pissshiver

Oh. My. God.

I just stole this from Sheryl's blog. This is my daughter. And I STILL can't believe it. Wow.  

Love,
Dougie 

It's Easter Everywhere

I left work and found the Chinese place in Speedway I'd eaten at the day I dropped the Psychobitch off in fuckin' Brownsburg. (Go back a couple months for THAT story.) I was about to tell the woman my order when the phone rang.

The temp agency. Oh joy. I'm no longer working in fuckin' Brownsburg.

It really sucks, honestly. I almost liked the job, the people were really nice, and the pay was enough to make up for the drive for now. And I NEED to be working. I've got through to the end of the month and I'll manage to squeak through the most important bills, but now I have to worry about the OTHER shit.

The girl at the temp agency told me the job ending had nothing to do with me, and was simply a matter of there not being enough work. Well, I hope it wasn't about me, since they were so positive to me and seemed to like me. As far as the amount of work, there had been more each day. What the fuck?

I'll use tomorrow to catch up on packing shit. But i'd rather be making money.

I might have to look for work in Cincy earlier than I thought, start staying down there in a week or so, come back up here and finish things on weekends. It doens't REALLY bother me (and I'm out of here in two and a half weeks anyway) but I was hoping to have more cash in the next couple weeks to catch up on bills from here.

Listening to Peter Gabriel's first album. Damn, I love this shit.

I had a lot of inner shit in my head I wanted to write about, but I'm not feeling it right now. But I've once again had the feeling that every time I think I'm over year-old anger, something comes back and hits me in the ass with it again. And it appears I'm not alone in this. Damn. I'd hoped we'd finally got past all that shit. We SHOULD. We've both got better things to do. I don't want to to feel these things. i'd rather be happy.

I found out something amazing a few hours ago. I've been listening to Roky Erikson a lot recently, and I just learned that he's been back out playing gigs again since last fall. Those who don't know about him might be familiar with his one hit with the 13th Floor Elevators back in the '60s, You're Gonna Miss Me. (One of the truly great bits of howling balls-out garage rock ever recorded.) Roky's had a bizarre life since then, spending time in a mental home and dealing with his personal demons by writing songs about "real" ones. Last I'd read before tonight, he was living in a government-subsidized home and being cared for by friends and family. From what I knew about him, I'd figured that by now he'd have superglued himself to a poster of Anton LeVay and was eating bugs for a living.

But I guess his brother has helped him get some shit together in recent years, and now he's playing again. This makes me happy. I have a strong desire to sit down and record my own versions of You're Gonna Miss Me and I Have Always Been Here Before, and if I can find a drummer with some time on his hands (once *I* have some time) maybe I'll cut Don't Slander Me and Click Your Fingers Applauding The Play. I LOVE much of Roky's music, there's an edge and rawness to behold, and I hope I can find a band willing to do some of this material someday. Feeling the strong pull of my own dark side on a daily basis, I can only admire Roky's attempts at musical self-exorcism. I'm thrilled to know he's playing again.

I just made some generic hot and sour soup from the dollar store. Uhh...remind me not to do that again...

Shit, I don't have anything funny to say this time.

Love,
Dougie

Recent Hits, Bill Hicks, A Day With The Girl

Somebody hit my blog doing a Google search for:

cornholing in the back seat

I'm extremely proud right now.

Given other hits I've seen, somebody has been linking to my blog from theirs. So, hi! How ya doin' out there?

Katie and I went to the Taste Of Cincinnati today. Lots of local restaraunts with booths set up to overcharge you for their food. I spent 10 bucks over the minimal food budget I'd allocated for the entire day within one hour. But I had two kinds of gumbo (neither better than MINE, which fuckin' rocks, I tell you) a Thai spring roll, and some deep-fried pickles. (Yes, I have more than a little redneck in me.)

Katie had a slice of pizza. We shared a frozen lemonade, and I somehow managed to survive without buying an overpriced beer. I also saw BOTTLED WATER for $3.25. I don't know what yuppie cocksucker came up with this bottled water shit, but I'd like to buy stock in that idiocy, because I'd rather DRINK MY OWN GUINNESS AND PORK FRITTER-LACED PISS than spend that much fucking money on a bottle of water that some fucker in Pittsburg has been pouring from his bathtub tap for the goddamn Dasani company. FUCK bottled water in its crystal clear asshole.

I've given up on writing down the amazing things Katie says each time I visit her. I can't keep up with them. I think I'm not giving her enough credit- she quite clearly has proven herself far smarter than I've ever began to give ANY five-year old credit for.

She dropped a couple hints about our situation today, about me not living with her anymore. But there was little trace of sadness. She seems resigned to it, and she seems to have decided to accept things. She's happy I'm coming back to be closer to her. That appears to be good enough for her now.

I hate that she already has to compromise her desires at age five, but that's reality. She's coping better than I am already.

Three weeks. I can't fucking wait. I had a long talk with the singer and his wife on the way to yesterday's gig, and I feel better about the band now. They know where me and M are coming from. We're never going to do better in northern Indiana than we are now. M has training that is far beyond what he's doing right now. And me...I just need to be closer to Katie. They understand. It sucks for all of us. I've known these guys for 14 fucking years now. But there is no choice. M has to finally get the fuck of of Shitsburg, Indiana and do what he wants to do, and I have to...whatever the fuck I'm doing now. I barely even know myself. I just know it's closer to my daughter. That's all I NEED to know. Everything else will either fall into place, or not. Fuck it, anyway. I feel lucky right now. I explained to them how I've managed to fall farther and farther behind on my bills in the past year, and they know that I need to go back to Cincy as much for money reasons as anything else. But really, I'm fucking lucky. The amount of money I owe isn't SHIT compared to most people my age with multiple children and mortgages. A year ago, my cash flow was a source of Eternal Torture And Damnation to me. Right now, it barely means a fucking thing. All I want is to get into my own place within a month or so after moving my shit down to Bill's. Nothing else means a goddamn thing right now.

