pissshiver

When It Rains, It Shits On Your Head

I don't do good sitting around like this. I've eaten twice my body weight in black beans and basmati rice, and drank about seventeen gallons of water. I'm still hungry. This is a fucking sign.

My CD burner has officially decided not to work anymore. It will play CDs and rip from them. Won't burn a fucking thing.

On the other hand, I listened to some Steve Howe solo albums I haven't pulled out in a while, which make for good companionship when yer ass is sore.

Could be worse. Could be shitting blood.

Dougie

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Tightrope From Hell

This is a weird fucking night.

Dougie

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The Torchum Never Stops

http://www.geocities.com/eras...

Hate,
Dougie

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Fuck (Slight Return)

Wednesday
5:15AM - Wake up, feeling like utter dogfuck. Listen to the clock radio, on a station run by high school students a couple miles up the road. For a cheezoid 70s/80s station, they're actually kinda tolerable. Kinda.

6:00AM - Leave for my last day at work. Notice that one of the daytime headlights is on. The car is turned off. Huh? I'm barely able to function as a mammal at this point, let alone consider just what the fuck be gwine on down here.

6:25AM - Finally leave the Speedway station with my coffee, having waited at least 10, if not 15 minutes extra on a CUNT who can't run a cash register. Shoulda made my own coffee. I drive like a motherfuck to work.

6:58AM - Turn the key off. The car is still running. I take the key out of the ignition. IT'S STILL RUNNING. The dashboard lights are on. I get out of the car. The daytime headlight on the passenger side is on. The car dies after 30 seconds. I start the car back up. Take the key out. It stops running ten seconds later. All the lights are off. I begin a discussion with Gods I No Longer Believe In.

7:01AM - Clock in a minute late because everybody on third shift is in line clocking out.

7:05AM Tell my supervisors about the car. Start working.

8:40AM Go to break, run to the car. Get in. The dashboard lights are on. The car has been turned off for over an hour and a half. I ask Jesus what the fuck be gwine on here. No reply. Ask Buddha. No reply. Ask David Koresh. I get a slight burning sensation in my chest, but no reply. Ask Joe Pesci. He says "How the fuck should *I* know?"

8:50AM Tell the supervisor I hate to go out like this on my last day, but I need to leave early. He and the woman at HR are WONDERFUL to me, and thank me for at least giving them a days notice, which apparantly doesn't happen often with the asshole temps they get. No problems there. I call the temp agency to let them know what's going on. A bit colder, but no problems there either.

10:00AM Get home. Putz around for a while, trying to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do since I have so little goddamn money. I can afford an oil change, and I need one. but that has about zilch to do with the real fucking problem in the car

12 Noon - Go to the guys who worked on the water pump for an oil change. Explain the problem. But now there IS no problem. It's running fine (and has been the whole time when you're actually driving it) and it turned off properly and the lights aren't possessed. He thinks it's the alternator. I tell Jesus, Buddha, David Koresh, and Joe Pesci all to suck my cock. FUCK. Just what I needed. But he looks at it and sees no problem. Tells me to come back if I need to. We both figure I'll need to.

2:30PM Try to take a nap. I feel like warmed-over puppy poop. I thrash around for over an hour and don't really sleep.

5:30PM Show up to work. But several students don't. You know, the ones who owe me money. This problem has been chronic for a couple weeks. You expect this shit, but it's happening more now than it did back when I had twice as many students. I try not to think about it. Fail miserably.

9PM Call A. Find out she has a boyfriend. You've read that post already. Open a beer. Drink half of it and decide to go to sleep. I can't even function as a decent alcoholic tonight.

Thursday
7AM Wake up. Try to fall back to sleep. Fail. Think about what I'm going to do that day. Wish I had somebody to fuck.

8:15AM Finally get out of bed. Feel pretty good, probably becuase I finally SLEPT some. I write some bullshit posts here, rip some library CDs, and plot for the day. Think I'll go to Steak & Shake. See Amanda. I hope the car is OK.

10:45AM The car doesn't start. The passenger day light is on, probably has been half the night. But it wasn't when I GOT home, which suggests my car is possessed by Satan. Considering that the rotten motherfucker owes me money from that night I took him out and got him all liquored up and found him a couple whores, it wouldn't surprise me. Fucker. One of those bitches was MINE, but all he had to do was whip out that 17-inch slimy red cock and I was in a corner by myself spanking it the rest of the night. I need new friends.

10:50AM A very pretty (and married) lady in the neighborhood helps me jump start the car. I drive off to the shop wondering why the coolant light is flashing when it has plenty of coolant in it. You know, the problem that was FIXED a couple weeks ago. Oh, now the battery light is flashing too. And the ABS. The clock has just reset itself. And...something fucked-up be gwine down here.

11:00AM Get to the shop. Sit for a while while he looks at it. He finally tells me it's the alternator. I don't have the money for this shit. He offers to do the job for the price of the part alone ($160) which savea me about the same amount on labour. Which is pretty fucking nice of him. Of course, if I knew how to do this ahit myself and could get to a junkyard, I could probably do it for twenty bucks. But I'm fucked and about as mechanical as a retarded spider monkey on crack. There is a very high probability that I won't be driving far before the thing just shits on my head. I tell him I'm gonna have to think about it and I'll come back later, because I'm barely going to be able to pay rent and see my daughter this weekend. Rent is due in two days.

Noon-ish - Call Sheryl to let her know things might have to change for the weekend. She very kindly offers to meet me halfway, saving me part of the drive both ways. Which shows just how cool she is, and thank fuck I don't have to live out the kind of shit that I keep hearing from people about their relationship with ex-spouses. I'm pretty fuckin' lucky that way. I hope she feels even half as good about me. She rocks.

12:30PM Decide to just say "fuck it" and get the car worked on. Go cash my check from the temp agecny and go back to the shop. Sit in the waitng area and count my money. I'll need to come up with $100 in two days to be able to pay my rent. Come up with a list in my head of CDs to sell, a couple other options. It might just be doable. I have to pay it Saturday though, because I've learned that these people are NOT flexible, and the late fees are fucking wretched. None of my options are good, but I have a few. Decide to bypass those other four guys and pray to Joseph Smith. He says "I'm busy fucking my fifty-seven wives. Get back to me later." Rotten rat bastard.

3:00PM David come in and tells me that the new alternator is in. It held a charge for five minutes. There's another problem. I needed the new alternator, the old one is trashed. But the new one will be too in a short amount of time, because there's some kind of electrical issue. He starts checking out all the grounds, which are legion.

Somewhere around 3:30PM - After being in a haze for three hours, walking to KFC, walking around the blocks, looking at National Geographics, and generally just staring at the fucking wall, I go out to the garage. David is still fucking with the car, frustrated. He's really trying to do it right, and he's a hell of a nice guy. I've picked the right place to come to. I look in the back of the car and find my copy of The Real Frank Zappa book, which I'd been reading on lunch breaks at work.

I begin reading certain "key passages" (this fucking thing was my BIBLE for years) and realize just how much of my writing style I owe to Frank. His book is a fucking JOY to read. Over and over again. I've probably read it cover to cover nine or ten times, and in random pieces a total of fifty or sixty. But it's actually been a few years. Re-reading about The Stumbler, Studio Z, Caroline Cuntley, The Gathering Of the Ugly Jackets, and Ms. Name Omitted, I'm reminded of how much I fucking miss him. I try not to start crying. I fail. David's wife is at the desk twenty feet away. I try to act like I don't notice her looking at me.

4:30PM David runs out of ideas. Lights are coming on and off for no apparant reason. he's checked everything he can think of. "I'm up for a challenge, but this one has worn out its welcome." He calls another guy. I call the music store and get my 5:30 student moved to 6:30.

5:30PM Half an hour before they close, and half an hour before I need to leave, the other guy shows up. But he definitely seems on top of things. Unfortunately, he's not FAST about it.

6:08PM I leave. David's put a new battery in, my old one will sit on the charger overnight. I'll go back in the morning and start again. He's very friendly to me, tells me I can owe him the money, pay it back next week, which NEVER happens, though I do need to pay him the $160 for the alternator. I think part of why he's nice to me is that I've been there before and we get along. Part of it might also be that I sat there for FIVE AND A HALF FUCKING HOURS and didn't bitch about it once. So if anyone thinks I'm incapable of patience...go fuck yourself.

6:29PM Show up to teach. My last student (who, of course, is the one who owes me money) cancels. I ask Cthulhu for advice. He sends me dream visions of fish-headed beings swimming around a rusted out Saturn at the bottom of the South Pacific, my cold gutted carcass strung up over a fire being roasted for later dining by the Great Old Ones. I tell Cthulhu to go fuck himself. I need new gods.

8:30PM Call Sheryl to tell her I still plan on coming tomorrow and having Katie for two nights. Hopefully the car will be done by noon and I CAN do this.

9:00PM Open a beer. Put on Crosby/Nash's Wind On The Water. Start typing this bullshit. Now I sit here wondering how i'm gonna survive April, even though I haven't atually determined yet how I'm gonna survive this month, and it's over in two fucking days. Fact is, I'm barely even upset. Mostly numb. I haven't got a clue what the fuck to think. This time a year ago I was in Las Vegas thoroughly not enjoying myself. Tonight I sit here and think if I hsd the money I blew on questionable activities that night, I'd actually be sorta OK right now. In other words, I have no one to blame for this shit but myself. But I'm really sick of blaming myself too. Hell, it always works out somewhere in the end. And if it doesn't, what the fuck? After all...tomorrow is another day.

Love,
Dougie

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Just a fucking reminder

I fuckin' love that shit,
Dougie

4 Comments

OK, This Is Fucking Weird

Katie came up to me. "Daddy, do you like my new haircut?"

She'd just gone to get her hair cut. It was...uh....my girl's into punk rock now?

It was cut VERY short, and spiked. With half a Mohawk. It was shaved down the back of her head, but not the front.

Being a dream, it sorta didn;t even look like Katie at all. But did. Features not totally defined. Kinda vague there.

"Well, honey. I liked it myself a lot better before, but if that's how you want to do it, that's great. I'm glad you're trying new things."

But even though I felt that way, I kinda DIDN'T. And she could tell, I could see that she did. I like her hair the way it is. It's long and wavy and blonde and she's such a beautiful little girl in every way. I DIDN'T like it. It felt OFF somehow. But...I'm not the kind of parent who tries to control things about my child that aren't really for me to control, and I don't think that's something I should be trying to control.

I mean, hey, if she came to me and said "Daddy, do you like my new Smith & Wesson?" and I was suddenly looking down the barrel of a .357, yeah. I'd kinda be the loud "You can't do that!" parent. I think that one is sorta in my "parental control" area, ya know? But this was about a haircut, and I don't feel strongly about that.

Or do I?

I could see on her face that she knew what I was thinking. She's a perceptive kid, after all. Heck, MOST kids can read farther into what you're saying than we usually give them credit for. She came to me for approval. She got it, but she kinda didn't. Daddy says it's OK, but he doesn't really feel that way. She walked off, looking half satisfied, half not. Sorta the way I felt.

