really went into detail about my trip west early last year after the first few days. (Though I know I've excerpted parts of this, I think I posted the Roswell section to the Keneally group.) The Vegas section is a different post, I'll put it up later.

I still kinda feel this way. I'm more cotnent to be here in Indiana now, but I still want that drive again. I'd like to do it once a year. Fuck. I'd like to do it once a month. Oh well, a boy can dream...

1.) You can drive for forty thousand miles and not see a goddamn thing. And that's just Kansas.

2.) Annie Oakley smells like a big steaming pile of shit. I'm having a weird confusion of memory here, because I could have sworn it was in eastern Colorado right before I-70 bends to the north, but it's not on the map in Colorado, but IS on the map in western Kansas, but I drove past a sign that said "Oakley" and something to do with Annie Oakley.

Granted, there's not much difference between eastern Colorado and western Kansas. Though the second you cross the state line into Colorado, you are so thankful to be the fuck out of Kansas, you THINK it looks different, even though it probably doesn't.

Anyway, right about the time I saw some sign (or maybe it was a mirage at that point) about Annie Oakley, the smell hit me. I've smelled it before, but seldom this strong. Pig farm. Apparantly a million swine were in Colorado/Kansas/who-the-f uck-cares for a Republican convention. It was EVIL.

3.) It's impossible to describe the Rocky Mountains. Not because they look so cool, but because I never SAW them. I was too busy driving 75 miles an hour through them. I wouldn't have been driving this fast - who in their right mind WOULD in terrain like that for the first time in their lives - but there were SEVENTY FOUR BAZILLION semis on the road at the same time, all of which were driving TOO GODDAMN FAST. Actually, if nobody else was on the road, I might even drive 90 through the mountains, just because I have a death wish. But not THAT much of one. I'd rather die by flying off the road, over a gorge, and into one of those little caves, than be flattened by some asshole delivering string beans to Utah.

4.) Utah looks biblical. Well, my idea of biblical. I'm from Indiana. What the fuck do I know? But driving through eastern Utah, I could imagine hordes of Mormons trekking across this barren yet beautiful landscape, in search of a promised land. You know, right next to a big shitty-looking lake where they could fuck their 27 wives.

Further on into Utah, you get into the forest. Then you get three inches of snow in 25 minutes. I felt safer bouncing off guard rails in the Rockies. I've seen heavy snow. I've never seen snow that could KILL YOU if you stood in it for any length of time. I mean stand in it. Pull the car over, get out of the car, and get hit on the fucking head by A NEVER ENDING SKY-HIGH BLOCK OF OPAQUE WHITE SHIT. THAT was biblical. "And the heavens parted, and God threw a 70,000 foot square block of death onto the people of Utah, and said 'Why didn't *I* think of having that many wives???'"

I got onto I-15 from I-70 in this shitstorm, and found out - much to my surprise, and much more to my cries of "goddamn motherfuckers!" that you had to drive 15 more miles to get to a place to stop at. What the fuck is THAT? Two major interstates meet and there's NO GAS STATION??? Actually, I think there was one to the north. Ahh, I see. If you're heading to holy Salt Lake City, you get a place to scrape the poop out of your pants after driving through Ice Planet Hoth. If you're going to Vegas - capital of sin and debauchery - fuck you, you get to drive in more snow. Finally I stopped. In Beaver. No, not like that. I only wished. In a TOWN called Beaver. Didn't know those god-fearing sin-hating Mormoms knew much about beaver. But then again, I guess they get to have TWENTY-SEVEN of them. Damn religious people. I've gotta come up with a scheme like that.

5.) I want to fuck Southern California. Not the people who live there, the PLACE. (OK, some of the people. God DAMN the beach is a great place to have eyeballs.) I'd like to gather all of Southern California up into one big ball (well, not the fault lines and mud slides) stuff my dick in, and ride, Sally ride. I LOVE Southern Califonia. One of my friends claims that the sun shines differently there than any other place in the world. I believe him. I've felt it. I love Bill Hicks, but I'll take Arizona Bay over anywhere else on earth, thankyouverymuch. OK, I haven't seen enough of the rest of the earth to make that decision. Fuck you, I don't care. I love the desert, I love the mountains, I love the beach and the ocean. I love the incredible green-ness of San Diego. The lack of green-ness of the Mojave. The drive along I-8, entering the desert, driving through those bizarre mountains of boulders, back into the desert and into the Sand Dunes just before you get to Yuma. I felt freedom in California like nowhere else. I felt like I'd been called there, like I belonged there. When I finally stepped into the ocean for the first time in five years - five hours after leaving Vegas - I cried and repeated to myself the first thing in my head. I'm back. I'm back. I'm back.

It was a ridiculous thing to say. How can you say "I'm back" like a homecoming to a place you've spent two weeks in your entire life? But that's how it felt. Like some bastard child who snuck off into the night, returning home to a family that offered no judgement, only love and acceptance. It was absurd to feel this way. It didn't matter. All I knew was that I loved it.

Two days later I decided I had to leave it again.

As I sit here in Indianapolis, days away from a place I'd longed to return to for five years, only to be brought back by the only person on the planet who COULD have made me want to come back, I ache a little. The cheap booze doesn't really help. I recognize that SoCal is more of a concept for me than a cold hard reality. It's more of an ideal than a thing I truly know. I might be so terribly full of my own shit that I can't see why I'd be just as likely to fail and be miserable there as I am here. But I don't care. I'd rather fail and be miserable in the most beautiful place in the world than in this shithole. But I'd also rather be near the most beautiful little girl in the world than be so far from her I could only ever be with her a few times a year. Only seeing her once a week is making me want to stuff my head into boiling corn oil. I'd have no good reason to continue this absurd joke my life has become if...oh fuck, that's really pretentious, Doug...

Someday I'll go back. Someday maybe my girl can come visit there with me. It'll be fun.

6.) Traffic is a relative concept. I drove for a day and a half in L.A. before I saw traffic I'd consider heavy. When I did see it, it was FUCKING INSANE. But it was the highway. City roads? Not really any worse than any other city. Highways? Actually, this is relative too. The problem with L.A. isn't that it takes an hour and a half to get anywhere. It's that it takes that long no matter where the fuck you are at. It lasts FOREVER. It NEVER STOPS. I've driven in shit like that in other big cities. I've just not had to drive in it at 10:30 at night for 45 miles solid. Un-fucking-believable. Between the price of a shit apartment and wall-to-wall fuckers in automobiles, it took me about 7 hours (about as long as it takes to get from Sunset to Mulholland on the 405) to figure I wanted to buy a trailer in the middle of the desert instead of being in town.

7.) Arizona and New Mexico might be even better. The day I left San Diego, I headed for Phoenix to meet my friend Tom and his family.

I said goodbye to the west coast the way I said hello. By going to the ocean. The night before, the magnificent Miz Ducky took me on a tour of San Diego's more interesting spots, and I loved going to Ocean Beach. The next morning, I went to Mission Beach, where Sheryl and I went in 2000. I got a post card for Katie and said goodbye to the ocean. It didn't feel good. I wanted to see my little girl. I didn't want to leave this place.