The glorious side benefit of going downtown to eat overpriced food outdoors today was getting to witness the scores of EDIBLE YOUNG LADIES that were seemingly EVERY-FUCK-WHERE.

I nearly broke my neck turning my head to follow one particularly MUNCHABLE young blonde when a familiar voice was heard at waist level.

"She's really pretty, isn't she, daddy?"

Fucking hell.

"Yes, honey,. She is. But you know what? I'm with the prettiest girl in town."

And that, my friends, is no bullshit.

Love,
Dougie

The Most Beautiful Of All Creations

But sometimes you see something that makes you think "Wow. Somebody took a long time making that, crafting every single inch, turning it into capital-fuckin'-A Art."

That's how I feel when I see a beautiful pregnant woman. She so often can seem so...perfectly designed...

We sweated out nards off at the outside gig today. Hotter than the nutsack on a tropical fuckmonkey. A couple in their '50s had just renewed their vows (they'd been married for 12 years) and threw a party for themselves. The woman was still fairly attractive for her age, beautiful thick curly blonde hair and an athletic figure. The guy had a big redneck beer-gut and looked like Howard Kaylan. So I had a good chuckle while singing Happy Together.

There was a girl there, probably mid-20s. i assumed it was one of their daughters from a previous amrriage. Blonde/red hair. Barefoot with shorts, beautiful light-skin. I had a hard time keeping my eyes off her, particualrly her lovely face (a mix of softness and an edge) and her killer legs.

She went in to change right before we started playing. She came back out in a cute one-piece blue thing that sort of looked like a swimsuit but wasn't. It was tighter on her, and revealed...

...the perfectly designed curves of a pregnant woman just beginning to "show."

She seemed to barely even notice us, but I played to her the whole gig. At first it felt like a "please notice me" message coming out of myself through my bass. Eventually it turned into somethng more raw, less inhibired. I can't explain the almost overwhelmingly intense attraction I sometimes feel to women who I already find beautiful who are also expecting. I have no idea how many men share this kind of attraction. i figure most of my sexual desires are not really any different than most guys. But I know a lot of men pretty much shut down when they see a pregnant girl, and I really do NOT understand that. I guess that's me, though.

I began to feel that I was trying to empty every last drop of my desire for this woman through my instrument.

And came to re-examine a fundamental problem in my approach to my life in the past year. I hav eto face that one down sometimes. Today was a big example.

I so often get caught up in this ridiculous quest for the closeness of a woman, and then I throw myself off it, declaring it to be a distraction to what I SHOULD be doing. I SHOULD be making every opportunity to make music. That's what I TELL myself I "should" be doing instead of constantly being bogged down by this seemingly endless quest for, as Ted Nugent once so eloquently put it, "wang dang, sweet poontang."

It's more interesting when you can have both. I'm not sure HOW to have both, I've never figured out how to split my concentration the way I feel I need to to have both. But when I feel all the desire, all the lust, all the love, all the good, all the bad, all THAT shit vibrating through the strings as I play this music that I don't even take all that seriously for the most part, I think again how much I WANT both.

I think she barely noticed me. For my part, I had to deal with both the insane amount of sexual energy eating my brain, and simply wanting to LOOK at this incredible, beautiful testament to ART IN HUMAN FORM.

There are few things on this planet more beautiful than her. At least that's how I felt in that moment. I only wish I could have said that to her. As it was, I kept my distance. I'm pretty sure the stupid-looking bastard she mostly talked to was her man. So I also had to deal with that more evil side of myself. The part that just wanted to walk up to this slack-jawed motherfucker (literally) and repeatedly beat him over the head with a heavy object until he fell to the ground and never got back up.

What IS that shit? I don't enjoy feeling like that. Jealousy is one thing. Wanting to pound some asshole in the face simply because he gets to fuck somebody you want to fuck - that's pretty fucked-up.

So I pulled my attention back to her. God, those curves. Those legs. Those eyes. I wish I was a painter. The amount of time I'd spend re-creating that picture burning into my eyes would be nothing like the time Some God Guy I Don't Even Believe In must have put into creating her.

OK, enough of that shit.

The funny story now.

After we were done, another woman came up and was talking to us. Around 40. Big-boned lady with a dark tan, big fat fucking tits about to fall out her shirt. Not amazing to look at, but definitely not bad. And very nice, very cool. I'll call her C.

I went into the hosue (we played on this guy's back deck) to use the bathroom. I turned the knob on the unlocked door just into time to see C standing up from the toilet, pants down, shirt off.

She was laughing as I quickly shut the door and yelled "Sorry!" I kinda wish I'd said "Sorry! Sorry, Mr. Gumby! I hit me head on the cupboard!" but I wasn't that quick. Besides...holy shit...

I saw her from behind, also the side as she turned to the door when I opened it, exposing one HUGE tit. My God, it's full of stars!

KILLER ass. Her ass was nearly as tan as the rest of her, and so were her tits, which tells me she lays out naked. Big brown nipples. I only saw this for a second, but I got TOTALLY distracted from thinking about the pregnant girl and spent ten minutes wishing I had some place to jerk off so i could think about bending this other woman over and taking her from behind. Jesus Fucking Christ. Big round ass. Tits that...didn't Yuri Gagarin go to space in one of those???

She came back out with a nervous laugh, and walked right past me. Five minutes later she walked up behind me and said "So, did you enjoy the view?"

"Uh...yeah." I'm so articulate.