I think this dream (and oddly enough, I read on my ex's blog about an interesting dream she had just a few dsys ago) is trying to make sense of what kind of parent I want to be and how acceptiing I'll be of Katie's decisions as she grows up. And I feel strongly that even at not quite five years old, she should be allowed SOME decisions on her own. The older she gets, she should have more of them. I HATE watching parents try to control every fucking thing their kid does, when so much of it DOES NOT MATTER. Keep your kid safe, don't let them do anything too fucking stupid, but dammit, let 'em have SOME kind of freedom, for fuck's sake.

It was interesting to be feeling that stuff over this - a hairstyle. Something that really does not matter and I don't feel inclined to try to control. But I didn't like it. I liked the way she was before. I just had to let go of that and let her do what she wanted in that area, because it was the right thing for me to do.

It's gonna get a LOT more complicated than this in about ten years. Hair? That will be the LEAST of our issues. LOL.

I'm going to Cincy tomorrow, do some stuff around town and pick her up at daycare. We'll spend the evening together and I'll take her home, go over to Bill's for the night, then Saturday I'll get her first thing in the morning and bring her up here to Indy through Sunday. So we're getting more time than usual (and with Bill's new job, I might even end up just bringing her here Friday night) and I need that. I need all the time I can get with her. It's gonna be a LOT nicer outside, so we'll finally get to do some outdoors stuff again, which I'm really looking forward to.

But yeah, I hope she keeps her hair the way it is. :)

Dougie

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Fuck

Me: So, ya wanna get together again sometime?

A: Yeah, I'd love to do that. I'd still like to see your band sometime.

Me: Yeah, we're playing farther north for a while, hopefully we'll be closer sometime soon.

A: I think I should let you know, I kinda have a boyfriend now.

Me: Oh?

A: Yeah, I think so. Seems like that, anyway. A very recent development.

Me: (Trying to be coherent.) I'm very happy for you. I hope it works out. (Am I telling the truth at this point? Or totally full of shit? Or both?)

A: Thanks. I feel like I've hurt your feelings.

Me: Yeah, kinda. I'll get over it.

A: I'm sorry. I'd still like to hang out soemtime. Maybe go for a hike.

Me: That would be very nice. I'd like that.

And it kinda went from there.

Gee, for somebody who wasn't ready for anything two weeks ago, that kinda fell into place quick. eh?

It DOES fucking hurt. I really like her. Still do. I'm quite confident I can do the "friend" thing and enjoy it. But to be told one thing and see something different within a couple weeks...that fucking hurts.

So I'll sit here in the dark and listen to Argentinan classical guitar music (a CD on the Naxos label) and drink. Which I said I wasn't going to do this week. I guess as long as I can't follow through on shit, I can't expect anyone else to give two fucks either.

Goddammit.

Dougie

8 Comments

Words Of Wisdom?

"This is one of the reasons not to dick around with teenage girls. A 30 year old woman has got BETTER things to do than drive by your house and scream 'ass hole!' while she throws Denny's pancakes in a to-go box at your car."

I laughed my fucking ass off at that, hon.

Love,
Dougie

3 Comments

Teenage Head

She's a beauty.

She makes me crazy.

She says the most amazing things to me.

I keep looking at her picture.

The past few days have seen many mails between us.

She likes me. She makes me feel really fucking good about myself. She makes me want to make her feel good too. I can hardly believe she even exists.

She's half my age.

She's 800 miles away.

I'm savin' my pennies.

You rock my universe in half, girl,
Dougie

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The Crux Of The Biscuit

I'm alone, I'm drunk. I'm not nearly as together as I often think I am. I don't trust myself to do ANYTHING right at this moment. I'm going to bed. I'm so fucking tired I cna';t think worth a fuck. Maybe tomorrow I'll have somethign to say that isnt totally fucking stupid. Right now, I'm hating myself like a motherfuck. Fuckin' hell, Dougie

------------
Morning:

As a reply to all comments and to follow up, it's better now. Last night I was heavilly sleep-deprived. Which makes me very miserable, especially when I have to do that two hour drive back home after being with Katie. At one point yesterday, I pulled over for half an hour just to put the seat back and rest my eyes. She came up and sat in my lap, put her head on my chest, and we snuggled like that for a while. She was so patient, so loving. And when it was over, she was SO freakin' silly. She sang all day, made up the goofiest things to say, laughed her little butt off at her own jokes, and held my hand and skipped alongside me walking into each place we went.

She brings purity and joy to my life in a way nobody else possibly can. Other people bring their own elements, necessary ones. but Katie is something else entirely. She's my little girl. and I miss her.

I'll have more time with her this next weekend than usual. We'll hopefully make the most of it.

Time to go to work.

Dougie

3 Comments

Splendid Isolation My ASS

She wasn't there tonight. I didn't really care.

It seemed all the women were with other guys. but one...oh man...the way she danced. She was fucking CRAZY. She had this definite animal edge to her.

From the stage in the dark, I figured she was around 30. Talking to her when she first came up to us after the gig, I figured a few years older, maybe my age.

She's going to be 50 in May.

Jesus jumped-up Christ in a chicken basket. There's no WAY you are 50 years old. You look WAY too good.

I know it violates some stupid horseshit rule about not showing too much interest, but I had to find the best way to tell her that, and I THINK I did. I mean...shit...she was fuckin' amazing. Very light skin, but definite Indian features - the dark hair and high cheekbones. An incredible tight body. The way she moved, the way she talked and expressed herself...FUCK. Beautiful, remarkable woman.

Her name is Pam. She walked outside with me as I was loading gear. Talked and talked and I enjoyed it for a while.

But a few things she said made me think "oh shit..." and I found myself coming to a place I didn't really want to be. By the time I was back in the bar talking to her (for an hour after the other guys left) a friend of hers was there. A killer 32-year old redhead with great soft curves, dark eyeliner that really brought out some kind of character I can't describe but it really turned me on, and she was drunk as hell. Her name was Kelly. She told me her life story in about fvie minutes. About how her husband is a prick and she's fucking some guy behind his back who was "here in this room right now" but she wouldn't tell me who he was, and she kept going on and on about how beautiful Pam was for her age (I think anyone would notice, the other guys in the band were amazed at her age too) and how if she was a lesbian, she'd take her home and fuck her all night.

When Pam wasn't listening she leaned in. "I used to be a lesbian. I really liked it, and I'd fuck Pam in a heartbeatr. But even though it's really cool and it's interesting with a woman, I really like dick. It's just not the same without dick."

I think I muttered something along the lines of "So, wanna make it two guys in this room your husband doesn't know about?" which made her laugh her ass off and she gave me a sloppy inebriated hug. Then she got another drink and fluttered off to talk to a friend. I think she MIGHT have been able to walk out I'm not sure how she made it the five feet to the other table.

Then I turned back to Pam. And...oh shit...got stuck in those eyes. her eyes are remarkable. Light blue. Incredible. They are the ONLY indication of her true age that I saw. she seriously looks 15 years younger or more, but those eyes could only belong to a woman who has seen some serious shit go down across 50 years. They were both soft and mean at the same time. Loving and very, very experienced in a hard way at once. Full of life and fire, and very tired. Worn down.

They were the most beautiful eyes I've seen in a long, long fucking time.

She started giggling, looking at me like she was totally amused at me.

"I'm staring at you, aren't I?"

She laughed some more. "It's really OK. I'm really happy that you think I'm beautiful. That means a lot. I'm glad you're here tonight. I hope to see you again sometime. When are you guys coming back here?"

It was...fucked up. It was very clear early on that I wasn't getting what I was hoping for. Not tonight. But she made me feel like maybe I would under other conditions. Maybe she was bullshitting me, but I really felt it. The way she looked at me when she was giggling at my utter lack of self-control spoke fucking encyclopedias. A guy 14 years younger than her is about to fall off his chair for her. she obviously LOVED the attention I was giving her.

But other stuff she said through the conversation weirded me out a bit (a very curious mix of Jesus-talk and how much she needs to drink to forget about the asshole men in her life) and after a while, I found myself nodding and saying "Yeah" a lot. I found myself thinking "she's really quite nice" and "I don't give two fucks about any of this, would you just suck my cock so I can go? It's late."

I started to feel like a HUGE prick. With her and Kelly both. There was at least half a dozen times when I was trying to listen to two different women at once, both a foot away from me, both talkng psychotic shit I really didn't care about, I just wanted one of them to fuck me.

I think the whole reaosn I stayed an hour past the gig was to somehow make up for this. I knew I wans't getting any, I figured if I sat and listened to them and was a nice guy, maybe it would take the edge off wanting to just fuck and run. Christ, I don't WANT to be such a selfish prick. But I sure as fuck was. I kept running things through my head, trying to find some magical combination fo words that I knew didn't exist, that would make one of them leave with me.

I left alone. Of course I did. I finally looked Pam right in those stellar broken eyes and said, "I better leave now. I've gotta be up early, and anyway, I think I might make a total asshole out of myself if I stand here and look at you any longer. You are seriously screwing with my brain chemicals just sitting ther elooking at me like that."

She laughed again. As if to say, "Yeah, I know. I like making you crazy when we both know I'm not gonna so much as get out of this chair to say goodbye to you. You're really cute. Maybe in another situation you'd get a piece of me. But not tonight. Go jerk off or something. "

Goddammit.

I found myself doing something before I knew I was doing it. I couldn't believe my hand was moving up to her face. Stop! Don't! She'll...she'll..do nothing at all... Her reaction completely confirmed the vibe I was getting - she loved it. She let me do it. She smiled at me, didn't flinch, didn't even move. Just smiled and shot me those ungodly beautiful eyes. It was all there. not tonight. But maybe...maybe...

I know where she works. Holy fuck, she even told me exactly where she lives. She's been divorced for nine years. She was two daughters. One of them is the same age as the girl who makes my brain fry right here on tblog, which caused a fucking HUGE cognitive dissonance in me when she told me that.

she told me at first about the guy she was trying to get in there. That he was blowing her off, but she really cared about him. Though she knew it was pointless and she shouldnt' be wasting her time. She was sitting next to him the whole time I talked to her when I went back inside. THAT was actually a really funny, ego-boosting experience. I got the balls to walk back up to her after sitting in a lone chair with a shot of Jager listening to Love Shack (dammit, I love that fucking tune, I admit it) and she was sitting RIGHT NEXT to this guy, talking to him, leaned in to him.

And I tapped her shoulder, and for the next hour, she damn near ignored the motherfucker in favor of me. Hehe. In spite of the massive frustration I felt knowing it wouldn't go anywhere else, knowing that I just fucked this guy's head up - the woman who's been trying to get me just totally blew me off for some fat hairy bass player, and she looks like she REALLY likes talking to him - was a GREAT feeling.

But I still left alone. I wanted to drag her and Kelly to the hotel they work at and get her pants off so me and the semi-reformed dyke could munch her pussy together. Oh the little fantasies I had for the time they were both there right in front of my face, both vying for my attention, talking and talking, drunk off their asses.