But I did, and the drive into the desert on I-8 was one of the finest times on the whole trip. You really must experience the desert while listening to Dark Side Of The Moon and Bridge Of Sighs. Utterly fucking surrealistic. I've never even done acid and I wanted to eat a ton of it and roll in the sand to spacy blues-rock guitar solos. Eat some peyote and barbecue lizard meat while James Dewar croons. Yeah. I half-expected a balding journalist with a cigarette holder in a large red convertible and an angry Samoan in the passenger seat to pull up alongside me and yell obscenities. I would have waved and wished him good health.

Once past the Sand Dunes and Yuma, things slowly change. Cactus appear in droves. I stopped off the side of the road and took pictures. I was in awe of the desert. There's nothing there. And it's all there. I don't know how to describe that feeling. Looking at a fucking wilderness and wanting to go get lost in it. Go see God after 40 days and nights. Ingest massive quantities of mind-altering chemicals and find your True Calling In Life. Get bit by large bugs and die. Fuck, I don't know. It beat the holy fucking poop out of Kansas, I know that.

Phoenix is one massive suburb. I liked it. Tom took me to a killer Mexican place and was kind enough to let me spend the night. I regretted not taking the time to go to Cooperstown (Alice Cooper's bar) but I can do that next time. And I'll make sure there is a next time.

I stayed off the interstate for two days. Highways 60 and 70 are close enough to being interstates at times, but they take you through more interesting places. I want to take the smaller roads next time and see even more. I left Phoenix and went through starkly beautiful mountains and into a large Indian reservation. Between Safford and the New Mexico border, I hit my favorite part of the entire trip. Totally unexpected. These beautiful low mountains. So little to see, so much to derive from it. It was gorgeous. It was awe-inspiring in such a simple way. I don't know if anyone else would feel the same way. It hit me really hard. I need to see it again. Slower the next time. Stop for a while and let it really sink in. I didn't do nearly enough of that, and I'm kicking myself in the ass for it.

New Mexico has its own character. Still the desert, a different variation on the theme. The vegetation looks different, more vertical. Then I got to Los Crucas and stopped for a while to get online. I ate at the Cattlemen's Steakhouse east of town. Which looked like a great place for a long-haired Midwestern guy to get killed in. The brisket was pretty damn good.

Then into the White Sands Missle Range. Nothing to see for miles. And beautiful nonetheless. Then into the mountains, which was a bit weird. I thought I'd been morphed into Pennsylvania for a while. Then the mountains thin out back into desert.

Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. I drove to Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Welcome Back My Friends To The Show That Never Ends live album. It had turned dark. I pulled off the road, in the middle of the desert, about 15 miles from Roswell. I rolled down the windows, cranked the living shit out of Aquatarkus (which on that album sounds remarkably like Hawkwind) and got out of the car to look into the night sky.

My god, it's full of stars.

It was the most utterly uncorrupted night sky I think I've ever seen. It's been decades, I know that. I didn't see any Roswell aliens, but I did see stunning natural beauty. I need to take my daughter there someday. I need to return often. I need the fuck out of the Midwest.

I've written about Roswell elsewhere, but I'll repeat my main impression - Redneck Disneyland. It's truly a hoot. I loved it.

The drive into Clovis was interesting. Or not, depending on your point of view. I guess if I lived there long I'd hate it as much as Indiana. Or even Kansas. But the absolute nothingness - more so than anywhere else on the trip - struck me as having a certain character. Absolute barren goddamn ZILCH for miles. But that meant no people. You've got it all to yourself. I wanted to ride a horse through New Mexico. Take some mesquite wood and Willie Nelson CDs in my walkman. Shoot some lizards and have dinner.

Instead, I live in Indianapolis. I'm a fucking idiot.

8.) I left New Mexico into the Texas panhandle. I'd only been in the Houston/Galveston part of Texas before, which was about as far away as Indiana. I like Houston better. But I did get to drive through Hereford and see a cattle farm with billions of cows crammed together into little spaces. It made me want to not eat beef for a long time.

Amarillo apparantly loves Alice In Chains, because I hit three of their songs on three different radio stations within half an hour.

It starts looking a bit too much like the Midwest again at this point. I became more anxious after Amarillo. More ready to be back in Cincinnati with Katie.

Oklahoma is nice to see. I'd see it again. Don't want to live there.

Missouri is nicer to see. I'd really like to see it again. Don't want to live there either.

Southern Illinois pretty much sucks cock.

Southern Indiana is a hell of a lot nicer to look at than the northern part.

I nearly turned around and headed back to eastern Arizona at least 47 times. I wanted to park in the middle of those mountains, eat some cyanide, and die in a beautiful place.

9.) The sun came out right when I hit Louisville, Kentucky. I was two hours from Katie. I'd say "from home", but I had no home. I had no idea what I was doing, except that I needed to see my girl again. Somehow right the wrong I'd done by leaving her in the first place. When the sun came out and I got on the part of I-71 I'd driven several times before, I felt good again. I was coming...home. Of sorts.

10.) There's no place like home. My home is where I can hold my daughter close. Everywhere else is just a place I'd love to visit. Often, yes. I dream of spending weeks on the road. Someday. Fuck knows when. I want to see more of my country. Other countries. Everywhere. I can hardly fathom the natural forces that have created this planet I live on. Growing up in the Midwest, seldom travelling far, I knew little about what was out there. I know more now. But not enough. And I want to see it all.

But I want to see Katie too. Someday, we'll explore together. I want to see this world with her. Through her eyes. I think she'd stop for longer than I did at most these places, point out things I might not have seen, or might not have paid enough attention to. And I'd learn something. I'd love to see her face when she first sees the Rockies. Or San Diego. Or the New Mexico night sky.

Fuck. I want to see her right now.

Dougie

1 Comments

Onward

02.16.06 (7:32 am) [edit]
Gave them my notice yesterday. I loved Jenny's response. She asked if I had a new job, a few other mild questions. In a disconnected voice while immediately typing my name into the computer and not looking at me. It was very forced. Force the interest, that is. I think she was actually more like "yadda yadda yadda, the asshole's gone, deedle deedle dee."

I told Bob that all it really means is one less guy looking at her ass every day.

God, she is so beautiful, though...

Signed up two more students last night, one starts tonight, the other in two weeks. I'll be teaching some piano now too. Interesting since even though that's where I started and I know it inside out, my actual chops on the keyboard are shit right now because I hardly ever play. I've been so far into bass and guitar for 15 years that I can't begin to play the intermediate Bach and Debussy stuff I was doing in college, and I was hardly the most subtle pianist back then.

So that's something else to work on.

After lunch yesterday, I had a MASSIVE case of the shits. You could have topped a Ben & Jerry's sundae. WITH THE NUTS. I had some peanuts and a raw tomato for lunch. With green tea. Yet I was squirting chocolate death like I'd been force-fed the Mad Cow Platter at Wendy's or something. Bob thinks it has more to do with stress than food. Knowing me, that's probably mostly true. I've been keeping a good atittude for the most part recently, but the non-stop psycho-pace I've been going at recently is taking its toll. I've been a bit more irritable, a bit more tired. I'll have to take Saturday easy before going to the gig, and I'll likely sleep in a lot late next week after I leave the warehouse, though I'll still be getting up to run out and get the next job into place.

I still have a nice list of potential students, though, and it seems highly likely that I'll have around 25 in the next week. If I can pull off more, great.