She laughed (the laugh saying "I find it quite amusing that you cna't think of anything else to say, which tells me you really want to fuck my brains out, don't you?") and patted me on the shoulder. "I guess that was your bonus pay for the gig." Another laugh, a big smile, and she walked off to her car.

Too bad I rode up with the singer. I might have tried to talk her into staying longer...

I love rock & roll.

Love,
Dougie

Pretend

you took away from me I tried to get it back
and if you lie to me I keep it to myself
a trick or treat but then that don't make it right
I can't remember when I could say goodnight
then something comes into my head and then a change
I work it out somehow I guess I've got my ways
but then I wonder how did I get it wrong
it doesn't matter now.

I pretend.

I take the longest walks they always do me good
I just indulge myself in sorrow singing blues
but then I have to laugh cause it's an outlet too
and if I add it all it still just wouldn't do
I've come to realize there's nothing I can lose
so I control myself nothing else to do
I'll just remember when it comes around again
I'd rather be alone I won't get hurt again

I pretend.

then something comes into my head and then a change
I work it out somehow I guess I've got my ways
I take the longest walks it always does me good
I just control myself.

I pretend.

Welcome Back My Friends To The Show That Never Ends

Of course, we're so fucking tame these days that "aggressive" means Beds Are Burning and Roadhouse Blues, but what the fuck. We DID beat the living shit out of them, and I convinced them to pull back out BOC's Burnin' For You, which we hadn't played in months. Once we got past fucking the intro up all to hell, it was pretty damn good.

I can judge how good I'm doing physically and emotionally these days from the quality of my singing. I've struggled with it for years, this band was the first place I ever really tried to work on singing at all, and the fucking TORTURE I went through a few years ago when I was constantly sick and had my tonsils out had me convinced I'd never wnat to get in front of a microphone again.

The past year has healed all that. I finally feel really good about singing, and I know I'm in a good place in my head when I can sing as well as I did tonight. I got one hell of a good reaction to my solo version of Rockin' In The Free World, and I fucking deserved it. I put so much of myself into that one song, I could barely walk after I was done. My back is fucking KILLING me right now.

I was shocked and quite happy to find out that they not only have decided to go on without me and M, they already have a bass player lined up and possibly a guitarist with vocal and keyboard ability. M and I both immediately offered our help to whoever replaces us in learning the material. I kinda expected the atmosphere to be a bit weird tonight, but it wasn't at all. We had a damn good time.

Looks like we're not cancelling any June gigs after all, the thing M has to do has been moved up to the beginning of July. We have a gig on the 8th. Nobody seems concerned abotu cancelling that pareticular one (I'll be coming up from Cincy at that point, so I don't give a shit one way or the other) but we might have a gutiarist ready to fill in by then. Gonna be an interesting few months riding out the end of this band.

The stuff I intended to take to Cincy yesterday was still in the van, so I shoved my gear in with it and brought it up here to my parents. I'll load more stuff up tomorrow for Cincy. So not only did I get a less crazy weekend, I saved myself another trip in moving my shit. There's only a few more opportunities, and I still have plenty to move.

Tomorrow's private party gig should get out early enough to put me back in Indy by 10PM. Looks like next week's might even be early enough to get me back in town by 7:00. A nice extra bonus, though next weeks is a significant cut in pay. They're going to feed us very well, though, so I'm not too bothered by it.

Watching the singer's nieces dance is always a treat. One of them (who turns out to be a few years younger than I thought, she's our guitarist's age) is very pretty, but mostly she just looks so FUCKABLE out there. Damn, that girl can MOVE that ass.

Before I came up today, I listened to Why Dontcha, the first album by West, Bruce, & Laing. I rave about Jack Bruce's bass playing all the time, but this album (essentially making him a member of Mountain) has to be his best studio work. I love his studio playing with Cream, but it was the live stuff where he really tore it up. On Why Dontcha, though, all that nasty fuzztone and all those crazed slides and adrenaline-fueled obnoxo-fills are on full display. The outro on their version of the old blues classic Third Degree has to be as pure of an example of what I wish I could get away with in a band as exists on any recording. LUDICROUS tone, completely over-the-top "check out the size of my balls" playing. Gawd bless you, Jack Bruce. Thanks to you, I'm virtually unemployable outside this band. LOL.

I'm utterly fuck tired. sleep well, motherfuckers.

Love,
Dougie

Shine, Proud Traveler, Shine

I hope this is the last substantial bit of writing I do about her.

Did my own drunken Michael Moore film festival last night. Four cans of Steel Reserve and two DVDs. Bowling For Columbine, Farenheit 9/11. I don't do that kind of thing nearly enough anymore.

I was up until 2AM. So I knew I'd be getting out of town late, what with all the shit I still have to do, so I went up to have lunch early and come back home to get ready. Go see her, Doug. Get it over with.

She looked a bit more tan than normal. Apparantly she spent much of yesterday at the track (I think the 500 is really only there so that half the city can go get drunk outdoors all at the same time for a whole weekend) with her ex. I wished her well. She said she's not getting her hopes up too high, but she wants to try one more time. Good for her.

She said her legs were hurting from yesterday. "Well, if you need a good long leg massage, you have my number." I gave her my best "and I'll make you come too if you want" smile. She laughed, her eyes lighting up the way they always do. I love making her laugh.

I enjoyed my coffee and realized something very good - nothing has changed. It IS good. We're back to where we started, just some goofball coming in and flirting around with her once a week, maybe a bit more depth to the conversation for a minute or two, nothing more.

And that's fine with me. I lost nothing. I gained another view into a part of myself, I gained emotional experience.

And a friend. I'm glad Amanda is my friend.

Seal it up. Closure. Time to move forward again.

So, anybody know any barely legal teens who want to fuck fat hairy 30-something bass players? LOL.