It really was a hell of a nice experience. but I was split, just like always. Knowing that simply talking to these two was good for me, I need to just do THIS more often, but also this selfish-prick thing I was fighting off, feeling like I was totally wasting my time because I wasn't going to get any.

I've got a long fuckin' way to go.

Sang Lawyers Guns & Money in my solo spot. Mark gave me one song. I've got a rant boiling in me about my fellow bandmates' paranoia about losing an audience when there's absolutely no evidence to support it, but I'll save it. We did have a hell of a lot of fun tonight.

I can't believe that woman was 50 years old. Wow. And I just might see her again..............

Very complex series of emotions right now.

I drove home listening to Warren Zevon, singing along. His stuff is perfect for my vocal range. No work at all to sing the vast majority of it. I remember exactly one year ago tonight, when I hit St. Louis in the rain on my first day heading west. I listened to a lot of Zevon for a few months. It's wonderful music to drive alone at night to when you're miserable. It brings a nicely honed sense of dark humour, the kind of thing that can make loneliness and despair seem almost like a gift. The gift of experience.

I sang along with every ounce of myself to one of my favorite songs:

Don't want to wake up with no one beside me
Don't want to take up with nobody new
Don't want nobody coming by without calling first
Don't want nothing to do with you

The split in full force. I feel that song. I live it every day. I LOVE living alone.

But I hate BEING alone. That song expresses one half of me to a fuckin' T. The other half of me knows how much of a load of HORSESHIT it is. Don't want nobody coming by without calling first? Yeah, right. I'm sitting here now wishing Pam was knocking on my door right now. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop by for a visit. You need somebody to keep you warm? Somebody to wake up beside? Someone new to take up with?

Fuck yeah I do. Like nothing else in the whole godamn world.

I don't know what these massive contradictions in my head are going to lead to, the incredible inconsistencies I find in myself every goddamn day, but all I can do for now is follow them where they drag my easily-led ass. I really don't know any other way to live. I'm lousy at antything else.

God, those incredible eyes...

Love,
Dougie

2 Comments

My Perversions

Yesterday I was buying gas and I looked at my plate. FUCK! I kept putting off gettng tags, then the car was down for a few weeks, and I didn't get them. They've been expired for nearly a month.

So I got that taken care of, which meant I couldn't go see amanda today, becuase I just have too much other shit to do before leaving for the gig tonight. Dammit. Well, I'm hoping to see her next weekend. Gotta have my Steak & Shake fix, and I need to see that fine sexy lady.

VERY hot young girl at the license branch. Long dark brown hair, straight down her back. Her eys and the part in her hair reminded me of Christina Ricci, though she was different otherwise. Thin, but not too much.

and young. I was thinking 17 or 18. Then I thought "This is a license branch, she might be getting her first driver's license." So, 16?

I turned around to look at her a couple times. I think she saw me once.

the next time I turned around, there was a guy there. Probably right about my age. Obviously her dad.

Suddenly, I felt like a dirty fuckin' bastard.

But I liked it. Damn, she was cute.

I went to the dollar store fr cheap energy drinks. I think I go in there three times a week. There's a VERY hot redhead in there now. Last time I saw her, she commented about how much I was there. As if she liked seeing me. Pants, meet wood.

I hadn't seen her in a while. Today she was there, dressed in tight clothes. Very curvy. In fact, five months pregnant curvy. I hadn't noticed before. She's big for five months. her tits are bigger, her ass is nice and round. Long straigh red hair, dark but friendly eyes behind glasses. Light skin. God, she's...

Five months pregnant.

OK guys, come clean on this, 'cause I know I ain't the only one. SOMETIMES a pregnant woman looks REALLY FUCKIN' HOT. You know it's true. Don't lie to me, you fuckers.

It's a very interesting feeling when it's your woman. You look at her, she looks amazing. You know you're the reason she looks like that now. You contributed to that. You feel a certain sense of power at that moment. Of course, when she HAS the kid, you feel totally powerless, and also like a total PUSS becuase here's a woman enduring something your whiny ass couldn't deal with. If men had kids, we'd be fuckin' pathetic about it. Women are a LOT better with pain than us, guys. You know that shit's true.

Brain cells firing. At this point, I'm only looking, waiting my turn. She's obviosuly pregnant, but I didn't know how much yet. All I knew was I wanted to FUCK her. God, I'm gonna burn in Hell.

"Hi! Haven't seen you in a while."

Oh fuck, what a smile. What a nice voice. What a ...fucking hot little lady...

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've seen you too. You say that as if you missed me." Tried to crank up a cute smile for her. It worked. she smiled back even brighter.

"I did miss you!"

"So, what you doing tonight?" I laughed to punctuate it. I always try to make my propositiions sound half serious, half joke. I'm weird that way.

Her smile stayed in place. She touched her stomach. "Sorry. Nothing tonight."

"Yeah, I noticed. Damn, you're really cute too."

"Thank you!" Oh fuck, don't look at me like that unless you're actually going to fuck me, girl. Holy SHIT. Telling me she's taken but looking at me like "You're cute too. Come back more often, Dougie. I like seeing you too."

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

So I changed the subject o ask how she's doign with the pregnancy. She told me she's five months along, and her other kid is 16 months old. Wow. You're really into pain, eh? Or really into fucking. Hmmmm......

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! !

I think if I'd just gone ahead and pulled it out and wanked the lovebhiscuit right there into the open cash drawer, I wouldn't have felt like any more of a dirty little fucker than I already did.

But ya know what? I LIKE being a sick fuck. i just wish I had somebody to be a sick fuck WITH. Goddammit.

Fuckin' hell.

Love, (or something)
Dougie

3 Comments

I Love Cock

I've had this rant boiling in me for a while. Time to type.

Why are people still arguing over gay marriage? I see it a lot here on tblog, and the US in general. Do we have NOTHING better to do with our time than this? We've got issues of national secuirity, children not being fed, government failure causing the deaths of thousands of people, a shit excuse for an educational system, and people without reasonable access to health care. And we actually give a SHIT about boys kissing? About boys getting married? What the FUCK is wrong with you people? How STUPID are you to care ONE FUCKING BIT about this shit when people are DYING for no good reason? Is your life so completely fucking pointless and devoid of meaning that THIS is what offends you? Are you such a lousy piece of ass that you have to complain about EVERYONE who gets better hole than you do?

Our priorities are FUCKED in this country. And I'd like to blame it on Republicans, because they are the true masters of this feed-the-people-bullshit- until-they-forget-the-evi l-shit-we're-doing approach, but it happens on all sides, no one is blameless, everyone is willing to waste their time on this shit instead of standing up and saying "I care as much about whether queers marry as I do about whether or not a dog shits on the lawn of an 80-year old retired plumber in Kansas. Can we get back to THE GENERAL WELFARE and leave this shit alone for a while?"

We have uproars over homosexuality, over Janet Jackson's tits, over Bono saying "fuck" on TV. But we DON'T make any true effort to work on the shit that KILLS people, that ACTUALLY destroys lives on a regular basis. Like, you know, RELIGION.

I've got news for you fundamentalist Christian idiots - fucking somebody in the ass is not a sin. Allowing your government to metaphorically fuck the country (and other countries) in the ass without so much as a letter to a representative IS. If your god exists (and frankly, I'm hoping for a better one, because your god is a bigger bipolar fucking asshole than I am, and I'd like to beat the shit out of him) I'm willing to bet even HE knows better than to waste energy worrying about what OTHER PEOPLE do instead of doing good yourself. You are doing NO ONE a favor by choosing to spend your time raving about buttfuckers. In fact, somebody should stick a dick in YOUR ass until you loosen up and get your fucking priorities in order. Go feed hungry kids and help the sick and the poor. Or is that too much like something CHRIST might do for you to be able to handle, you shallow, empty-headed fucks? Frankly, I consider anyone who bases their lives on a pseduo-literal reading of thousands-years old documents to be a DANGEROUS LUNATIC, and I don't want my child anywhere near you fuckers. I'd rather she hang out with queers. At least THEY have a sense of humour and can teach her how to cook me a decent meal and decorate my apartment for me when I'm old and pooping myself in a wheelchair.

I saw something incredible on James Dobson's website recently. You know Dobson. The guy who thinks Spongebob Squarepants is turning kids into queers. Because, after all, Spongebob can destroy a kid's soul, but watching CNN (you know, the channel featuring news about the REAL world) won't fuck with a kid's head at all. Hey, have you watched the news lately? The FCC should ban those channels. I can't think of anything more damaging to a child than REALITY. A fucking cartoon is the LEAST of their problems.

Anyway, Dobson was going off about queers and how much "emotional damage" awaits those who "choose" the gay lifestyle. Funny thing, that. Gee, after all, being straight is an emotional picnic, ain't it? No terrible consequences to be had from being straight, eh? No broken relationships, no rape, no years of counseling, none of that shit, right? Yeah, there's LOADS of emotional damage for the faggots, but we GODLY peeple (especially Christian white folk in southern states, who funnily enough, happen to have the highest divorce rates in the country) have nothing to worry about. No pain and suffering. Not at all. Hell, when my marriage fell apart, I know *I* didn't feel a thing. Which is why I went insane and drove all over the country, drank a pint of bourbon every night, and cried at seemingly nothing at random times for four months. Yeah, that was all part of the FUN awaiting us lucky folk who don't fuck people of the same sex. Good ol' fashioned Jesus-based joy, ya know.

Just because some people have great marriages (or claim to, I'm convinced that most of these fundamentalist fucks are either privately miserable or only happy in their marriage because they and their spouse are FUCKING BORING CUNTS) that doens't mean they should assume the REST of us do. Half of all marriages end in divorce. And from what i've seen, half of the ones who stay together don't really want to. Marriage is a great thing when it WORKS. I know people who have made it work very well. They are the MINORITY. I'm happy for them, but they are LUCKY. That's it, boys and girls. Lots of luck, and lots of WORK. Interestingly enough, most of the really good marriages I know of are between people who aren't particularly religious. Hmmm...coincidence? Maybe.

Marriage is only as "sacred" as each partner MAKES it. YOUR definition of marriage is as relevant to others as your definition of "good TV" is. It's a PERSONAL thing between two people, and the reasons for and the details of are DIFFERENT for everyone. Imagine that, eh? That other people might be DIFFERENT than you, and might have DIFFERENT ideas of how things work? Imagine even, that this is WHAT YOUR PHONY TWO-DIMENSIONAL SHIT GOD INTENDED. Or better yet, imagne that there is no religion. It's easy if you try. Isn't it ironic that the first word that comes in my mind when I see you anti-gay religious twits is "cocksucker"?

Fucking cunts.

Later...