Woke up thinking about Amanda. That used to happen every morning, but it's been a whille. I haven't even seen her much lately, she wasn't there Tuesday when I had lunch. And I've been more about the job situation and teaching this week, to where the cravings have been on a back burner for a few days. But I woke up thinking about her next to me. Under me. Enveloping me...Christ, I feel alone again. That's OK sometimes. Hell, it's a damn good deal sometimes. But not at this moment. I want to go back to bed and feel her there with me.

Who am I kidding. I'd be happy to go back to bed with Raoul Duke's cat Screwjack right now. Here kitty kitty...OW! That hurt, you fucker!

They say psychotic levels or horniness are normal after a divorce. I say, this is how I was every fucking day BEFORE I got married. Is there part of the brain you can remove to take this shit away? Hmmm...where's those grapefruits...

Love (or some fascimile thereof),
Dougie

Buy The Ticket, Take The Ride

02.15.06 (7:59 am) [edit]
I'll be at work in a an hour, handing in my notice.

I was going to wait until Monday, but inventory is next week, and talking to Al and Bob, I figured I should get out before then. So my last day will be next Wednesday.

I was presented with two more waiting lists at the music store last night. One for piano students, one a different list for guitar I hadn't seen before. There's around 15 names. If even a few of them still are interested, I'm happy. I filled one spot that opened up last week already. It's looking good.

I'll have to have a "day job" still, but it can be part time. And qutting the warehouse is not quitting the temp agenecy. My immediate plan is to go back to them the day after I leave and see about some of those short-term jobs that they seemed so fond of giving me last summer. Then, that drove me batshit, didn't work me enough, and helped me max out a credit card because I wasn't making enough money. Now, it might just be exactly what I need.

Wow. Suddenly my income will be based on music with the other shit on the side, rather than the other way around. This is good for my mental health.

I'm moving forward. I've been in some kind of healing process since March, and it hasn't always been fun, but hey, sometimes it's been a HELL of a lot of fun. And this job has run its course. All part of the process of building my life back up again.

I wonder what Jenny's reaction will be. I'll kinda miss her. Not much, I don't think. As incredibly strongly as I felt towards her just seven months ago, I gave up on any chance in hell with her a while back, and have my head elsewhere, because I have to. She still has the most amazing smile though.

Read Screwjack. It's only 59 pages. Uncle Hunter, what the FUCK was up with you? The first of three pieces is Mescalito, written during his first mescaline expericne, and funny as hell.

Death Of A Poet is about a trailer-living wife-beating friend finally going over the edge. Twisted shit.

Then there's Screwjack itself, a fucking bizarre little vignette about Raoul Duke and his...uh...pussy-cat. It's absolutely Hunter, but it's so left-field I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck THAT weird animal-fuckery shit was about.

Fun book. Not for first-time buyers. Definitely for the hardcore fans. Just remember that it's very short, so the $15 hardcover price seems a bit silly when you can read the damn thing in half an hour or less. I got mine half-price.

He's my major inspiration right now. I'm not interested in the actual behavior described in his books, that's fucking insane. But the sense of FREEDOM there is what I need and crave. I'm a lightweight, my goals are hardly that far out there. But I want to feel that sense of cutting my own path, my own way. I'm nothing special, I just don't want to be like most of the people I've ended up around, clinging blandly onto a "life" that anyone with a sense of adventure would be bored shitless by. When the highlight of your day is a trip to Wal-Mart for bottled water...well, you figure it out.

Time to go. I'm making the next step today. I'll buy the ticket, take the ride. Even if I fuck it all in the ass, why not?

Love,
Dougie

She's A Beauty

02.14.06 (8:03 am) [edit]
"I am guilty, Lord, but I am also a lover - and I am one of your best people, as you know: and yes, tho I have walked in many strange shadows and acted crazy from time to time and even drooled on many High Priests, I have not been an embarrassment to you." - Hunter S. Thompson

Another nice weekend. After about 2 1/2 hours sleep post-gig, I got up, took a shower, and drove the now-as-familiar-as-the-ba ck-of-my-dick trip down I-74 to see Katie. A variety of tunes for my listening pleasure, including an Australian compilation called Stariways To Heaven.

You gotta hear this. Some fo it is just stupid, but my favorites are when tribute bands to other groups do what they think Stairway would sound like when done by The Doors, The Beatles, and The B-52s. Funnier than shit. There's also an unholy corssing of Stairway with Viva Las Vegas. How can you say no to shit like that?

Lots of Robin Trower played by me lately. His singer/bassist James Dewar died a few years ago, and I've been appreciating him more lately. A very simple bass style usually. Just hammer the riff. Great riffs. Great grooves. Vocally, he just sounded huge - I've been singing along a lot with his low soulful vibe. Add in Trower's killer atomspheric Hendrix/r&b tunes and brilliant guitar, and you've got my kinda stoner music, and I don't even need to get stoned to be high off albums like Twice Removed From Yesterday and Bridge Of Sighs. I was a year or two old when these albums came out, dammit.

I'm her Daddy. You'd think I would be used to it by now. but I'm still blown away. When they answered the door, Katie was wearing a pink skirt and sweater, the sweater adorned with the word "Cutie". how right it was. Her hair looks better everytime I see her. I have a beautiful daughter. I'm still amazed by her.

But that's only the tip of a very warm iceberg. Hearing her voice again, as she talked to me about nearly anything and everything, and sang songs to the stuffed mouse I bought her later in the day, I was reminded again of how even in the strain of our marriage, Sheryl and I never lost sight of our main goal - making our daughter as happy and balanced as possible. We did a damn fine job, I must say. Every parent likes to think their kid is smart and funny and cute. When you're around kids enough to see how much of an edge yours DOES have, it's pretty damn gratifying.

And I have no CLUE how a little girl who seems to have got nearly all her physical traits from me could have somehow made them PRETTY. THAT is some magic I'll believe in.

I can't remember all she said, it was a lot to take in. But she's learning a lot of things (about birds, eyes, math, on and on) and she's got a confidence in her voice when she tells me about them that makes me very happy. She's a great kid, and it still hurts to say goodbye, but I know now more than ever that she's in her right place, and I'm in mine.

We went to the Cincinnati Art Museum. I'd forgotten that our aquarium membership had expired, and I'll renew it later. I figured we'd go to the art museum, then over to the big museum center from there. But I'd had no idea that there was a major Fine Arts Weekend going on across the city. I thought it would be like last time we were there, a fairly quick and quiet stroll through empty galleries, a few people here and there.

It took 10 minutes to find a place to park.

It was PACKED, and rather than adopt my usual "oh shit, there's too many people" attitude, I locked into Katie's excitement about what might be going on in there, and we rushed in, only stopping long enough once or twice to look down at the city from our path on top of Mt. Adams. It was beautiful. Snow had stuck to the trees and grass like paint. The light breeze was chilling, but the few flakes of snow dancing around gave the whole thing a serene calmness. It was about as Norman Rockwell a winter day as I've seen.

We walked some of the galleries, but there were other things to do too. We saw a puppet show downstairs starring farm animals. It was cute, if hokey and half-assed writing. The adults were obviously all bored. The kids loved it. Good enough.

The music upstairs was a treat. We walked in just as a girl playing flute finished up. Then three boys, maybe 8 or 9 years old, came out as a string trio. They played two short pieces. I'm not sure, but I think they were both Haydn, sounded like him to me. They were very good, too.