I think I'll do Rockin' In the Free World for the solo part of the gig tonight. Been a while. Moore's use of that song over the F9/11 end credits inspired me to think about it again. And hey, it's Neil Fuckin' Young. I never tire of him, or of playing his stuff.

A tinge of sadness when I left Steak & Shake, probably to be expected, but I dropped Wooden Smoke into the tape deck (I'm wearing the shirt now too) and Keneally brought me back to myself on the drive home. Sometimes I feel this convoluted web of emotions I go through daily as a curse, but when I can step back for a bit, I realize it's forming a lifework, a tapestry, a...uh...something else I can't write about without sounding extraordinarilly cheesy and pretentious. Shit. Ahh, fuck it. You know what I mean.

Hee.

Love,
Dougie

Yep, It's Doing It To Me Again

Dollar store. A couple fairly frightening women running the registers. No sign of H. Probably for the best there. I was almost glad not to see her, and have my brain scrambled THAT way. I'm loading up on energy drinks, food, cheap imitation Icy Hot, etc. I walk around a corner.

The model-chick. I finally saw her name tag. We'll call her J.

She smiled her odd but beautiful smile (she looks halfway between friendly and pissed off, but she's never less than stunning) and said "Hey, where have you been?"

Wow. She missed me.

"Well, where have YOU been? This is my third time here this week. Haven't seen you in a long time."

We talked for ten minutes as she stocked the shelves. The whole thing was surreal. I definitely have a better picture of her personality. She's a lot more interesting and nice than I thought she was, but there's still this weird vibe she puts off that i can't quite put a finger on. It's like she's fighting a tendency in herself to be an arrogant bitch. She kinda comes off like that. "I'm a fucking babe and you peons should bow before me." But she also doesn't. She's really very nice. But it seems like she has to work at it. I suppose talking to me is some kind of practice.

When she talks about the few modelling gigs she's done, there's an obvious pride there, and it's interesting to see her talk about it. She DESERVES to be proud. She actually WAS on the cover of a magazine (a local one) once, and she's obviously a knockout. But the way she seems to be trying to temper that with whatever humility she can bring out of herself is strange to witness.

She nearly fell over when I showed her Katie's picture. Further proof of how beautiful my girl is. Even the knockout model babe had her mouth hanging open. "Wow. She is SO pretty!"

"And she's a great kid. I'm a lucky Dad."

"She looks like you." I hear that a lot. And I always have the same reply. It's really how I feel.

"Yeah, except she's CUTE. She got all those genes from my ugly ass and made them beautiful somehow."

"Oh stop it, you aren't ugly."

"Ehhh, you're just being nice to me now." Big grin.

"You aren't."

"Thank you. And you...you are incredibly beautiful. Yeah, I know, I've said that three times already."

I had, too. She'd told me about modeling, about how her boyfriend is off at the track this weekend at the race while she works. She thinks he's going to be around too many other women and cheat on her. He's with a friend of his she also used to date and "I KNOW how he is."

I cannot possibly imagine having the TIME to cheat on her. I'd be too busy licking every single inch of her to be ABLE to look at another woman.

I found some lame-ass watered-down way of saying that. She only smiled. But it was a funny smile. Yeah, she knows she's hot. She likes having her ego worked on. I'm happy to do it for her. Shit, she's making MY ego do fucking circles in my brain just by TALKING to me.

Which is what scares me. That I can stand there and think, "Oh my fuck, this amazing creature is TALKING to me. A beautiful woman is TALKING to me???"

I can't believe how easy it is for me to turn into a drooling idiot. How quickly my brain-chemicals can be scrambled by a beautiful woman. And J is FUCKING BEAUTIFUL. What's more is that it's a somewhat unusual beauty, she really has an amazing natural thing all her own. But that weird vibe is part of it too. That half-pissed look on her otherwise incredible face. I don't know how else to describe it.

I was a goddamn wreck for an hour after I left. I realized at one point that all I wanted to do was fall to my knees and beg her to fuck me, and I realized how fucking STUPID that is at the same time that I actually LIKE feeling that way. I loved the way she made me feel. Standing there talking to me like an old friend for ten minutes, laughing at my stupid jokes, obviously appreciating the attention, and not giving me ONE tiny shard of "get away from me you repulsive animal" vibe.

I need that shit. I don't need the STUPIDITY that seems to rush up like a tidal wave in my head whenever it happens, but I need to know that a beautiful woman enjoys my company for a while. If only that.

My own ego is a goddamn mess, and sometimes I feel I'm no closer to making that better than I was a year ago. But I suppose that's bullshit, because I CAN feel something happening. I've always HATED myself. I've always expected women to do their best to get the fuck away from me. I expect myself to collapse into a drooling psychotic mess and make a complete SHITHEAD of myself.

And while I've definitely still felt on the edge of that, it's not really happened in a while. I know I pretty much lost the game with Jenny last fall. I know I looked like a moron to her. But since then I've managed to survive pretty well, I think.

Why the fuck is that shit still so much in control of me? I'm 36, for fuck's sake, and I'm still controlled by this shit from as far back as I can remember - that I can't do anything right, that I'm a total fuckup, that I'll never amount to jack-shit so why even try? That's all BULLSHIT. I KNOW it is. But I still can't shake it off. It's been proven wrong enough times that I should be able to shake it off by now.

I think the only way is to keep doing what I did today. Keep pushing the envelope. It's a gigantic thing for my pathetic ego to simply TALK to a woman I feel that kind of attraction towards for ten minutes and keep some level of sanity. And I'm finally getting almost GOOD at it. The only way to get better is to keep doing it.

And I want to believe it will pay off. I don't know why it shouldn't. It might take a while. But it seems that whenever I feel the shittiest about myself and my abilities with women, I see some goofy-looking fucker with a GODDESS of a woman. And I think, yeah. It CAN happen. Maybe those goofy fuckers were just like me, and when they finally got over all the internal horseshit, they scored in a big way.