Listening to Die Laughing, a killer Doug Stanhope album. Here's about as good of a summation of the problem with American priorities as I can find:

"Who gets more shit than sports players, for doing nothing? You go through your entire life and all the other problems that you have that you ignore wind up on them. You see a guy beating the shit out of his girlfriend in the parking lot and you go 'Nah, don't get involved man, it's none of your business.' And the mullet-headed shitbag next to you at work tells you nigger jokes all week and you want to hit him with a chair, but you go 'I've gotta work with this fuckin' guy so just keep your mouth shut.' George Bush is drilling holes in anything that isn't a fetus, but you go 'We've got to support our president because we're at war.' But you show up on Sunday and a guy drops a ball and you go 'YOU FUCKIN' SUUUUUCK! AAAHHHH!!!! You piece of shit! He dropped the ball! The humanity, you fuckin' asshole! Get him off the field! I hope you get fuckin' cancer, you piece of shit!" - Doug Stanhope

Dougie

12 Comments

The Price Of Meat Has Just Gone Up, And Your Old Lady Has Just Gone Down

2.) Goddamn, I love Frank Zappa. The entire You Can't Do That Onstage Anymore series (over 13 hours of the finest optional audio entertainment known to man) has lit up my life like a fuckin' Debbie Boone song this week. A WONDERFUL workout for the lower part of my vocal range, singing along with the Frankmeister, his outrageously adept use of words filling my little black heart with mirth. An even more wonderful source of inspiration to make me grab my gee-tar and play. Bazillions of things to love crammed into all 12 discs. Nearly all eras of his music (though leaned heavily into certain places and ignoring a couple others, but I've got no real substantial problem with that), chock full of killer playing, incredible tunes, and the kind of lyrical ebullience.that makes me think, feel, and laugh my ass off. Nasty grinding guitar heaven. Unspeakable drumming. Bass playing of the gods. (SCOTT FUCKING THUNES!!!) Ike WIllis hi-ho-ing Silver away. Isn't that amazing? Tell 'em what they win, Bob. A whole battery of chewy keyboard delights. L. Shankar in 13. Terry Bozzio hitting his hands with a hammer followed by a beautifully subdued version of Zoot Allures that makes my pants drip. Sophia Warren on guitar. Weird yet interesting edits. Tunes found nowhere else. Tunes you've heard a dozen versions of. The goddamn motherfucking hellbastard fucking motherfucker of a Mammy Anthem. I want a garden! Whipping floss! Mattie told Hattie! Bloooooow-job! They're serving burgers in the back! I'm in you!

You Can't Do That Onstage Anymore. A big-ass fuckin' testament to the friggin' genius of one of the most important people in my life. Even 12 years after his death, there's little things and big things alike sprinkled through his catalog to bring a tear to my eye wishing he was still with us. A hell of a lot of them are on this collection. Goddamn, I love Frank Zappa.

3.) A bit calmer on the poon-craving front today. But not by much. That little barely-legal vixen could destroy my mind with one simple email.

4.) So why is it that the one woman alive who shows true interest in me, who I think might just be able to fulfill four or five of my dirty little fantasies, is half my age and half a continent away? Fuck, why worry? Save yer pennies, motherfucker.

5.) Gig tomorrow night. Think I'll call A and see if she can come. I'm planning on working up a few tunes tonight and doing stuff I've not done before in my solo spot. Not sure which ones yet. But I was singing Lawyers, Guns, And Money in my head today, and I need a Zevon fix.

6.) I think I need a "love gig." I like this band a lot, I love the singer and guitarist like brothers. But it's still got a lot to do with money. If I do this wedding thing I'm thinking about, it will be TOTALLY about money. It sure as fuck won't be about playing Wonderful Tonight, for fuck's sake. My potential solo thing is much more personal and fulfilling, but I'm going to keep it close enough to accessibility to still make money. The thing with Dennis was leaned towards music, but still partially about money. Though he moved away and we never made any.

It's been a while, but I used to do a low-rent Robert Fripp thing, running my bass through a variety of effects into a "soundscapes" thing I used to do in my solo act when I was playing coffeeshops several years ago. I'll do some in the new solo thing, but I doubt I can get away with much of it.

What I'd like to do is get this thing working again (if I pulled this stuff out now, it would probably suck, and I need a while to re-develop the thing) and look into playing in museums and libraries. You can do shit like that there. The odds of money being made are remote, but I don't care. I need to do something that represents that end of my musical personality. If I can get decent recordings (the few I have now are barely worth listening to), maybe I can sell CDs when I do it. But mostly I want to stand there and sculpt air into shapes not experienced before. It'll be almost totally improvised, and explore my harmonic ideas, since it's kinda hard to work augmented 11ths into Jerry Lee Lewis songs with the band. Five people will care. Fuck it. It needs to be done.

7. there is no seventh thing.

Ahhh, I'll write more later. i've got a six of Honey Brown and a stack of tunes to work on with my gee-tar. You fuckers be well.

Love,
Dougie

0 Comments

A Momentary Lapse Of Reason

2.) The booze doesn't help much. A little. Not much.

3.) Money is getting weird. I have six less students than I did a month ago. That comes out to half a month's rent.

4.) But there's a lot of gigs coming up, and I'm pretty much ready to go looking for solo gigs, I just need the time to record a decent demo. I've been running too hard this week to really think about it much. I've got other ideas, much more about money than about anything close to my heart, but I'm getting desparate about this. I'm seriously considering recording backing tapes to do a solo wedding gig. Which means playing some WRETCHED fucking music, but it's also a fuck a lot of money if you get in the right places.

5.) There is nothing in the world I want more this moment than to crank this Pink Floyd album up a little higher and bury my face in a lovely redheaded teenage girl who is bending my brain cells. Darling, you are killing me.

Love,
Dougie

0 Comments

You've Been Messin' With The State Bird Of New Jersey, Motherfucker!

Ya know, there's things about this album that bug me (the annoying production, the recycled old material) but god DAMN it's fucking hilarious. The way Frank fucked with the English language on this album is remarkable, and the killer delivery from Ike WIllis of this shit is just a joy to behold. And hey, how can you not love an album concept featuring a woman fucking a briefcase and stuffing a pen up her ass after she finds out her husband is gay for a potato-headed whatchamacallit? Even by Zappa standards, this is one FUCKED-UP piece of work.

I had all sorts of other shit in my head today, but most of it will come off even more self-important than usual if I write it, so fuck it all anyway.

One Zappa-related story, though. At the gig Saturday, our singer was handed a note requesting we do a slow song for "the woman in the black thong." Kinda bizarre. So we did Magnet And Steel, the old Walter Egan tune from the '70s that I actually somehow enjoy despite it's brazen sappiness. And we do it very well.

In a fit of Ike/Frank-inspired nonsense, our singer and I filled the song with The Secret Word Of The Night - thong.

The backing vocals do lots of "oooo-oooo" stuff. So I sang "thoooo-ooong." Mark changed about seventeen words to "thong." We both sang "You are a magnet, and I am thong" in lovely harmony.

The next song was Jerry Lee Lewis' Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On. I never sing on this, but that night, whenever Mark would sing the title line, I would sing "thong" over the top of "on."

I LIVE for this kind of utter fucking stupidity. I wish we'd do it every goddamn night. In fact, I think I'll start doing it myself if no one else will. Hell, I was yelling "Science!" in a bad Thomas Dolby voice a couple weeks ago, why not make it a habit?

I'm easily amused. Hi-ho Silver! Away!

You means DE WOMENS' LIBROMATION MOVENINT done created de uncontrollable urgement to play dingle-dangle-dingle wit de personal requipment of yo own gender?,
Dougie

4 Comments

Who Be This Hairy White Motherfucker?

It's me, from this past Saturday.

Dougie

3 Comments

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I'm gonna be spending half a week in Cincinnati soon.

Dougie
PS George Carlin is there this Friday, and there's no way I can go. FUCK!

2 Comments

Ten Items Of Total Horseshit You 're Probably Better Off Ignoring

2.) I'm making the buckles for child car seats at this new job. I've been tempted to ask if they have a The Brain Of Britney Spears Memorial Educational Training Course in order to teach people how to USE the things, but I doubt that would go over.

3.) I've got an issue with a co-worker as of today that I'm not going to go into until I give it some time, but I was a tad irritable today over it.

4.) Then I went INSANE and had this sudden flash of rage come out of nowhere, directed at people who have done absolutely nothing against me in a long time, and I was driving down the highway feeling like I was going to explode. This used to happen all the time. But it's been a while. The only thing I have to explain it is that I haven't been sleeping much the past couple days, and I already know how fucked-up my brain gets on low amounts of sleep. It certainly brings out the psychotic asshole side of my bipolar problems. So I'm going to bed early tonight, because it'll likely be the only good shot I have at it for a few days. And I have no reason to be pissed at these people, let alone allow the shit into my brain that was there for about half an hour this afternoon. It kinda scared me.

5.) Got the Saturn back today. Mom and Dad will be in town for a doctor appointment Wednesday and they're taking the van back then. The car seems to be fine now. Too bad it cost what it did, especially in labor. But hey, this car has done me well in the last year.

6.) I could swear the name I heard called over the PA at work one day last week was "Dick Cable."

Now, if I had a dick like a cable, I wouldn't have to do THIS shit for a living. In fact, I would have a great pornstar name. Hell, with a dick like a cable, I could be the next Ron Jeremy. You know, fat hairy guy with a big schlong. Unfortunately, I'm a fat hairy guy with an average dick and the social skills of a deranged parakeet on crack.

Does he get cable with his dick? That would be cool. Plug yer dong into the wall and get Internet access. I suppose if you were jerking off, it would be like uploading stuff for my next door neighbor to download. Is there a file-sharing network for guys with dicks like cables?

These are the thoughts that kept me from climbing the corporate ladder.

7.) Sheryl and Katie have a new cat. A beautiful little dark girl cat named Mimi. she's very sweet and Katie was so cute telling me about her. "She's not a hunter. She doens't have claws. And she's very calm." Coming out of a four-year old the way it comes out of Katie, it was very cool. I think Mimi has a great new home.

8.) Most of the women at the new job are significantly older and/or not to my taste. (To clarify, I know I go on and on about wanting to fuck women half my age, but I also rather like older women, and the women I've actually been with have been older than me. But the ones I'm talking about are a LOT older than me. That's all I'm sayin'.)

But I saw a blonde walk by today that made my head turn. I swear, hers did too. For a split second we were looking over our shoulders at each other. I have no idea what she was thinking. I was thinking...

9.) Holy fuckin' Christ I need a blowjob.

10.) A lovely young lady reminded me of The Flaming Lips a few days ago, and I pulled out The Soft Bulletin, easily one of my ten or so favorite albums of the past ten or so years. I'm listening to it now, and damn, it makes me happy.

11.) Holy fuckin' Christ I need a blowjob. I know, that's eleven things. But I just thought I'd mention it again. You know, to give it emphasis and stuff.

12.) OK, let's make it twelve and see if you can count better thanme. I had a dream the other night where all I remember is Mike Keneally trying to hand me a plate with a stack of pancakes on it. This morning I woke up from a dream where all I remember is me and A alone in a court room and she's asking me if I knew "that girl" (who quite clearly is a big teaser, she took me half the way there) was a minor when I fucked her. My dreams are getting fuckin' bizarre.

I need a fuckin' blowjob,
Dougie
PS The Soft bulletin just finished, so I put in Beck's Mutations. Goddamn, I love this too. Is that 13 things?