A steel band was up next. Bass, kit drums, extra percussion, and a guy on a big steel drum. I don't get too into most of that kind of music, but they were excellent and entertaining. And I quite enjoyed their version of Bob Marley's Jammin'. Very nice. Katie seemed to realy like it, though she was ready to move on after four songs.

After more walking around, and a long time sitting on a couch watching Katie looking through museum booklets, we went out just in time to hear a Japanese drum group. Vicious pounding rang through the halls. Several kids, mostly early teens, and a small lady in charge, were pounding the holy living mother of goddamn FUCK out of those things. The choreography wasn't amazingly difficult, the drumming itself not particularly technical, but the DELIVERY was stunning. They rocked, dude.

Katie's eyes were glued to them. We sat on the floor, her in my lap. I spent most of my time looking at here as she looked at them. Her big blue eyes were locked in place. I would be just about ready to say "Breathe, honey..." when she'd remember to take a breath. She had little to say afterwards except "That was REALLY cool, Daddy!" But she obviously got maximum enjoyment from it.

Such a different day than I thought it would be. A great surprise. Exposing my girl to different music, seeing a wide variety of art. It was one of our nicest days together, and I wouldn't trade a moment.

We drove up to Fairfield and Katie took a nap. I had in Zappa's One Size Fits All. Strictly Genteel, the "classical" compilation had been our drive music to the museum.

We drove past the weekly hotel where I'd stayed for the two weeks before I moved to Indy. Then to Jungle Jim's, where Jesus H. Christ Himself does his grocery shopping.

I've got some smoked mackerel for later in the week. We got some strawberries as well. I had some fruit in the car for dinner too.

We sat in the car eating and talking. She was relaxed. So was I. The day was winding down, and I was with my Katie. Very little except for the contentment and happiness.

We went to Half-Price Books for a bit on the way home. I found a copy of Hunter Thompson's Screwjack. And finally, I had to tell her it was time to leave, to go back to Mommy.

There was just the slightest touch of sadness in her eye. But not much. "I want to see Mommy. But I love you, Daddy. This was a great day together."

And with that, we went home.

I drove back with a Dennis Miller audiobook. Stayed happy. I miss my little girl a lot this morning, but I know the time we do have together is very good, and I'm working towards having more of it.

Back to work. A third day teaching added to my week starting tonight. I got a few great shots of the older lady's killer ass yesterday. Gig Saturday night. There's still a weird disjointed flavor to my existence, my base of sanity is still too far away. But she's there. We'll be together more often some day.

You're the best, Katie.

Love,
Daddy

Dickie's Such An Asshole

02.12.06 (10:45 pm) [edit]
Am I the only one not surprised that our vice president accidentally shot a fellow "hunter" this weekend?

Good ol' Mr. "Go Fuck Yourself" out shooting animals and unable to keep his aim away from a guy only THIRTY YARDS from him? Oh, fuck no. Say it ain't so!

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for guns. I'm all for hunting. Shit, i'm all for idiotic rednecks thinning the herd by shooting each other because they're too fucking stupid to tell the difference between a quail and Dan Quayle in a BRIGHT ORANGE outfit. Nothing like a bunch of chew-chomping Texas assholes with guns to prove Darwin right about that "natural selection" shit, eh?

And I'm certainly not one of these liberal pusbags who imagine themselves to be morally superior to cold-blooded animal killers because THEY are willing to wait in line for an hour at a fucking Applebee's to be served THEIR mad-cow platter by some poorly-paid-and-deserving -it lip-ring wearing motherfucker in a third-rate clown costume and unreadable nametag who can't tell the phonetic difference between "chicken stir-fry" and "vegetarian club sandwich" when it's yelled over the local 80s-nostalgia corpo-radio station and the sound of 27 shithead frat-boys drinking Bud Lite and being far too excited about the results of a sports event played by 10 black guys who'd likely knife their honky asses in half if they had a chance, instead of going out at 4AM and doing the work themselves.

But it's no surprise, is it? That a man who can't tell the difference between Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein can't tell the difference between a BIRD and a fellow ageing Republican? I think all the medication Cheney must be taking for his various health problems must be going to his head. He's starting to act as stupid as the asshole he's actually running the country behind.

I love the Texas attitude. The woman who runs the ranch this happened on, a WOMAN no less, said "I've been peppered pretty well myself."

Like somebody's been using a shaker full of McCormick Black on her ass, just to spice her up. "I've been peppered pretty well"? Is this some measure of pride? I'm too much of a redneck waterhead to get out of the line of fire of some asshole who goes out dressed as if he has worse fashion sense than Doug Fucking Boucher, and that makes me a world-weary traveller somehow? Who the fuck ARE these idiots with too much blood-lust time on their hands and too little to actually do they job they were elected to do?

I like how they managed to get in the fact that Cheney was hunting with a legal license he'd recently purchased. As if having the same laminated card that any jerky-chewing jackoff with a pickup truck can get in five minutes at a fucking Wal-Mart somehow makes shooting another person somehow less fuckng stupid.

Of course, the guy he shot is a lawyer from Austin and a prominent Texas Republican. Maybe we should thank Dick for his service in trying to rid the world of more of these worthless cocksuckers.

Ever notice how these guys are anti-gay, yet while the rest of us are staying home with the women, THEY are out at dawn huddled up against other men in matching costumes? Are these the new Village People or what?

Love,
Dougie

8 Comments

May I Mambo Dogface To The Banana Patch?

02.12.06 (4:05 am) [edit]
"I'm not into that one night thing. I think a person should get to know someone, and even be in love with them, before you use and degrade them." - Steve Martin

Good gig tonight.

Started off a bit lame, plodding. Not helped by the shit acoustics. Turning up louder actually helped. Energy picked up through the night, until we were blazing. I kicked some pretty good ass, I think. Shades of my old self, going for fills I'd never gone for before and nailing them. Inserting other riffs in. Worked In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida into three different tunes, which totally cracked up the singer.

Also stuck the Day Tripper riff into several spots. Now why would I go and do a thing like that? You can play that riff under the riff from (Oh) Pretty Woman and get away with it, you know. There's a reason I discover these things. A little unspoken tribute to a certain special individual.

Another special individual was on my mind when I did Just Like A Woman solo. My amp was starting to overheat, so we took a break and I plugged the guitar into the other amp to allow more cool down time. No problems after that, and it was a good way to get my solo spot in. I sang it better this time, much more confidently. I was a bit ragged by then, the entire upper third of my vocal range was shot to shit in a way it hasn't been for a long time. (Try to do those Flo & Eddie-style backing vocals on ELO songs with your voice shot like that. Pure SHIT coming through my microphone on that song.) But for this song I'm down lower, and I thought it worked very well. Some people agreed.

Towards the end, somebody came up and gave me a beer. "This is supposed to go to you."

Holy shit. Somebody bought me a beer. Where? Who? Obviously the amazing intensity of my utter rocking personality, coupled with the sheer animal magnetism of my stage presence, and the remarkably inventive and ballsy basswork I was so gracefully spinning across the ether had inspired some young lady to purchase me an invite into her pants later in the night, and I would finally achieve that blissful nirvana I have so longed for, with the help of a couple napkins to clean up her hair afterwards.

Actually, some slightly dried-up 50 year old was given the wrong beer by the bartender, and when she tried to find someone to give it to, he told her the bass player had been drinking Amber Bock, give it to him.

Fucking hell.