I hate being controlled by my dick. I've written enough about that for some time now. But I deal with it every fucking day, and I'm sick of it. i've got SHIT TO DO. But at the same time, I recognize that if I want it so goddamn badly, I'm going to have to keep trying to get it. Otherwise I'll just be pissed at myself all the time.

I've gotta find some kind of balance here.

I've given up on Amanda. I'll still go see her, I'm going to tomorrow on the way to the gig, but I no longer expect a fucking thing. And to be honest, it's because she's given me no reason to. I don't mean that in a bad way per se, I know enough about her to know she has her own shit to deal with, and I doubt she's trying in any way to fuck with me, but the fact is, I'm sick of her not giving me an INCH into how she actually feels about me unless I shock it out of her. I can't ASK her. I have to SAY stuff. Like "I'm moving away." Or "God, you are so beautiful." If I catch her off guard, I can get something out of her. But her guard is up nearly all the time, and she won't tell me SHIT on her own volition. I'm tired of that. I don't enjoy dealing with women who can't deal with their own emotions, who refuse to express them in any real way. I don't expect them to wear their heart on their sleeve in the ridiculous way I seem to be cursed to have to do, but for fuck's sake, stop shutting down and shoving me out when I'm simply trying to get some kind of gauge on where you're at. I know it's a pain in the ass and I'm supposed to just KNOW how you feel, but I'm MALE, and I have a DICK, and that means I'm CLUELESS ABOUT YOU. Work with me here. I've given you cards and notes, I've told you that you look great, i've tried to be sympathetic when you've needed it, I've done every thing I can to give you space and time and not be an overbearing asshole. *I* have done good. You aren't doing SHIT.

I told Amanda the other night that I wanted simply to talk to her again, but I don't think I have anything to really say now. I'm all out of energy on this cause. I've scraped the bottom of the fucking barrel. I've done a damn good job of proper editing and taking my time with her, but she knows where I'm at.

And I suppose when I take a moment to look around, I know where she is too. Not with me. I finally know that she's liked me this whole time, but apparantly not enough. I've done my damndest to be as selfless as I can be (which might not be saying a lot, but goddammmit, i've tried) and she...she hasn't. As cool as she is, as friendly as she is, as much as she gets that frisky little twinkle in her eye, and as much fun as she is to flirt around with, she hasn't given a fucking inch and shows no sign of doing so.

So fuck it. I'm not done being whatever kind of friend I am and have been, because I do still like her a hell of a lot and have no real reason not to go in there and see her sometimes still, but I'm done caring what she thinks about me. Well, mostly. Let's be honest here, asshole.

But it doesn't matter. Whatever happens happens.

I'm shifting my attention elsewhere. I'm not even going to be living here in three weeks. But I do think I'll have some fun playing around with J now that I've got to know her a bit. I have no illusions on that one - I see no reason to expect it to go ANYWHERE - but for the next three weeks, I'll hope she's in there and get my little ego-boosts from her, give some back to her as well. It's pretty remarkable to me that a woman like her actually seems to derive some ego-energy from anything *I* could offer, but it was right there in front of my face today. Wow. I beat the FUCK out of myself constantly feeling like utter shit, and here's an insanely lovely woman who likes to talk to me.

Change of weekend plans. Since I'm so utterly fucking observant, it had not occured to me that I'm not working Monday. Memorial Day. Duh.

So instead of rushing like a loon to Cincy tonight to dump stuff at Bill's and spend a couple hours with Katie, I'm staying home and working on packing stuff, and I'll go spend a whole day with her Monday. Seems to work out good for Sheryl too. Yay! A much more relaxed weekend than I'd expected. A very good thing.

I've managed to type some shit out of myself. Severe sexual frustration. I was feeling it hugely after I left J, and I was borderline psychotic for a while, and even when I started typing this I felt pulled in 76 directions. I'm more relaxed now. I'm glad you fine folk enjoy reading this shit. it's pretty much therapy for me.

Of course, my dick will likely go bugshit on me again by the end of the night. It's quite DEPENDABLE that way. The rotten fucker.

Love,
Dougie

About Time For Me To Buy That $300 Knife

Since I moved the washer and dryer to Bill's last week, I had to do my laundry tonight at the apartment's laundry room.

When I took it down there, there were three teenage boys in black, fucking around chasing each other between cars. Whatever the fuck that was about.

I forgot the detergent, and went back to get it. When I walked back to the laundry room, one of the boys (I figure driving age, not much morE) was out on his cell phone. Talking to a girl. I onyl caught part of it on the way in and out, but this is about what I heard:

"I've been trying to call you all night, bitch. Where the fuck have you been? Gina told me you sucked that guy's dick. Real proud of yourself, aren't you, bitch?"

It went on like that. Obviously, somebody's pissed. The whole tone of his voice made me feel rather non-sorry for him. The not-so-subtle message was "I OWN you, you fucking whore." Arrogant piece of shit. I hope she took the other guy's dick in her ass too. Fucking little punkass. I wanted to punch him.

Then I came back and wrote my last post.

I just went to get my laundry. As I walked by, there were maybe ten high school kids outside an apartment. With his back to the fence, there was the shithead from the cell phone call. There was a girl on her knees in front of him with dark hair. The other kids (mostly boys, maybe four girls) were laughing their asses off and chanting "Suck it! Suck it!" It's 1AM here. They'll be lucky not to get cops called on their asses.

The girl doing all the work was RAMMING HER HEAD LIKE SHE WAS TRYING TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR TO HIS CROTCH.

Lucky sonofabitch.

Now, I'd like to be in the position to become all Republican and offer some Moral Judgement here, but unfortunately, I have to deal with MY reaction, which was "Fucking asshole. I oughta chop your nuts off for getting blown by some sweet young thing when I'm not."