6 Comments

The Meek Shall Inherit Nothing

Katie and I spent most of the day at Bill's. His friend (uber-engineer) Brian came over with his fabulous wife and two super-cool sons, and Katie got to play with a couple very cool little boys while the adults made vegeterian lunch items. My own speciality was made of two cans of beans with onions, black pepper, a Moroccan hot sauce of Bill's (which kicked ASS) and a bit of Hungarian hot paprika. I also threw some mushrooms into olive oil, safflower oil, and vinegar with black pepper. but I think I ate all that myself. It's nice to cook for others sometimes. I don't get to do it often anymore. Brian fried some eggplant with curry powder, which made my weenus hard. And he played me a bit of David Gilmour's new solo album. which also induced some serious woodness. I need to cook eggplant and crank up former Floyd members myself sometime. Yum.

Did the drive to Cincy on three hours sleep listening to You Are What You Is, easily one of my four or five favorite Zappa albums. It's a goddamn powerhouse motherfuck of a vocal extravaganza, probably the most totally sing-along--ish thing he ever did. The whole section from Society Pages to Conehead is one of my very favorite things in the universe. Killer vocals with killer lyrics, and goddamn if those bass grooves don't make me totally gay for Scott Thunes.

I sang along to the whole goddamn thing. Well, except for the few minutes I broke down crying wishing Frank was still here. That album sets off things in my neurocenters that makes me far more sentimental and mushy for Frank's memory than he'd ever approve of himself. but goddamn it, he literally changed my life and I owe a LOT to him and his music. It makes me happy in ways that almost nothing else can.

Sometimes I wonder what he'd have to say if he were still here today, seeing the SHIT that goes on in Bush's America. But I already know the answer, he wrote it over 25 years ago:

You can’t run a country by a book of religion
Not by a heap or a lump or a smidgeon
Of foolish rules of ancient date
Designed to make you all feel great
While you fold, spindle and mutilate
Those unbelievers from a neighboring state

His music still touches me in a very special place, a place almost unknown in a freeze-dried American Idol environment. Damn you Frank, you left us too soon.

I had to talk to Katie for a while today, to express my feelings on this one year anniversary of me leaving home. I tried to make it as short and uncomplicated as possible. Seeing as how she fell asleep about two minutes later, I suppose it worked. :) but I mostly told her how proud I am of her, how much she's grown up in the past year, how amazed I am by how smart and funny she is. I can't believe her, I can't begin to relate back all the things she said today that tore my head off and made me happy to be her daddy. Bill said at least four times, "How dare you have such a cool daughter." All I could say in reply was "Hey, me and Sheryl just set the ball rolling. Katie ran with it all on her own. I take very little responsibility for how cool she is. She did it herself."

I miss her already.

i'm tired, drunk, and needing a shower. I get up in six hours for work. Fuckin' shit. I wish I was with my little girl instead.

Love,
Dougie

4 Comments

Honey Please, Just Take Me To The Backseat

As you can undoubtedly tell, I didn't get laid this weekend. Big fuckin' surprise, eh?

It was a fun time, though. Tonight's gig in Elwood (Indiana Klan stronghold, yippie fuckin' skippie) was a lot of fun, I played well, and probably delivered the best backing vocals of my entire musical career. My solo set consisted of The Beatles' Something (which i'd not done live since playing coffeeshops half a decade ago) and Neil Young's Heart Of Gold. I sang the hell out of them, I thought. I felt controlled and relatively relaxed, given that my forearms were in moderate pain all night. I'm upping my vitamin C intake this week, this shit is getting old.

You'd have no idea that the stunning knockout woman in the red shirt (continuously coming up to expose her newly-flat stomach) line-dancing to us tonight just had a baby twelve days ago. Our guitarist's wife is a force of nature. I'm happy for her to be able to have such a great supportive family nearby to help with the new little one so she can come back out and see us again. And I'm in AWE of her energy. She did the birth almost totally natural (one mild drug at 4 cm, that was it) and here she is out dancing (OK, she wasn't pushing herself THAT hard, but goddamn, she was out there MOVING) and looking FUCKING AMAZING. She turns 23 this Friday. What I wouldn't give to have a vibrant, beautiful young lady like her in my life. Watching her dance, you could just tell it was the best damn thing for her to be doing, to get herself back into things and...damn, what an incredible girl. He's the luckiest guy I know, and I'll be damned it she isn't fuckin' lucky too. Two of the coolest people on the planet.

The first gig I did with these guys as an official member upon rejoining last year was at the same place in Elwood. Having some serious flashbacks to the last year this weekend, I realized just how happy I am to be doing this again. These guys are making my life so much better now, even with some assorted bullshit that really is pretty minor when I think about it. There was some bitching last night about how the crowd wasn't into us (they were all 20-30-somethings who probably would have gone apeshit if we played some Godsmack or some shit like that, but weren't into our '60s vibe) but fuck it, I made $240 this weekend playing bass. What the fuck do I have to complain about? Oh yeah, I can't do it more often. Other than that...fuck, I'm happy to be playing like this again. We're gigging five of the next six weeks. This is fuckin' good.

I felt good tonight. I felt ON. even with my hands not being back into shape totally, I played my ass off, took some chances, got funky with my bad white self, and I don't know what anyone else thought (maybe they just thought I looked ridiculous) but I'll be fuckin' goddamned if I didn't feel like one hot little bitch up there. I was totally into it, I felt the groove like a total fuckbastard, I sang like my balls were hitting the floor, and I swear, there were times my dick felt about as long as the neck on my four-stringed motherfucker. Too bad the only women in the place were with other guys, because goddamn it I DESERVED to get laid tonight. Given how I normally feel like dogshit about myself, I think I can get away with being impressed with myself this one time. Shit, I'd suck my dick myself if I could reach. You fuckin' rock, Dougie. Let me blow you...shit, that one vertebrae keeps getting in the way! I think that vertebrae will be the thing to go in our next evolutionary step. It's my theory, and my fervent prayer.

I'm a sick fuck, but I had access to a computer by myself for a while today, and got a quick lesson in how much I need a new monitor. This one is so fucking dark, and getting to cruise some of the more...uh..."educational" websites I'm fond of perusing, I realized that it's been a long fuckin' time since I got to TRULY enjoy the wide world of Internet porn. I'm a purist about this - fuck the airbrushed "high class" shit, I wanna see a WOMAN down there working that dick. Who the fuck wants soft-edged polite porn? It's about fulfilling my base carnal needs, not art, goddammit. I found one site with this incredible blue-eyed blonde and...oh man...call me a crude bastard, but there's no sight in this world better than that of a beautiful woman with a dick in her mouth. Looking up with...oh fuck...those eyes. I fucking miss that...

I called A Friday and left a message, but by late Saturday (I keep forgetting that I'm 2 1/2 hours into Sunday right now) I figured she'd blown me off and I'd never see her again. But right after I left for the gig, the phone rang and there she was. She's got a lot on her plate right now and couldn't make it to the gig, but she really made me feel that she wants to see us sometime. Oh well, maybe next week.

I'm still trying to adjust my feelings here. I REALLY like her a lot, and I wanted to find some magic word to make her be mine, but that's not gonna happen, and I'm still having to tell myself that this is OK, that it's OK to just be friends. It IS OK, dammit. It really is. But...I'm tired of being alone. And I'm tired of all the best women I meet being unattainable. And I'm tired of being such a fucking PUSSY about all this. Fuckin' hell.

Roger McGuinn is singing My Back Pages for me. Yeah, I'm younger than that now too. And it feels good. I've got a long way to go to get my personal shit together, but I feel more alive than I have in a long, long fuckin' time.

Home. Haven't been here in nearly two days. Time for go to bed, Tor. Gotta get up in a few hours and go see Katie. Then dive headfirst into Hellweek. I might not be able to see straight by the end of the week from running my ass off, but goddammit, it's fuckin' great to be alive. If there's anyone here who doesn't think it's fuckin' great to be alive, they should leave right now, because this blog is gonna bring them right down.

Calling any vegetable,
Dougie

5 Comments

'Til I Reach My Highest Ground

In fact, I actually was trying to do just that. Very cute girl. Medium build, brown hair, granny glasses. Not amazing, but very, very cute.

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you've gotta be the cutest thing I've seen all day."

A total fucking lie. I'd seen at least a dozen women at the gig who looked better. Jesus, Doug, you prick. But hey, I'm trying to get some pussy here.

"Wow. Thank you. I don't here that too often."

"Oh, I'd think you'd hear it seven or eight times a day." Now I'm REALLY laying on the horseshit...

Big smile. Damn, she's cute. I'd like to ruin her life. Come here baby, let Dougie give you half an inch of something that'll make you turn lesbo in five seconds. Yeah, baby. You know you want it.

I'm going to Hell.

So she comes back. And I'm about to push it farther, because it looks like I might have a shot at this girl. She asks me if I want more coffee (I did something TOTALLY against my moral code and got decaf, but I'd like to actually sleep tonight since I know I won't for a week) and gives me that cute smile. Like she's anticipating something.

"No thanks. And...uh...er..."

I totally choked. She let out the cutest laugh, like she thought *I* was cute for completely losing my shit and forgetting how to SPEAK.

For fuck's sake, asshole, you got this far. Close the goddamn deal.

Why am I such a fucking pussy?

I took the idiot way out and borrowed a pen from the guy up front. "You're a very lovely young lady, and I'd enjoy the opportunity to get to know you better." Left my name and phone number.

Fucking pussy.

Because I've had it on my mind, I sang Just Like A Woman tonight, then Lay Lady Lay, which I'd done with Dennis, but I hadn't sang it myself for an audience until tonight. I can do it better, but it was pretty good. I played OK, not brilliantly, but I'm getting my desire to explore back in full force, and I went for a lot of different licks tonight, trying to play shit I hadn't played before. I did pretty well. Pounded the groove on one of the newer things in our repetoire, Stevie Wonder's Higher Ground. What a killer tune that is.

If I had the kind of balls talking to women that I do playing bass, I'd be getting blown six times a day. Goddamn it I'm such a fucking pussy.

Oh well. We'll see what happens tomorrow. I'm at my parents' now, I'll be staying here in Marion all day tomorrow, do some genealogy stuff, go to the next gig tomorrow around 6:00 to set up.

And Sunday I'll see Katie. One year to the day after I left. I still remember that day very clearly. I'm glad I've managed to make up for some of what I did to her in running across the country like that.

Now if I can just keep her from being a total fucking coward like her daddy is, maybe she'll grow up right. Shit, she's already smarter than I am.

Fucking pussy,
Dougie

2 Comments

Another Babe Story

The girl at the counter was INSANELY HOT. Blonde, bright blue eyes. Her eyes nearly had me on the floor in PAIN, they were so fucking beautiful. Come on guys, you've seen a woman like this. Who seems to be shooting invisible rays of male-paralyzing light from her eyes, that makes you nearly collapse into a big puddle of drool on the floor. I ain't the only one like this, goddammit.

She looked like some sort of prototypical California beach girl. Jenny kinda looked like that too. This one was different, but the same kind of vibe.

I took one look at her and nearly dropped a can of Arizona Green Tea on the floor. I swear to you, I felt my hands shaking.