She bought all of us a round afterwards, she did quite like us. Nice lady. Hell, I'd fuck her. Too bad her husband is twice my size and could break me in half with one finger.

I drove home down SR13, the most direct way south. At 1AM, you can go half an hour through this part of Indiana -wide open fields at this time of year, you can see for miles and miles - without seeing a single other car. Drove through Swayzee, past the town hall where family reunions on my dad's side are held. Through Elwood past the Elks where we'll be playing next month. And down 37 to Noblesville, where I stopped for a 2AM chili five-way (I love my colon) at Steak & Shake.

I'll have to tell Amanda (tearfully, begging for her mercy, with shame, guilt, and a really big fucking smile on my face) that I cheated on her with another waitress. Actually, it was a guy. Ehhh, not my type. Shitty waiter too. He got an extra 50 cents. Fuck him.

Two couples came in shortly before I left, as I was reading more about Hunter's life, currently up to his stint at the National Observer in the early 60s, making up stories about South America.

Early 20s. Two beautful, gorgeous young girls. Medium length blonde hair on each, pinned back. Medium build on both. Remarkably pretty, both. Very upper-middle class looking. I stopped eating with my fork halfway in the air. Just stopped. Doug...uh...you just froze. You're staring. Stop the shit, asshole.

They didn't notice. Jesus, my brain REALLY locked up there. Scared the piss out of me. That's the third time in five days (the other two having nothing to do with women, believe it or not) my entire system has locked up like that. You'd think I was running on motherfucking Windows ME or something.

Then I looked at their boyfriends. Also early 20s. Better looking than me. More confident. Comfortable. Not psychotic douchebags who can't get a fucking fork with cheese and onions on it to their mouth when a hot woman gets within 50 yards.

I felt old all of a sudden. I saw myself, the extra white hairs that have spread all over my head since the divorce. *I* don't mind them, I kinda think I look cool. But I'm 35. Not 21. Odds are not in my favor right now in many respects. It's nice to have dreams, but I don't want to cross into illusions. I'm at least 60 pounds overwight. I have the communication skills of a depraved mongoloid when faced with even an average woman. These girls, young, full of life and energy, that 2AM we're-out-with-our-guys fire in their eyes...these girls would sooner shove a live ferret up their poon than fuck some stupid bastard like me.

Christ, Doug. Ligthen up. You're taking yourself too seriously again. You've been having fun lately, talking to interesting women who may not have invited you to take the next step, but who HAVE shown you that you're really not all that bad after all. You've been feeling confidence. Don't let this slump you've been in for a few days destroy your momentum. Don't let it bring you down. It's only castles burning. Find someone who's turning, and you will come around.

Neil's harmonics rang in my ears. I closed the book. Paid my bill. Got the fuck out before I let shit get too far up my head. Cranked up Bitches Brew as I got onto the highway. Ahh, the title track. THAT is a bass line to stick into the middle of Run Through The Jungle at the next gig. Maybe work in A Love Supreme, which I was dicking around with at soundcheck. yeah. That sounds like fun. Next week is the end of this six-week run, then it's two weeks off for the band. But this next time will be a real bar. Playing this Eagles/Legion/Elks circuit is great. It pays better, the audiences are more appreciatve and not as obnoxious. But if there's any women there, they're are nearly always with someone. Maybe at a real bar gig (making 2/3rds of the cash we did tonight) there'll be someone cool to connect with. Some nice young lady who isn't repulsed by the bass player. Maybe you can buy her a drink, feel those attraction-chemicals rise as she talks with you. Who gives a fuck what happens next? Jump back in, asshole. You've been through a lot of shit, but you've done a lot of it YOURSELF. Loosen up. Remember how much you hate people with no sense of humour about themselves and STOP THE BULLSHIT you are constantly inflicting on your own ego. For fuck's sake. It'll be OK.

Home. Four hours from leaving to see Katie. I've gotta get some sleep. Be well, you fine folk.

Love,
Dougie

Terrible Turnips In Tahoe, Ted

02.11.06 (12:34 pm) [edit]
Taking my time getting out today. Not in a hurry, put everything on the back burner for a while. I don't need shit clogging up my head. I'll have dinner with my parents on the way up to the gig in Wabash. Do the gig, come home. I care about little else today. Tomorrow is Katie-time. Yay! We're going to the aquarium and the museum center, and I intend to have her slow down a bit this time so we can really take our time at each display. We learn little things each time, but I want it to be more truly educational this time than just running around looking at things.

Went to the library. Add another babe to my ever-growing list. I've noticed her for a while. Not sure of her name, but I usually see her in a Ramones T-shirt. She has dark hair, with a bit of bright red dyed into the front. Big girl. BIG ass. I likes that, baby. I get no real vibe from her end, she just does her job and moves on. but I notice her, and...well, who the fuck knows.

I really just love women. I don't have a "type" I go for as long as she's not some hell-spawn cunt. And really, how many of those have I met lately? Oh yeah, that one...

Bob was giving me shit about my ongoing lust for teenage girls. I had to make a point.

"Look over there. See that? that looks damn good to me too."

New girl. Been there less than two weeks. I figure she's in her late 40s. Definitely shows her age in some respects, she looks like she's put away more alcohol than I've ever even thought about. but she has a KILLER lithe, tight body. Amazing little ass. Long black hair, just a tiny touch of grey. Yeah, I wanna fuck something 15 years younger than me. But she's got 10-15 OVERr me, and...man...what a great little ass...

The amount of energy I expend on this facet of my existence is getting way out of hand. but goddamn it, it's been a LONG time. Lots of people go this long without sex, but nobody should HAVE to, short of a convicted sex-felon. It's fucking unhealthy. I'm not sure exactly what it's doing to my brain, but I know it's not good.

Too bad I'm utterly incompetent at starting anything with women. Oh, there's a few that tell me nice things, who think i'm a "nice guy." They're all fucking MARRIED. Goddammit.

Listening to a Sinatra box set. I haven't heard any of this in a while. Great music to be alone on a Saturday afternoon to.

Dennis is coming to the gig tonight, and we're planning on doing a couple tunes together. I think Lay Lady Lay and I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry (which he sings the HELL out of) will be played tonight. We're going to try to record more next week, since he's leaving soon. I'm going to miss him, but this has been fun anyway, and I'm happy for him to get back to his real band and do his own music.

I'd be happy to get a back rub from a woman right now. No, really. I'd be VERY satisfie dwith that. but give me a few minutes, and I'll be craving oral entertainment again. Hey, it's me we're talking about.

I told Bob that I need to talk to more women who put my perversions into persepctive. Perversion is such a personal thing, you know. I think it's pretty relative as long as you're not fucking little kids or actually hurting anyone. Hey, have your fun. I get online and talk to girls who are into tying a guy up and fucking him in the ass with a lit candle while being videotaped by a transvestite nun in a Hitler costume, and I think "You know, simply wanting a teenage girl to blow me sounds like the answer to the eternal question 'What would Jesus do?'"

I slept well last night and I'm tired anyway. Fuck.

Well, I'm outta here, you fuckers. Be well, and remember - hire the handicapped. Just don't let them take your rectal temperature.

Love,
Dougie

9 Comments

Oh wow

02.10.06 (11:23 pm) [edit]
I just found the lawyer's profile on match.com. With pics. No, I'm not putting them up here. But...holy fuck...she is too cool. I feel utterly powerless given the situation I'm in, but I've gotta figure out a way to at least let her know I think she ABSOLUTELY ROCKS. Man. What a girl.