In other words, I'm as much of an asshole as he is.

Fucking hell.

The kids saw me (I was only 20 yards away) and only slightly hesitated. the kid getting blown didn't notice, he was too busy with Hoover-Lady. I looked at the other kids and said "I hope this is the line for some of that."

They thought that was funny. Well, most of them. One of the girls (who I seriously doubt was legal, I'm pretty sure the others were) looked at me as if I was King Asshole Himself. Yeah, good for you. Get your friend off her knees and get back to me later with your moral superiority, you little cunt.

I came back home.

why am I not asleep right now?

Dougie

Death To My Penis! Death, I Say!

It only ever gets me in trouble. Here's five examples:

1.) Last night, the Terri Hatcher-alike mom of one of my students. She came in wearing shorts. With legs that...oh fuck...please wrap those around my head and let me facially explore your nether regions, you beautiful, goddess-like creature. I somehow keep it together around her most of the time. I think I nearly snapped last night. A quick half-smile as she was turning around to walk out the door told me she noticed. Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

2.) At the dollar store buying energy drinks and canned fish. Didn't see who I wanted to see. But a girl gets behind me in line. Nice fiugre, long dirty-blonde hair. Pouty lips. The sort of eyes you only see on girls who...uh...please tell me you're at least 17. Please. Lie to me if you have to. Tell me you're 17 before SATAN EATS MY BRAIN!!! WAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!! !
Holy fucking shit. Hell - a place where I will someday lay my head and call home.

3.) The call to Amanda last night. If that ain't proof of what happens when your dick makes an unholy alliance with your heart, I don't know what the fuck is. I was going to say something like "the proof is in the pudding", but that...oh, never mind...

4.) I'm the only guy at my end of the department at the new job. Said job actually being quite tolerable, by the way. Certainly a big step up on the last piece of shit job. There's women all around, but only two I care to look at. And, of course, they are both SUPERVISORS.

Goddammit, this always happens to me.

Neither are knockouts, just quite nice. One has striking blonde hair, a somewhat athletic figure. Kinda plain, but not bad at all.

The other is clearly ten years older than me, and I don't mind one bit. Long straight dark brown hair. A lovely smile, which she usually has on, because she's a really friendly and pleasant woman, great sense of humour. I mean, REALLY nice. The fact that she's cute is the icing. Damn nice person to work for and be around. And she seems to like me (I've been there two days and have already showed them I'm more than capable of not only handling the job, but catching other peoples' fuckups before stuff goes out the door) and I'd like to...well, you know the drill by now. Fuck, eat, chew, pussy, poon. i'm getting REALLY predictable.

It's a pick/pack/ship warehouse job, similar to what I did for seven months on the east side of town. Most of my time is spent shoving packing material into boxes and taping shit up. We deal in high-end overpriced kitchen stuff. The kind of things that people with entirely too much money waste it on. Oooh! Look! A pepper mill! Only $37! Fucking christ, for $37 I could buy enough pepper to even last MY metabolism (which is pretty much based around pepper and caffiene these days, I'm turning into Zappa, I think) for years. My favorite was the $300 carving knife. Shit, if I'm gonna spend 300 fucking bucks on a knife, it's because I intend to KILL someone with it.

So, if anyone asks what I do, I'll say "I pack other people's shit. In fuckin' Brownsburg." A statement which lends itself to creative interpretation. Oh, the packing material is called "ranpack", but I thought she said "RAM pack." Yeah, you can pretty much write yer own jokes here, fine readers.

Speaking of rampack, the next door neighbor was watching gay BONDAGE porn tonight. And one of the guys had on a red dress. Which...uh...isn't that the dress Peter Gabriel wore on the cover of Foxtrot? Oh shit. Suddenly Shock The Monkey has implications I never before had any desire to consider.

4.) I took my lunch break today, and drove into fuckin' Brownsburg. When I hit the light, I looked to the right. Ehhh, no. Not Taco Bell. I'm not eating that shi...oh fuck, did you see those CHICKS???

Three knockout young blondes. Shorts. Tanktops. One had tits that I do believe took up THE ENTIRE GODDAMN FUCKING PARKING LOT.

So I had lunch at Taco Bell.

Is this fuckin' Brownsburg's idea of Poon Central? Holy SHIT. The place was CRAWLING with barely legal teens. I guess either school had let out, or there was a Ho Convention in town, and it was starring all these LUSCIOUS YOUNG PIECES OF KILLER ASS. They were EVERYWHERE. If any of them were older than 20, I'll eat my own dick. Seeing as how none of THEM would. Damn it.

5.) I had dinner with my friend D9 tonight. We went to an excellent Mexican place. As we walked in, two unspeakable young babes walked in front of us. D9's response? Two words - "Beaver Crossing."

Goddamn. I wish I had thought of that one.

Got home from dinner and grabbed the guitar. Banged it furiously for half an hour. I had to bang SOMETHING after all this, for fuck's sake.

Not much of a "perfomance" (my hands hurt and my voice was mostly strong but not quite on) but it didn't matter. It felt fuckin' great. I'm craving pussy on a level these days that defies all logic and understanding, but when I can lose myself inside Music, none of that other shit means a goddamn thing. This needs to happen more often. Standing in line at a goddamn Taco Bell in fuckin' Brownsburg, feeling like a very old, very repulsive, highly UNFUCKABLE asshole while surrounded by women who are mostly young enough I could be their fucking DAD? Ehhh, that shit needs to happen a lot LESS. All that does is distract me and take my energy level down. Fuck that.

Well, I WANT to fuck that. That's the fucking PROBLEM.