I got my sandwich and she rang me up. Big friendly smile. "How are you today?"

I saw the nametag. Sam.

Somehow, I managed to keep it together and just fire off a semi-normal reply. Albeit with an extra tag on the end. What I WANTED to say was "My life is worthless without you. Can I just stand here and look into your eyes until I die?"

But I didn't say that shit. Thank Christ.

"Well, it's a weird day. Starting a new job way too far from home, running off to another job now, I probably won't sleep much in the next couple weeks. But on the other hand, I'm being served by a remarkably beautiful woman."

I'd kill to have video of her reaction.

She stepped back. Not in the way you'd figure. You know, like "Get closer to me and I'll mace your ass, you freak."

It was like she'd been hit by a brick. The smile on her face was...goddamn. I need to see that again. It was somewhere between "Wow, a guy just called me remarkably beautiful, how cool is that?" and "Fuck yeah, I'm a hot babe! You're the master of the bleeding obvious!" Wow. What a cool reaction. The best mix of genuine surprise and cockiness I've ever seen from a woman, I think.

She actually said this: "You betcha, man!" She sounded like her air had been knocked out of her. Did I REALLY just do that to a woman? Cool!

THAT cracked me up. How fuckin' cool is THAT? It was if she knows how hot she is but never actually expects anyone else to think so. I'm not sure how else to put it. It was PRICELESS.

I had no idea what else to say, so I just forced out the most charming smile I'm capable of. Which probably isn't worth a shit coming from me, but...wow. She really looked pleased.

I had to share that. It was a great moment. I went back there today for another sandwich and another burst of that energy, but she wans't there. Shitfucky. I'll be going by there more often now that I'll be driving through that side of town between the new job and the teaching job, so I'll be making a point of going there.

God DAMN she was hot. I wasn't even thinking about fucking her nearly as much as I was just wanting to LOOK at her for a while. If there is a God, that motherfucker worked double shifts on this girl, I tell ya. Holy FUCK she was beautiful.

Gawd, I love women. Too bad I'm such a complete putz about it sometimes.

Dougie

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I'm Always 30 Years Behind

Goddamn, I'm tired. I've gotta be up by 5:30AM, go to work, and leave work directly for Marion and a gig. We're setting up around 5 and playing from 7-11. I'll stay up there overnight, actually get some rest, and probably hang out at cemeteries and libraries Saturday before our gig that night. Two gigs in two days! Whee! I've also just found out that other than April 1st, we are booked through until the beginning of May now. Double whee! Music! Money! Probably no fucking groupies!

I left a message for A, and I'm hoping she comes to see us Saturday. Perhaps my magnificent stage presence and fabulous skill on the bass will make her all wet and in need of my...oh, who am I kidding. I'll be glad if she shows up at all.

I need to listen to The Band more often.

Emotions went a bit to the dark this morning, but came back after a while, thinking through things. A year ago this week, my life changed. Sunday will be one year since I left Cincinnati. A year ago tonight, I was trying to figure out how to save my marriage, having had "the talk" with her two days previous. The 17th I saw a Keneally/Beller clinic, which was pretty appropriate since the whole reason Sheryl and I met was because of Mike's music. The 18th I decided I couldn't save it and had to leave.

It's been one fuck of a year since. But we're both happier now. We've both proved that we're better off not together, though it's not been easy for either of us. I don't know about her, but I feel we're getting along better than we have in at least 3 or 4 years.

Thank you for doing your part to make this all better in some way, Sheryl. I know I failed miserably at that for a few months, but I hope we're on the right track now. and thank you for the best gift that any woman will ever give me - our Katie. We're pretty fuckin' lucky, dontcha think? :)

Love,
Dougie

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She's Not Only Hot, She's Legal!

I hope you get to fuck your favorite woman twice your age. Now, my birthday is in a few weeks, so maybe a few women half my age will...ehhh, it'll never happen. Dammit.

Happy birthday!

Dougie

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Evolution - It's Not Just For Kansans Anymore

Take it away, Bill Hicks:

"Folks: It's time to evolve ideas. You know, evolution didn't end with us growing thumbs. You do know that, right? Didn't end there. We're at the point, now, where we're going to have to evolve ideas. The reason the world is so fucked up is we're undergoing evolution. And the reason our institutions, our traditional religions, are all crumbling, is because ... they're no longer relevant. They're no longer relevant. So it's time for us to create a new philosophy and perhaps even a new religion, you see. And that's OK 'cause that's our right, 'cause we are free children of God with minds who can imagine anything, and that's kind of our role."

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Get Behind The Mule

Spent a couple hours going around the the places I'd looked at for shit jobs last summer while the temp agency was fucking with me. Then, it was over 90 degrees and I walked four miles in one day, sweating my nards off. Today it was in the 30s and windy as fuck, so I drove.

Came back home, did some fucking dishes (I put it that way because I'm starting to fucking hate doing fucking dishes and I'm always two fucking days behind on it, fucking fuckity fuck) and took a phone call. One of the other offices of the temp agency, offering me a job. Well, whaddya know.

It sucks rancid monkey dong in several respects, but I'll take it for a while. It's a hell of a drive way north of here (Stone, if you're reading this, I'm now working a bit north of you), and on the days I teach, I'll be doing an entire circle around I-465 plus the exttra drive farther north and back. But it doesn't conflict with teaching hours, they offer voluntary overtime I'll likely do the two days a week I don't teach, and it's enough extra per hour to...well, no it's not. But it'll help. I only need another 8 hour day a week to keep on top of child support, two days to feel comfortable with everything else. So I'll pull a few 40 hour weeks to catch up on shit, then drop it for something else.

Of course, I'll now have even LONGER days than I had before, running from 5:30AM to 9;30PM three days a week, on top of gigs and driving to Cincy. but I only need it for a few weeks, thank fuck. Then I can afford to wait a week or two for them to find me something else. If, of course, they do.

This day-to-day existence really kinda sucks, but I've been operating on the gut-feeling that if I follow my instincts, and really pay attention to what's going on inside me, I'll end up OK. Having cleaned up my interior bullshit to a large degree, I finally feel I CAN trust my instincts. And it's been working. Not perfectly by any means, but it's keeping me going better than I've been in years. The universe provides.

I spent a good while last night reading up on Quaker history and belief, and was rather fascinated. I've learned bits and pieces about them through my genealogy work, but reading how they split into different camps, and how widely different many sub-groups are from each other has caught my interest, because I'm finding myself rather attracted to the left end of Quakerism. I'm still working out what little is left of my own spirituality. Much of it has been crushed by, you know, REALITY. One of those little details that come up sometimes.

But the Quaker idea of The Inner Light appeals to me, partly because so many of the people who have taught the idea have gone far to divorce themselves from much of the horseshit that was in the Christianity I grew up with. You don't even actually have to BE a Christian to be accepted by some Quaker groups (though thwere's also the more conservative branches that look and smell like most Protestants) and I find that appealing because well, I'm not that into Jesus anymore. Oh, I LIKE the guy. I think it's sad how little most modern Christianity has to do with the real guy, how much of it has more to do with a bizarre pseudo-literal reading of Old Testament shit that even the Jews know you can't take that seriously. But Jesus? Seems mostly OK to me.

But frankly, I've got more solid spiritual and philosophical content from old George Carlin and Frank Zappa albums than I ever got from the supposed words of Christ. And if you think that's weird, well, I'm not gonna bother trying to explain it. It'll just waste my time and yours.

But I don't worship THEM either. Because it's STUPID, that's why. I have little interest in "God" in the meaning of that word generally accepted, and I have almost none in an "afterlife" that none of us know a fucking thing about, so why the fuck waste my time on it when I'm having a hard enough time getting my shit together in THIS life? What can I do HERE? Not a question asked by people overly concerned about getting into a "Heaven" with angels and gold-paved roads and chocolate bunnies and gee whiz we all get along so well and isn't it boring as fuck. My idea of "Heaven" revolves around never-ending blowjobs, bottomless vats of beer, and getting to eat cows without worrying about the consequences, NOT singing Christmas carols with a bunch of paint-by-numbers white motherfuckers dressed in robes and raising their hands in unison for the flag salute. FUNDAMENTALIST CHRISTIANITY IS NO FUCKING FUN.

Religion serves a valid and useful purpose in the lives of many people. But for the vast majority of religious people I've had contact with, it's little more than another addiction. When booze and pussy lets them down, they find Jesus. Shit, look at our fucking president. Fuck everything up, then find God and pretend you've finally got it together. It's PATHETIC. Nobody finds Jesus on prom night. It's only when you've fucked up so bad nobody else will talk to your annoying ass that most people "find" Jesus. Then they expect you to find him too, because it "worked" so well for them. Yeah. Right.

Personally, I'm into more interesting vices than religion. And that's all it is for most Americans - a socially acceptable VICE, that they use to cover up how goddamn miserable they are when the less-acceptable vices dry up on them.

Me, I'm into porn. Larry Flynt is my personal Lord and Savior, and I worship at the throne of Jenna Jameson's asscheeks. A blessed sacrament is had by me, though I might need some Healing when my arm starts to hurts too much.

Hey, I'm an ADD-riddled freakhole. Cracking open a hymnal isn't going to hold my attention for too fucking long. Ever try to read the book of Leviticus in one sitting without your head exploding? But titties? Praise Gawd! FOCUS is to be found!

But hey, that's just me. I might "share" the Good News that www.pussy.org loves you and wants you to experience fulfillment and purpose in your life, but hey, I'm not gonna PUSH it on you. Your decision, my fine brothers and sisters in Christ.

Go find the articles on Wikipedia about Quaker history and the Inner Light. Makes for good reading, and might even give you a little more hope about SOME religion. Me, I've gotta go wax the dolphin.

Yours In Christ, (but not really IN him, because that's just fuckin' gay)
Dougie

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Well Fuck My Ass And Call Me A Bitch

It's irritating as fuck, but given that I've driven this car 40,000 miles in a year and the only other work done on it (other than near-constant oil-changes, of course) was to replace the starter last summer. It's been very good to me, all things considered.

Most of the cost is labor since it's a bitch to even get in there to work on it. I like how the guy put it. "Well, you've got a Saturn, which is a more reliable vehicle than most and you'll probably have to bring it in half as much as most cars with 135,000 miles on them. On the other hand, it'll cost you twice as much to do some of the work given how it's put together. If it was my car, it would cost you $200. Of course, my car needs about $600 of other work right now." he gave me a ride home in his car. I was amused to be in a car owned by a guy who does this shit for a living, but HIS car was rattling and wheezing and fucked up all over. Sounded like the whole exhaust system was about to explode, and it took about seven hours to get into second gear. Go figure. Yeah, I'm lucky I suppose.

I'm leaving it there until Monday since I won't have the money before then. Fuck. Now I've gotta worry more about rent. Everything else is done for the month, thank fuck.

I've put over $120 of gas in the van in less than two weeks. Fucker gets nearly half the mileage the Saturn does, which is another reason to love the Saturn - between 30-35 mpg on the highway.

Too bad I know fuck-all about cars, or I'd try to do some of the work myself. But I can't even operate a fucking can opener, so...