Dougie

RIP Cousin

02.10.06 (10:36 pm) [edit]
Mom just emailed me to remind me that it was seven years ago today that my cousin Stevie died.

He was only 22. He killed himself during an argument with his wife. It was so out of left field, so out of character from anything anyone knew of him. It was the most horrible funeral I've been to, and the largest. The procession was over a mile long. I think somebody counted 475 cars, if memory serves. He had nothing but friends.

His older brother put together a tape of his favorite Stevie Ray Vaughan songs. Stevie was a guitarist too (I remember showing him a few things when he first started) and he was a huge SRV fan. He was buried with two of his guitars.

He had an uncle on his mom's side (his dad is my mom's brother) who is a drummer. I just saw Tom a few weeks ago at one of my gigs, for the first time in years.

I remember the group that gathered at the music store that day. The same that was there the day SRV died. We were all stunned, not knowing what to do, think, or say. We could think of nothing that could possibly have prepared us for losing him. Nothing that could explain this.

Stevie knew my friend Mike, who I played briefly with in Southern California back in '99. A couple months before I went out there, Mike was home and visited Stevie's grave. Mike died the next year of cystic fibrosis, and is buried very close to where Stevie is. I'm out there often when I go to Marion, most of my family is buried there, and I think I probably will be too.

Stevie, you had far too short a life for someone as good as you were. The memory of the pain that swept your family after you took your own life was one of the few things that kept me from following you this past summer, when I felt for a time (very wrongly) that I had nothing left to give. Part of me was very angry at you then for taking yourself from us. I better understand now the wretched feelings that can come up out of nowhere and make us give into these terrible decisions, but I still know that you had no good reason to die.

If there is something after this life other than the dust, I hope you're on the good end of whatever the fuck it is. Rest in peace, cousin. You're still missed.

Love,
Dougie

Random Shit

02.10.06 (8:56 pm) [edit]
1. I have the weirdest desire to go outside and run naked down the street. It's fucking 30 degrees out there. And nobody in traffic deserves to be forced off the road by the horror of THAT sight.

2. I was going to go poon-hunting tonight. Instead I made a curry and I'm sitting here fucking around, because I CAN for once. All my fucking around this week has been late nigth when I should be sleeping. Doing it at a reasonable hour is nice. Gonna be a busy weekend, so I might as well just take it easy tonight, maybe spank it to some really deviant porn. Ooops, gave the game away...

3. I'm aiming to be out of the warehouse by the end of the month. it's looking clearer and stronger now. I need to give it a couple week sto make sure the bills are paid for this month, then I'm diving in. I can't wait. I'm sick of the place, and I need to stop running so damn hard.

4. The fuck-drive has slowed down a bit for the moment. Thank Christ. I wes OUT OF MY GODDAMN MIND late last night talking to those two fascinating little vixens. I wish I had a log of that chat, I thought I was one funny motherfucker.

5. i'vwe lost 15 pounds. Plenty more to go, but I feel good about this.

6. I have a LOT more gray and white in my hair than I did even six months ago. Hell, maybe a month ago. And I don't mind a bit. I liek it that way. I don't want my SOUL to get too old. I'm not so worried abou tthe body as long as I'm taking reasonable care of it, which I am for once.

7. I miss talkng to my young lady friend. It's been a couple days. Ya out there, baby?

8. I was going to do a genealogy research trip on the way to the gig tomorrow, but I'm not so sure now. I might just fuck off here half the day. Sounds like a good idea. Jesus, I've been running myself like crazy. Downtime is needed.

9. I want to lie on the bed with a beautiful woman, and simply be there. Warm each other. Listen to music, be soft and gentle, just still. Enjoying each other's presence. OK, maybe we'll fuck like crazed jackrabbits too. but you know, something nice and quiet would be good for a while. Until the case of Vaseline I ordered overnight from FedEx comes, anyway.

10. I enjoy being this kind of asshole. Feels better than the one I was a year ago, anyway.

Love,
Dougie

Jesus H. Christ, I Love that Andy Partridge

02.10.06 (7:38 pm) [edit]
One of his most amazing things ever, from Nonsuch, a true classic of pop music, and one of my three or four favorite XTC albums anyway.

Books are burning
In the main square, and I saw there
The fire eating the text
Books are burning
In the still air
And you know where they burn books
People are next

I believe the printed word should be forgiven
Doesn't matter what it said
Wisdom hotline from the dead back to the living
Key to the larder for your heart and your head

Books are burning
In our own town, watch us turn 'round
And cast our glances elsewhere
Books are burning
In the playground
Smell of burnt book is not unlike human hair

I believe the printed word is more than sacred
Beyond the gauge of good or bad
The human right to let your soul fly free and naked
Above the violence of the fearful and sad

The church of matches
Anoints in ignorance with gasoline
The church of matches
Grows fat by breathing in the smoke of dreams
It's quite obscene

Books are burning
More each day now, and I pray now
You boys will tire of these games
Books are burning
And I hope somehow, this will allow
A phoenix up from the flames

If you think this is good shit, you should hear him sing it. You should hear the band. the fucking GUITAR SOLOS at the end. I just shot a load of jizz onto the keyboard thinking about it. Dddddddddamn! Kkkkkeys are ssssstuck! Dddougie

Hey, Stone!

02.10.06 (3:22 am) [edit]
I finally got my first message on adultfriendfinder.com

From a GUY.

Inviting me into a three-way with a woman, or...another guy.

The sad thing is, at 3:20AM, I'm almost ready to take this shit seriously.

Jesus H. Christ in a chicken basket. I'm so depressed I can't even jerk off now.

Curled up in fetal position crying for mommy,
Dougie

It's A Lonley Ol' Night, Can I Put My Arms Around You?

02.10.06 (3:11 am) [edit]
I've been telling myself that it's OK if I come home alone.

It's 3:11AM. What a load of SHIT that is.

I need someone warm to be with.

Dougie

Yahoo Messenger Was Invented By Rotten Rat Bastards From Hell

02.10.06 (2:58 am) [edit]
The ONE night a girl wants to send me hot pictures through YM, the goddamn thing takes a shit on my head. Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just had a most fascinating discussion on philosophy and religious history with onebadjen and bacardibreezer. I love you two, don't ever change.

Fucking YM. Cocksuckingmotherfuckingp ieceofgoddamnshitfuck!

Still reeling from the unspeakable holy wonderfulness of bacardi's pics,
Dougie

Living Sin

02.09.06 (11:58 pm) [edit]
I didn't take anything for her, but I HAD to see Amanda today.

"Hey, I've missed you. You've been gone the last three times I was here."

"Oh, well, I wasn't here yesterday."

"Well Saturday I got here before you came in, and the other times you were getting your teeth worked on, right?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I missed you terribly." I gave her my best smile. She gave me a very nice one back. "My lunchtime is utterly devoid of meaning or joy without you, you know."

She turned her head with a funny smile.

"You're not buying this shit, are you?"

"No." We both laughed.

She's so cute.

Her hair seemed longer, fuller. Always tied back, sometimes very creatively, this time in a straight ponytail. Beautiful. I really want to see her with her hair down. I have little daydreams of her on top of me, that long dark brown curtain falling around my face...mmm...