Women have to feel the same way. Dick is an ANNOYANCE sometimes, isn't it, ladies? Well, OK, not dick. MEN. We're a pain in the ass. Wouldn't your life be better if you didn't have to put up with all the SHIT that goes along with the dick? Now you know how I feel. Well, not about dick. I mean...uh...dammit, there's shitty disco music coming from next door again...GODAMMIT.

Scrubbing my brain with a brillo pad and trying not to think about Peter Gabriel,
Dougie

For A Minute There, I Lost Myself

Other times it seems almost cosmically necesasary.

I took two hits from the brandy and picked up my guitar. Fifteen minues of solid lovemaking. Notes and rhythm. It flowed right the fuck through me the second I hit the strings, like a goddamn faucet turned on high. Goddammit, I'm so stupid. I put all this energy into things that are never for sure, people that are never reliable. And the one fucking thing that never goes away, the one thing that has never let me down...I let it down. I'm a lousy lover. I'm a fucking whore. But she forgives me every time. Takes me back, wraps me in her loving harmony, guides me with her grooves, lifts my soul with her melodies. I go away, time and time again like the fucking moron I am, but she never leaves.

She took a break after 15 minutes, and now so do I. But I'll be back. I'm heading back right now.

If Music ever decides to appear to me in the form of a woman, I'm gonna eat that pussy until my neck breaks.

Back to where I belong,
Dougie
---------

She lay there waiting for me to return. She took me back in her arms. And we fucked like bunnies.

Focus, asshole. Fucking FOCUS. What you NEED is right at your fingertips. What you WANT is a fucking distraction. Lock back in. Make it yours. Give yourself to yourself.

I'm going to sleep. My lover's seed is inside me, needing water and sunlight to grow. I'll go dream some of that shit up for her now.

The Answer My Friend, Is Blow It Out Your Ass

It has been my experience for some time that whenever I make a decision, whenever I go after something, I must first run every damn possibility through my head. Every possible good or bad situation I can think of coming from it, everything at both extremes, and everything in the middle.

And still I NEVER guess it right.

She's giving her ex another chance. He pulled into her driveway as she was talking to me.

I told her the truth - I'm crazy about her, I felt she might have finally had some of the same feelings towards me, and I really wish something more could have happened. But I know it can't now. I'm happy just to go in there and have lunch and see her. Simply seeing her for the past nine months, every time. It's been good for me. I don't want anything more from her, but I would like to talk again.

And that's the truth. There's more truth - that all this is making my fucking head explode - but at the end of the day, that's the truth.

She said that was fine. She might call me tomorrow. If not,I'll see her Saturday on my way to to the gig in Marion.

Her ex might be going back to jail tomorrow, by the way.

Back? I didn't ask. I don't even know what I'm supposed to think about that bit of information. Probably nothing at all, since it doens't involve me in the slightest. She still has feelings for him. Her daughter loves him. She feels she needs to try one more time. And she probably does.

And once again, she didn't really tell me how she feels about me. She's showed me to some extent. But I still want to HEAR it. Whatever it is. Is that wrong?

I'm calling A. I have to get some human input right now, and she's the one who told me to call Amanda in the first place.

I'm at a loss. I don't feel good or bad right now. I feel almost nothing, exept the need to talk to someone. I hope A is home.

Love,
Dougie
-------------
A isn't home. Fucking Christ on a salad dish. I'm gonna go get something to drink and listen to some Kinks. Brandy. That sounds really fucking good right now.

Pacepacepacepacepace

I really could use a drink right now.

Pacepacepacemotherfuckin' pace.

Love,
Dougie

Once Again, I Chump Out

OK, not that bad. But I have so little of actual use in my head towards that end right now, and I need SOME kind of prepatation. I think way the fuck too much sometimes, but this is important, and I'm not going in without SOME kind of a script.

One of my piano students got very solmemn today and told me she was going to miss me. Eight years old. Not the most attentive kid ever, but not a bad student. It's nice to know I've made some kind of difference for at least some of these kids. Some of the others are so fucking DENSE it's like pulling teeth with a chainsaw. I'm glad a few of them have gotten somewhere in the past few months.

Doing the math, my income is about to take a very nice increase for a few weeks. Nothing great, but the extra money in gas driving up there will be more than made up for. It's weird how much of a difference $1.60 an hour can make, especially when you're as FUCKED as I am anymore.

More shit packed. I really have nothing funny to say tonight, which sucks, but mostly I'm trying to keep doing shit and not collapse in a puddle of mental shit. I want really bad to call Amanda right now, by my Dipshit Meter is in the red tonight. I want her to LIKE me, not be given reason to try to get me committed to a fucking home for delusional circus clowns.

Shitfucky.

Love,
Dougie

You've Gotta Feel Sorry For 'Em Sometimes...

He's joined a "Christian rock" band on the verge of recording an album that is supposed to be out by Christmas. I love the reply he got from one of the other guys to his initial email about having to take one of the June gigs off.

"See if they can move it to when we have a week off in August. You have committments to both bands, so if they're a Christian company, they'll understand."

He's a really nice guy, and usually one of the more reasonable religious people I know, but that's a pretty fuckin' optomistic statement, dontcha think?

I think it's sad how naive people can be when you throw Jesus into their pot. This is a BUSINESS. They don't give two shits about us or our schedule, and they have no REASON to. I figured this shit would happen when the guitarist first said he'd be doing this. It was inevitable. It's simply reality. We're a bar band making $80-90 a piece each week. They're giving this other band an advance that will come out to more money than he makes in two years at his current job. Do the math. I think Jesus himself would say "Tugh shit, guys, enjoy your week off."

Why is it you can put the word "Christian" in front of your personal description and people somehow assume you're OK, even look the other way when you are obviously an ASSHOLE? Fuck, look at the degenerate pigs that run this country. THEY are supposedly into Jesus too, but they'd sell their own mothers down the river floating on a shithouse door if they thought it would make them a buck.