Fucking temp agency is worthless. They offered me a job yesterday that cuts into my hours on everything else, so I couldn't take it. That's all they've had this week. i told the music store last night to go ahead an open up Monday nights for lessons, but I'm not expecting much in the way of new people.

So, back out to find some part-time shit to supplement what I've got. I'm making around $50-60 a week less than I was before. It'w worth it to finally get into something that frees some time up and allows me to breath, but the downside is that I've gone from running my ass off with no time for anything, to having so much time on my hands I don't know what the fuck to do with it.

Well, I know now. Go find some more income, asshole.

Love,
Dougie

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"Would You Like To Read My Poems?"

One goddamn wish
Before I shoot putty at the moon
Dear sweet motherfuckin' Christ on a crutch
Send me some heavenly poon

Is it so much to ask, Lord?
Or are you just hanging there all bored?
I've got a set of pliers, let me help you down
If you'll find me one really good nympho cock-worshipper in this fuckin' goddamn town

OK, it's not exactly Shakespeare

Dougie

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Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

A rather cute woman, maybe my age or slightly younger, was in front of me in line. Nicely filled out, a bit overweight in a very nice way. Looked soft and warm. Shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair, slightly curly, nice rack, very white skin.

She turned around and caught me looking at her.

A nice smile. "How are you tonight?"

"Oh, OK." She's got me. What do I say now?

"Found you some soap, huh?"

"Yeah." About as intelligent a reply as I could think of. I was still looking, now at her tits. I wanted to look away, but it seemed pointless now. Gawd, I'm so fucking obvious.

She got her stuff, and walked towards the door. Slowly. She was looking back at me. Holy shit.

I got my soap and walked to the door, she was standing outside with her cart, fiddling with a cell phone.

"I'm Doug."

"I'm Karen."

"Heading home?"

"Yeah, my husband is waiting for me."

"Shit."

Yes, I actually said that. As I was telling myself not to say that.

She laughed. And reached a hand out. Touched me...holy fuck...touched my face. "You're really cute."

I think I blubbered something incoherent.

"Sorry, I've got to go home." Looked right into my eyes as if to say she didn't really want to. And did. And...what the fuck WAS she trying to tell me? Goddammit.

I was spanking the biscuit before I got through the door home. FUCK.

Now, why is it that I've now got at least three very nice comments from women in the past few days and I STILL feel like a worthless sack of shit?

FUCK.

Fuck,
Dougie

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It's Getting Late, And I'm Losing My Mind

I have an intense desire to drive 800 miles northwest of here and ravage her delicious young body right now.

Love (or something vaguely similar),
Dougie

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You've Got The Universe Reclining In Your Hair

Took a good walk today, nearly two miles, I figure. Put on the headphones and walked to Jeff Buckley's Grace. Christ, what an amazing album. Brilliant emotive writing, an astounding Jimmy Page-esque command of dissonance, and what an incredible singer. I'd gladly donate a testicle to scienee to be able to sing like that. Of course, I'd HAVE to chop a nut off to do some of that...

Speaking of science, "science" was the secret word at the gig last night. I vaguely suggested we should do Thomas Dolby's She Blinded Me With Science, because I'd been singing along with it in the car for no apparant reason, and I thought it would be funny to weird out our audience with something like that. So I kept yelling "Science!" in my best Dolby voice all night. I think Ike Willis would approve. Maybe I should do the "Hi-ho Silver!" thing next week just to fuck with the guys since they'd have no idea what I was going on about. Yes, I am the king of the retarded references. Luckilly, the singer gets most of them.

Worked on some toons today, felt pretty good. I might just be able to pull off XTC's I'm The Man Who Murdered Love, which is a bit of a bitch for me to sing, but I'm getting there. The upper part of my vocal range isn't completely consistent yet, but it's stronger and has developed a different tone to it than I'm used to, which is an interesting thing to listen to coming out of myself. I'm pretty sure I like it.

Later, I went out for a bit with the magnificent d9, who bought us a very fine Mexican dinner. I went vegetarian tonight and enjoyed some beans instead of meat. We also admired the fabulous babe-age at the SuperTarget, which seems to be where all the luscious thin 20-something blondes shop. I'm glad the more natural hippie-girl look is back. I'm a total sucker for a girl with long straight hair and sad eyes. Makes me think of Susan, who I seem to think about a lot more these days.

Marc Bolan was a real character. I need to internalize this T. Rex stuff, I've never really dug into them the way I should have. We used to do Jeepster and Baby Strange in the band back when we were more inclined to be that interesting (which I miss, but hey, we're still having a damn good time anyway) but I didn't folow them like the singer did.

A good measure of how far we've gone towards a more safe approach is that they're asking me to sing the one Mountain song anyone knows (Mississippi Queen) and we USED to do Nantucket Sleighride, a bizarre, intricate series of constantly-shifting riffage that nobody listens to and is impossible to dance to. I'd shoot up the neck on one brief section and rip out an upper-register Jack Bruce-esque solo, I'd fuck with the groove, we'd ATTACK the faster sections, and even though we seldom actually nailed it, it was ALWAYS a crazed ride that guaranteed anyone still left in the room would be sitting there wondering what the fuck was going on.

Yeah, I miss that shit. We did a lot of stuff I didn't care for too, but when we got left-field we sure were a lot of fun. Jesus, these guys used to let me do five-minute solos through heavy fuzz, delay, and wah on psychedelic tunes. THAT won't happen again. Oh well...

We used to do Oh Well. The REAL Fleetwood Mac. We also used to be lucky to get one gig a month. Shit.

No work tomorrow, which is irritating, but I'm going to be a bit more aggressive with these assholes, and I've got a couple places to check back on for shitty part-time work. Five or six more students would make all the difference and keep me from needing this extra work, but I'm not holding my breath.

Another cool version of Summertime Blues to add to my list on this T. Rex comp. I love Eddie Cochran's original, the Blue Cheer one is a veritable motherfucker of psychotic grunge, and The Who's version is a goddamn Entwistle bass clinic. Funnily enough, Dennis and I were doing it similar to this acoustic T. Rex version. Another one to keep for my own gig.

Well, the gee-tar is calling me. Tomorrow I'll be doing more research on the family history stuff by the airport. The Plainfield library has some stuff held for me. Very helpful people there. Soemtimes I wonder if I shouldn't go back to school and aim for library work. I actually think i'd almost enjoy that. Maybe pick up on some cute little bookworm who turns into an insatiable cock-hound when her glasses are off. Yeah, that'll happen IMMEDIATELY, won't it?

I need poon,
Dougie

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Every time I see your face, I think of things unpure, unchaste...

I did two songs solo I've never played out before. in fact, I hadn't played Blowin' In The Wind at all in several years until I ran through it twice yesterday afternoon. I did it well, but I had a lot of adrenaline going through my, and I could hear myself not being very relaxed.

Then I did my solo version of Robin Trower's Bridge Of Sighs. Which sounds really fuckin' cool on an acoustic 12-string, but mine is with a friend in Cincy, so I did it on a clean electric. I'd normally be a little more adventurous with the guitar, but I think I damn near nailed it vocally. I'm finding things that suit me better, and I love James Dewar's voice anyway, so it's nice to pay tribute to him in my way now that he's no longer with us. I got a couple nice comments about doing that song, it's certainly not one you hear often anymore, and I've never heard of anyone doing it as a solo guitar/vocal performance before.

I'm going to cycle through a lot of material in my two-song spot with the band, as a kind of preparation for doing this out myself more often. I'm about ready. I've not felt this good about it since...well, I NEVER have. I did it for a while before moving to Cincy, and I did it once down there. But I wasn't totally sure of myself, then I started having so many problems ith my throat that I thought I'd never be able to do it again.

But I'm singing better than I ever have, I have a better sense of what to do with the guitar (play very little, for the most part) and I'm finding material that I can both do well and that I really connect with. We've got three gigs in the next two weeks (one just got added on the 25th) and I'll probably be doing different stuff each night.

I'm also putting together a CD of songs i'd like to sing with the full band. I'll fill the disc up with the intent of only really doing a few of them, and let the other guys pick. They want me to try Mississippi Queen, which would be fun, and since I've got a Leslie West vibe around my belt line anyway...

The guitarist suggested Rockin' In The Free World, unaware that I'd done that years ago with my previous band. So hey, I'll probably be singing that again in the near future. I love that song. Of course, I'd sing any damn Neil Young song anyone cares to mention.

Listening to Exile In Guyville, the first Liz Phair album. I love her early stuff, most of her newer material strikes me as very formulaic and boring. Gotta love the rawness of this album, both musically and lyrically. Hey baby, you can be MY blowjob queen anyday. I've tried to describe Amanda before, but the closest I can come up with is that she looks not a hell of a lot different than Liz Phair 10-12 years ago. So yeah, this album makes my dick hard.

Trying to formulate a plan on how to go after Amanda now that she's available. She knows I like her, but I've prided myself on taking my time and doing things right in my little flirt-games with her. Now that I think I might really have a shot at her, I've gotta keep that intact, but I HAVE to go for it, and soon. I'll be going back in there sometime this week.

Been exchanging some vague mails with a 30-year old divorced blonde lady who lives 45 minutes or so south of here. She called me a "hottie", which makes me quite certain that she's either full of shit, clinically insane, or a 47-year old truck-driving cowboy from Texas. But MAYBE she's actually the rather cute little vixen her pics claim her to be, and genuinely is interested in me. She does come off pretty cool herself. Hmmmm...

Red beans and rice with coffee for lunch. I've become quite fond of Seattle's Best coffee. Fuck Starbucks. I try to keep my caffeine intake down a bit, but now that I've figured some of my problems in the past years have had a lot more to do with sugar (I've gotta be borderline diabetic) than caffeine, I'm enjoying coffee again.

I had more meat this week than I've had in a month. And I felt like shit for a couple days. That'll teach me. I'm having fish tonight. But no pork and very little beef for at least a week. Some sliced chicken and turkey in the fridge for lunches, but I'm going to stretch that out as far as I can too. Maybe I'll bake some squash this afternoon. Got various veggies waiting for me. Thank fuck I'm more used to eating this way, it's really saving my ass. I can THINK again.

Was more tired than I thought I'd be coming home from the gig. Pulled over for an hour at once place halfway here, then again for almost four hours on the north end of town. I was only 20 minutes or so from home, but I've become less willing to take chances at that time of night. I've driven home so fucked-up I barely kept it on the road, and that shit is scaring me more now. I wasn't even that far gone last night, but fuck it. I was pretty comfortable in the van (I'll be getting the car worked on this week, I'm still driving my parents' van) so I got some sleep in the parking lot of a Village Pantry, woke up and sucked-back a sugar-free energy drink, and came home feeling pretty good around 8:30 this morning. I actually rather liked it that way. I keep having to fight off this crazed desire to drive all over the country again, and if I do, I'll likely save myself a shitload of money by just sleeping on the side of the road somewhere. Feels like freedom to me. Or maybe I'm just a pseudo-romantic cheesehead. Fuck, I don't know.

Gawd, Liz. PLEASE fuck me 'til my dick is blue. You little tease.