Got through work fine, though it seems to be fucking with my back more. It seems the packages are getting heavier, and I know my shoes are about shot to hell. I'm lucky that I get to move around with the particular job I do, most of the jobs there are stuck in one place, which would totally fuck me up 8 hours a day. The only person who sits on his ass for any length of time is, of course, the supervisor.

Got a sandwich at a Circle K after buying gas. Whoever makes the plastic bags these things come in can LICK MY HAIRY SCROTAL SACK. I was biting, tearing, chewing. Fuck, I should have eaten the damn plastic and got the fiber.

Of course, i'm doing this while trying to get onto I-70 West. I was A DANGER TO MYSELF AND OTHERS. You could give me two pints of bourbon and I'd have been a safer driver than I was trying to open a goddamn plastic wrapper on a fucking shitty chicken salad sandwich. I was about to pull over and spare the rest of the planet my idiot driving when the bag finally started to come open. I ate the shit while cranking up Robin Trower's Twice Removed From yesterday. Good music for just before the sun goes down. Hannah, let me love you...

Listening to Brian Eno right now. Here Come The Warm Jets. Essential shit, boys and girls.

Last night I was going up I-465 to teach and listening to Neil Young's Greendale. He was singing the line "a little love and affection in everything you do, will make the world a better place with or without you." I was reflecting on this. Wow. What a nice sentiment. I aspire to this. I want to have love and affection in everything *I* do.

That's when some rat bastard psychotic in a semi veered right into my lane, nearly taking me out with the back end of his oversized road-clogging, oil-guzzling piece of fucking SHIT.

"Cocksuckingfuckface shitbrainassfuckCUNTHAIR! "

I slammed it to the left and hit the gas, rolling down the window to scream "ASSHOOOOOOOOOOOLE!" like Kevin Kline in A Fish Called Wanda. As if Trucker Boy could hear me over the Toby Keith tape in the truck at 70MPH.

So much for a little love and affection in everything I do, eh? Fucking shithead cocksmoker cuntfaced rat bastard assmunch fucknose dickstain.

Ahhh, Curse Therapy. I'll be publishing my book on it soon. Curse Therapy: Mental Health Through Motherfuckerology. Coming soon to a fine bookstore near you;. Fucker.

Tonight I saw the lawyer.

Oh. My. God.

She came in a few minutes early. I'm used to her hair beng a certain way. But I've also noticed a drastic shift in wardrobe each time I've seen her, so it shouldn't be a surprise to see the hair different too. It's normally short and straight. This time it was curled a bit. She had on lipstick and nail polish. i've seen her in basic slacks/blouse, sweats with glasses on, a striped business suit. Tonight it was jeans and T-shirt, with a green open shirt over it that looked like something you'd buy at a Salvation Army store. but it looked COOL. With the curlier hair...wow...this girl is an ATTORNEY? Shit, I wanna cross the Mojave and take acid with HER on the way to Vegas.

"You changed your hair!"

"Yeah! Do you like it?" Perky.

"Yes!"

"I've got a date tonight!"

Fucking shit...

"That's great. Good luck." I tried to be excited for her. Hey, that's what you do when you actually give a shit about somebody. Be happy for them. But I had to tell myself that three or four or seventy times.

"Well, if you don't mind me saying so, you look great tonight." That was about as watered-down a way as I could think of saying "Jesus Christ, I want to eat your pussy."

"Thank you!" Big smile. Warm eyes. Genuinely thankful. As if what *I* thought actually meant something to her. Imagine that. I haven't crossed the line yet. Thank Christ. I've gotta keep it together on this one.

She met him on match.com. I told her I've had no luck there. She looked sympathetic, asked me a few fairly personal questions, seeming very interested in my post-divorce psyche. (We established briefly the night we met that we were both going through relationship-endings.) I told her as honestly as I could the answers. She seems very comfortable. Very friendly. She LIKES me. She makes me feel like I might actually be a semi-decent human being, for fuck's sake. I don't really get anything from her beyond that, but she is VERY cool and dammit, I like her a FUCK of a lot. The vibe off her is amazing. I could power this goddamn city for a month with the electricity she shot through me in that half hour.

And she's a STUDENT. I feel totally out of place saying ANYTHING to her that she doens't instigate herself.

When she left, I spent half an hour trying to keep from exploding all over the guitars on the wall. The guys heard me say "Fuck, she's beautiful!" about seventy-four times. They think I should ask her out. I think they're insane. Until I get a clear signal from her (which I'm NOT expecting) I can't violate a teacher/student relationship, no matter how cool and understanding and interesting and all that other stuff she is. Fuck. She's making my internal organs turn to pudding, but it just feels WRONG to say a goddamn thing. I HATE this shit. It feels good, strong, pure. Maybe even BETTER than with Amanda. I mostly just want to look into her soft yet knowing eyes and hear her talk about what it's like to be such a cool, open-minded, liberal young lady into punk and folk-rock, who hates the system, yet works right in the middle of it every day. Her whole vibe, her edgy-yet-totally-relaxed- and-in-control-of-herself personality CAPTIVATES me, and this is long before we even get to how much I want to fuck her. Fucking might actually be about number seven on my list of things to do with her. That NEVER happens with me. Why the fuck do the ones I actually have healthy emotions towards always be the ones I can't POSSIBLY have? God-fucking DAMMIT.

I drove down I-465 listening to more Trower. Stopped near the apartment at a 24-hour diner and got breaded mushrooms and vegetable soup, and read some more from the Hunter Thompson biography I'm working through at a snail-shit pace.

He could be a true bastard. Some of the stories about his early years make my skin crawl. It's interesting to think about how many of my heroes were so utterly flawed.

But the part that stuck with me the most tonight was reading about when he heard that Ernest Hemingway had died. Hunter idolized him,. Suicide. In his 60s. Shotgun blast to the head. Hunter is quoted as saying that he felt Hemingway had given all he had to give, that he was too sick to keep writing, and decided to end it.

I nearly cried. Damn you, Hunter. I wish you were still with us.

Home. Listening to ELP's Trilogy. Wanting to write more, but I'm fucking tired. Goodnight,you lovely people.

Love,
Dougie

Ahhh, What Fun

02.08.06 (1:37 pm) [edit]
Two great searches leading to my page, both from people on MSN's search engine:

"Shove it in my pussy"

"Dirtiest biker babes"

I'm so proud. The first led them to me via the Iggy Pop song I quoted recently. I've gotta find some really sick shit to keep these perverts entertained with.

How about this?

LITTLE GIRLS by Oingo Boingo

I love little girls they make me feel so good

No, no, no. I'm stopping right there.

(runs off to take another shower)

OK, better now.

Home from work. I think Rally's tried to kill me last night. Got The Big Bill Bruford burger (OK, it's not really called that, I just think it's funny to contemplate one of the finest forces in progressive rock drumming getting his inspiration from a fucking hamburger) and a banana shake. I don't eat Rally's often, but I loves them overly procrsssed banana shakes.

I woke up at 5AM with my lower back KILLING me. I laid there and tried to think about somebody special, which didn't stop the pain, but did give me a painful woodrow.

I felt my stomach working badly. But I didn't think it was that big a deal. By the time I got to work, though, I felt like Elvis was trying to pass through my colon. I spent an hour out of the hour and a half I was there on the toilet. Shit. No, really. SHIT.

They're offering overtime Saturday. I HAVE to take it now.

I'm planning my exit, though. With more students but still not as many as I want, I can't quit entirely, but I do think I'll bail on the warehouse and find a part-time shit job somewhere else. Even with a pay cut, if I can find 25-30 hours a week somewhere, it'll keep me going on top of the teaching/gig income. I've had an ENORMOUS itch to get the fuck out of the warehouse recently, and it really has a practical side too - between teaching and my psyhotic gig/Katie-time/hell-drive s -all-over-Indiana -and-Ohio weekend schedule, I'm going to be burnt out badly soon if I don't find a way to slow down. Top priority is Katie. Second is the band. Third is teaching. (Actually, those two are prertty much tied for second.) Fourth is my sanity. Anything else can suck my dick. In fact, please. It needs work too.

Seriously, I need to keep the shit job, but it doesn't have to be THIS one. If I go out on good terms with the temp agency (and you have to be a degenerate werewolf to completely piss off these people, it seems) I can still go back anytime if need be. It's all a bit scary, but I'm looking at my options, finding more of them than I had six months ago (when I had very, very few) and I'm not THAT worried about it. A little bit. But I intend to be out of the warehouse by the end of the month.

If I play it right, I might have that second day in the middle fo the week for Katie. Probably not more than twice a month, but that's a good goal to shoot for by spring, and maybe I can do it every week by summer or fall. We'll see. If I can get down there two more times a month, that's damn good for now. I NEED this time. It keeps me sane. It keeps me young. It takes the edge off my cynicism. I NEED some of that cynicism too, I've learned how important it is for what I want out of my life to trust as few people as possible, but I can't BURY myself in it like I did for so long. And hey, how can I feel anything but love and happiness when I'm around the most beautiful girl in the world? Yeah, I need more time with her. She was the only thing that kept me going at all for a long time. I have more outlets now, but none of them can compare to her. I'm a lucky motherfucker, dammit.

Well, my ass doesn't feel so lucky right now. Excuse me...

Ever take a shit you could spackle a friggin' wall with? I REALLY have my doubts about fast food these days...

Gotta try to get moving for teaching tonight, and there's a couple places I need to drop promo packs for the band. I'm really happy that they want to play down here too, it'll make my life easier. And we've added THREE gigs onto our schedule in the past two days. Two of them are a few months away, but one is a damn good gig, and we have another in April now. We're booked very nicely through the beginning of May, and there's no reason to assume it'll stop anytime soon. We have some issues to deal with in the percussion department, but we're confident about that working out as well.

Q: What did the one gay sperm say to the other gay sperm?

A: I dont' know about you, but I can't see through this shit.

Maybe I should draw a cartoon from that. Why should humourless religous assholes get all the fun being offended over nothing, eh?

Love,
Dougie

Come On Baby, Light My Fire

02.07.06 (10:17 pm) [edit]
White Castles and beer
Not much else to do here
When you're a thousand miles away
I miss you, don't even really know you

Can't believe the shit in my skull
The words you say to me, I am full
You're much too far way from me
I need you, want to feed upon you

I wanna live with a cinnamon girl
I could be happy the rest of my life with...
Oh shit, I stole that part...

So new and uncorrupted
By the shit i've seen
Don't need to be interuppted
You know my baby loves to dance, yeah, yeah

OK....

02.07.06 (8:27 pm) [edit]
Somebody just hit my blog from an MSN search for "varese young girls sex fucking."

Now, I'm into young girls. And I quite like Edgar Varese. But something tells me that fucking a teenage girl to Poeme Electronique is a BIT more sick than even I am.

Who am I kidding? I'd fuck her to a Stockhausen piece. Shit, I'd fuck her to a broken air conditioner laced with bad reverb. I ain't particular.

Just got word thst a third gig has been added in April. I can't BELIEVE how much the band is playing now. This never happened when I was with them before. I feel good things happening. We also have an "evening in the park" possibiilty at a small town north of here near Marion, that won't pay much but will probably be worth doing anyway. I played a couple of these early-evening outdoor gigs with the country band a few years ago, and they are tons of fun.

I miss you and want to kiss you, darling. Write me.

Love,
Dougie

Ya Know, I Wonder If Jerry Seinfeld Must Have Felt This Way...

02.07.06 (7:57 pm) [edit]
Thought about her all day.

Listening to Jethro Tull. Crest Of a Knave, the album that won the heavy metal grammy 18 years ago. 18 years ago??? Fuck, I feel old. I dont know what it has to do with metal, but I love this album, adn they haven't topped it since. But hey, I love damn near anything Tull does.

Walked into the bank, got in line. At the teller window at the far end, an ass called to me. Wow. What an ass. The most utterly fuckable ass I've seen in...oh...at least twenty minutes. No, it really has been a long time. I saw the ass, the long black somewhat-curly hair leading down to it. A perfectly round ass, fillijng up tight jeans as if to say, "Hello Doug. I am an ass. I would like you to fuck me. Got the time?"

Then he turned around.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!! !!!!!!

I now have proof that there is a God, and He's a SICK FUCK. Who else would put an ass like that on a goateed Hells Angel looking motherfucker?

I admit it, when he left, I took another look. Hey, YOU WOULD TOO. Don't give me that shit. YOU'D LOOK TOO, goddammit. It was a GREAT ass. Shave it down a little, and...oh Christ. I think I just went sterile thinking about this shit.

I wonder what her ass look like...

Back to work. Sucked. Fucking smooth-jazz station on Tuesdays. I have to take my days off on Tuesdays, dammit. I know I'm a sick bastard and I have my perversions and illnesses, but there is NOTHING on this earth more evil and WRONG than the vanilla happy-sax horseshit I had to work through today. Fucking Sominex. I tell people how much I hate this shit and they say, "But this is love music. People make love to this."

WHO??? I'll tell you who. OLD people. Dried up old fucks with bad backs who "make love" because they don't know how to FUCK anymore. Yeah, people make love to Kenny G. Well, I jerk off to Meshuggah. Fuck you in your Weather-Channel-listening assholes, you lame fucks. When I finally get my hands on the girl *I'm* thinking about right now, I'm gonna fuck her until my back goes out to Hendrix bootlegs and early Mothers Of Invention. Take that, you sax-swilling ass-bastards.

Mom gave me a bottle of decent salsa and some tortilla chips Sundasy. I just chopped an orange habanero in. Cherry vodka, my first adult beverage in three days, washing down Blazing Hot Death. Tip for first-time habanero users - a teaspoon of sugar can relieve the EVIL DEATH BLAST of pure pepperfied heat.

Kip Winger is singng "she's only seventeen" in my head. Good fucking gawd, I'm going to burn...

Love,
Dougie

Extemporaneousness

02.07.06 (7:33 am) [edit]
Fingers through hair
Fiery waterfall
Beside me awaken
Maybe never sleep again

Miles to cross
Attack on sight
No time for that formality shit
Fucking to commence immediately

The red zone is for loading and unloading only

Years between
Learn from you
Sounds good to me
But first...this...

Savor your wetness
Want fries with that?
Vertical I am standing
Be my Valentine?

Too early to rhyme
Poetry? If that's what ya call it
The shit I am full of
No matter when I see you

--------------------

Are you there?
Be mine
Be mine
Yes, be mine

Inside
Wishing it won't end
Am I the one?
Not just a vapor online?
Tell me

Yes
Opportunity I seek
Under your influence

Love,
Dougie