Nice day out there for once, though the temps are dropping again soon. Think I'll go outside. Haven't done enough of that lately.

Love,
Dougie

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Maybe I Need Therapy After All

I'm sitting at a table playing cards with a group of women. Women I've been with, and the women I've wanted to be with the most.

They're all dressed in black. I'm naked. My chair is cold.

So are they.

Amanda starts laughing. "I'm gonna get every dime you have. Are you ready for my big plastic dick in your ass again, Dougie?"

Again?

Susan just sits there, looking at me as if to say, "Wow, I wasted two years fucking you, you loser."

The girl I was crazy about in high school, Teresa, has a bucket of dead fish. She keeps throwing them at me.

Another Teresa, the girl from college who told me she wanted to be a nun the night we went out, is just smiling. As if to say, "It's fun to watch you squirm, asshole."

Jenny keeps rolling her eyes and looking like she'd rather be beaten senseless with one of those dead fish than be in this room.

Finally, pornstar Deidre Holland comes up to me. Pulls her clothes off, sits in my lap. Leans in to kiss me. And turns into my mother.

I woke up after that.

I can't even get wood right now.

Dougie

5 Comments

Taking My Shit Entirely Too Seriously Tonight

I took Katie back to her Mommy tonight.

I wanted to write at length about this week, but I'm not feeling it. It all went more or less as planned, Katie had a great time, and I really have nothing to complain about. But mostly it underscored how little time we have together normally, and added to a general feeling of being alone that I've felt hit me over and over again all week.

Saw Amanda today, which didn't help. I don't really know what to think about her, where she's coming from. One minute I think she's really interested in me, the next I think she's blowing me off, and I'm starting to think it's all in my fucking head anyway. But at least I heard HER voice and not our fool president's like in the dream earlier this week. And as best as I can tell, she doesn't have a dick. At this point in my spiritual evolution, I'm not even sure I give a fuck.

Rum and lemon juice are my friends this evening.

Gig tomorrow night. New songs to learn. The CD full of new material is mostly semi-satisfying, though a few things make my nuthairs stand on end. (I Hate Myself For Loving You? How fucking cock-rock can you get? We've Got Tonight? As if we can't find a decent piano-based ballad that ISN'T a worthless overwrought sack of pseudo-sincere horseshit?)

I've nearly given up on much more than hacking away in a whore-like bar band existence for the rest of my life, my week broken up with 7-year old students who never practice. It's not so bad. It beats the fuck out of making 8 bucks an hour in a goddamn warehouse. It's probably the best I'll ever fucking do in this degenerate backwards shithole called the Midwest. But it's a long way removed from anything resembling a true challenge. So long as this empty-headed kindergarten culture gets its entertainment information from television and swine like Clear Channel, assholes like me might as well get used to settling for thirty-seventh best. It ain't getting any better, and I'm tired of wasting my energy worrying about it when nobody else gives two fucks. If you take the time to stand up and say "This is fucking stupid", the only response you'll get is "Yes, we know! Isn't it GREAT?"

I'm going to go listen to some '73-'74-era King Crimson bootlegs and drink some more. Good night, you fuckers.

Love,
Dougie

4 Comments

My Brain Hurts

Fucking horrific dream last night, but really funny if it's not YOU, so you fuckers might enjoy this:

I'm fucking Amanda. On a pile of leaves in a dark green room with bad lighting, some kind of mucous all over the walls, and the worst Southern rock imaginable on the radio. I'm trying to focus on banging her instead of this other shit, becuase my head might explode.

It's one of those weird disconnected dreams where everything blurs into each other and time is kinda relative. So next thing you know, she has a dick. And she's behind me. About to ram it, ram it, ram it, ram it up my poop-chute. Cornhole!

She opens her mouth. The voice of George W. Bush comes out. "We are a peacful nation."

That's when I woke up.

I need more kelp in my diet or something. Holy FUCK.

So that's been my day so far. LOL.

Dougie

6 Comments

"Uh, Honey? Try Not To Look Through The Neighbor's Window..."

We just got back to the apartment. My Katie is here! My Katie is here!

Gonna be a good week,
Dougie

2 Comments

Attack Of The Incompetent Fuckweasels

It is probably a good thing that I have this blog in which to take out my frustrations over things that nobody else on the planet would have any real reason to give two shits about, because otherwise I might be in prison now on assault and intent on bodily harm charges, and not for any truly worthwhile reason.

Fucknoodle The Great strikes again. said noodle being the entire place I work for.

Since starting work for the Indianapolis offices of this particular temp agency last May, I have met two boss-type people who have struck me as having any real brains, and only one of them was completely trustworthy. That one being Jenny, who never let me down, and I feel pretty stupid for being such a drooling idiot around her, because she's a very capable and cool person who restored my faith in humanity (or at least this two-bit temp agency) at exactly the time I needed it most.

Her professionalism, her speed at handling problems, her friendliness, and her altogether excellence as a person to work for has left a special place in my heart for Jenny. OK, her ass too. And...well, everything. Working for somebody that good, yet also that unspeakably beautiful and charming...wow...

She inspired me to care more about my work for the seven months I was there, and to do it better. Well, at least when I wasn't accidentally back-ordering a $25,000 skid of parts because I was too busy watching that goddess-like ass walk by instead of watching the fucking computer screen like I was being PAID to. I rather miss her. I'm sure she's relieved I'm no longer around.

When I left there to make room for more students a couple weeks ago, I had become so accustomed to having a reliably fine experience with this agency through her, that I'd forgotten exactly just how goddamn WORTHLESS they were for the two and a half months previous to meeting Jenny. Oh, I remembered, I just didn't quite connect with the memory.

Thursday when I left the first job they'd got me in the week since I'd left Jenny, I found my car leaking like an entire crew of frat boys after a three-day keg bash. I scrambled around trying to fix it, then called M (the guy who was the equivalent of Jenny at this new place) to tell him I would be in late Friday morning because I had to get the car fixed.

That evening, my parents offered to bring the van up and save me the expense of the repairs for a week or so. It took them most of Friday morning to show up, but that was fine, I was prepared and they helped me out in a big way.

I ended up calling M to tell him I wouldn't be in at all. I was leaving messages. I never once heard back from him.

I had known exactly what I was doing this week with Katie coming, but I kinda fudged that when I told him Thursday morning that I "might" not be available after today (Monday) because of the plans around Sheryl's business trip. It was fine with him, he told me the job was only for a few days anyway (many of them are there, and I was fine with that this time) and he walked me back to where I was to work. Nice guy. I've spent maybe five minutes around him in my life now.

I called the main office Friday afternoon to tell them that I couldn't get with M, he hadn't called me back, but I needed to give my notice, I would DEFINITELY be available Monday (today) and had every intention of being there. They told me to go ahead and try him again, he'd been out most of that day but should be back in his office.

He wasn't, so I left another message saying what I'd said to them, and left it at that. Spent half an hour lying on the floor face down (first time that's happened in a while, but at least this time I could THINK) trying to process all the shit from that week, and prepare myself for going out with A. We went out, you know that story now.

I couldn't sleep for FUCK last night. I tried to get down around 10:30, but was up a lot and probably didn't go to sleep until 3AM. I was to wake up at 5:30AM to get to work.

I dragged my dead ass out and was a couple minutes late, but I got there.

I went back to M's office, since I figured not having heard from him this whole time, I might want to connect and see what was going on. He wasn't in his office, the girl outside said he hadn't showed up yet.

I went back to where I'd been stationed Thursday. Two people there instead of the dozen before. "Oh, they sent the temps to another station Friday, we don't need you here."

I went back to M's. office. Still not there.

I looked around to see where the temps might be. Didn't see hardly anyone. I worked there a couple days last summer, the place is barren compared to what ti was then, probably because the company they store stuff for has sent the vast majority of its operations to Mexico. I know this because they shut down a plant in my hometown last year, thereby wrecking that shit town's economy even worse than it already was. My uncle worked there for years (in fact, my parents met when they both worked there in the late 60s, through my uncle) and is now in semi-retirement years before he'd planned on.

i went back up to the metal detectors. You've gotta go through security to get in. They have the same kind of alert, concientious, efficient staff you'd expect at any fine airport. You know, morons.

He checked around and told me I had to go home. They didn't need me. There wasn't a single other temp in the building. They'd all been sent home early Friday.

Well gee, isn't that nice to know. Half an hour after I showed up.

I clocked out, took a big shit in the men's room, and didn't flush. Fuck 'em anyway. I would have used a turd to express my inner emotions in written form on the already-filthy mirror, but I'd eaten something terrible and life-destroying the night before, and my shit looked like something you'd find in a chocolate-factory meltdown after a mudslide. I swear to you, I could put drywall up with this shit. Must remember to get my fiber.

I called the temp office. Nobody there, of course. It was 7AM. they get there around 7:30. I left a message.

Then I drove up there, thinking I would have loved to have known in advance I would be out driving around exactly in the area where I was going to do my genealogy research this week. Maybe then I wouldn't have to drive home and back to get my stuff. Oh well, I had a blog entry formulating in my head, and you're reading that shit right now. Make the most of your opportunities, you know.

The girl let me in, asked what I needed, and told me to come back. Their computers weren't up yet.

I drove through Plainfield to a little cafe, and had a pretty good cheap breakfast. Coffee. Thank you, Jeezus. Coffee. While pissing in the restroom, I noticed the pattern of holes in the bottom of the urinal. Because this is the way my brain works at 7:45AM after limited sleep combining with three cups of coffee.

Let's see if I can html this thing properly:

I immediately thought of Hunter S. Thompson's double-thumbed Gonzo logo. Yes Hunter, you are with me wherever I go.

I went back. Was told I needed to talk to M. Oh, of course. The guy who isn't there.

Finally I got him on the phone. He was very apologetic, said he was out most of that day, had got my messages and knew he needed to call back, but it had "got away from me." OK, I accept that. And your apology. You're a nice guy, I know shit happens.

But that doesn't do me any fucking favors. I showed up ready to work. I HAD to work, becuase this was the one day I knew I'd be ABLE to (I might be able to pull it off Wednesday, but I don't know yet) with my schedule trying to take care of Katie, get her up to my parents', and teach. By the way, I'd kinda like to be able to pay the state of Ohio my child support payment, I'm sure they'll appreciate the effort too, which is taken out by the temp agency every week, and this ONE day would have been enough to cover it. Now I have to come up with it through student money, money which is a fair amount less than I thought it would be because of the number of students who didn't show up. This isn't the temp agency's problem, but dragging my ass out of bed at 5:30AM to drive 20 miles for NOTHING because nobody bothered to CALL me IS their problem, goddammit.

I left a message for B, the only person in the entire place other than Jenny who has made me feel good about this shithead organization's Indy operations. They seemed FAR more together down in Cincy, where the company is based.

Fuckers.

When I dealt with King Asshole last summer at one of the other offices, I had a situation like this where I showed up and nobody was there. I stayed half an hour, just like it ended up this morning. I was paid a few weeks later for the whole nine-hour day I'd have worked. I've been given the impression this is something approximati