If I hear somebody say "I'm a Christian" these days, I figure he MIGHT be a decent human being, but I'm gonna have to assume that what he's really saying is "You are fucking expendable, sinner." The vast majority of Christians I've encountered have managed to work out a perfect psychological pretzel in their attempts to bend every fucking thing in their world to THEIR idea of "what God wants", and anyone who stands in their way obviously isn't in tune with Jesus. For a group of people who claim that their book is the infallible and unmoveable Word Of God, they sure do a fucking bad job of reading the parts about being good to OTHER people.

The guy who wrote this "if they're a Christian company" nonsense isn't like that. Too bad he seems to think other people are as good as he is, though. And really, I don't think this has a fucking thing to do with God. It's a business protecting their interests. It fucks with us, but shit happens. I've got no feeling about that part of it at all. But assuming that Jeezo-folk (or ANYONE) will put the interests of a local bar band above their product is just goofy.

Anyway, we're going to have an extra week off right around the time I move. Sucks on a income level, but will be better in just about every other way given the timing.

Love,
Dougie

Back To Fuckin' Brownsburg? AAAHHH!!!

But all is not lost, young traveller. I've been calling the other temp agency (the one I've mostly worked for in the past year) on and off for weeks. They've become really unreliable and I havne't worked for them since the end of March, up in Westfield.

But they've got something for me tomorrow. The pay is over a buck snd a half more per hour, and it starts at 7AM, giving me a two-hour move back towards some sane hours. Getting done at 3:30, it won't conflict with my last two weeks of teaching.

But it's in fuckin' Brownsburg.

Oh well. Too much of a drive (over 30 miles), and to a godawful place, but it's only for a few weeks before I move back to Cincy, I'll be back with the same temp agency I might have to use down there, and they were a lot better to me there than up here in Indy.

I still feel like dogfuck, but I'm starting to wake up. Now I've gotta call the people I work for now and let them know I'm leaving. Oh joy.

Love,
Dougie

Lawyers, Guns & Money

It was great fun. We drank and talked and I felt no real need to edit myself. We mostly talked about sex and relationships. a bit about politics and drugs. Mostly about fucking. And I must have said a couple dozen times how much I wanted to fuck HER, but couched it in cute terms, because...well... I'm not going to fuck her. We're "just friends." And really, it's OK. It is. But damn, she's so cute. Even with those glasses that make her look SO geeky, she's a fuckin' doll and I'd eat her for hours.

I like being able to be honest without fear of retribution, without fear of the "we women aren't LIKE that, only you degenerate MALE swine think about fucking that often" bullshit. She thinks about fucking non-stop too. Thank fuck that she's honest about it. I know..what...six women like that? They all get so goddamn HOLY about the fuck-topic. They are ANGELS. They are HEALTHY. NORMAL. Me? I'm a degenerate pig for wanting to ass-bang 19-year olds. Even HAVING a dick puts me at a fucking moral disadvantage. Fucking cunts. Hypocritical cunts at that. Women getting dick on a regular basis (and sometimes MULTIPLE dick at that) trying to make me feel like shit for THINKING about it. iofcnugj0megmjiof4pwft5ki w2d[. It makes me want to throw things. Though you'd think I'd be used to it now, given how fucking hypocritical and full of shit most women are about EVERYTHING. They always turn it againt US. Well, honey, I KNOW I'm fucked up. What do YOU know about yourself? Not a fucking lot, it would seem. All that politically-correct shit about women being smarter than men? Well yeah. You are. But if you used your brains for anything other than being more CREATIVE about being as EVIL as we are, we might be able to take your shit more seriously.

I had a great time talking to her. A fucking RELIEF, it was. I need to meet more women like THAT.

Serious cognitave dissonance pulling into her driveway, though. She actually lives one block from a road named after the family I'm doing genealogy research on in Decatur Township, just down the road from where I teach. It's a very upper-middle class neighborhood, just like the one I lived in four for years with my ex. She doesn't seem to fit there. Her sensibility is much more like mine, and living in a place like that is VERY BAD for my ability to concentrate. But she's learned how to deal with it. (She's only there because of her own previous marriage.) And it was amusing to sit in her living room and drink wine and spend time in that kind of environment again with a woman, especially a woman who I know to be even more left-leaning and anti-establishment than I have become.

She's too cool. I'd want to fuck her even if she looked like Chewbacca, just as a matter of PRINCIPLE. The fact that she's cute as hell only makes it more fun.

But that won't happen. She wanted to know about Amanda, and I unloaded on her, telling her most of the shit I've written here, the shit I'm feeling right now about her.

A's sage advice? Don't wait for her to call. Call HER.

I've known Amanda's phone number for months. It's in the goddamn book. I just haven't felt right about calling her. It's seemed odd, slightly stalker-ish.

But after nine months of this, I think A's advice is right. "You have nothing to lose. If she really likes you, she'll think it's great that you called. If she freaks out and thinks you're an asshole, then she never really liked you to begin with. Just call her. You have nothing to lose."

I hadn't thought of it that way.

It's late now, and Amanda has a young daughter. I'll wait until tomrrow. Though A had another good point when I joked about calling Amanda full of wine and Bacardi Limon. "You might as well do it now when you're not thinking about it too much. If you wait to call her later, you won't call her. You'll be thinking too much again."

Damn, she's cool. Why couldn't SHE want to fuck me? I laughed my way through it all, trying to show her that I was serious when I said I was fine with us just being friends (because I AM) but that thought is still there. "Platonic" friendships exist mostly in theory. I've had a couple GREAT female friends who were "just" friends. But that wasn't from CHOICE. It was because I deemed it better to have just a friendship with a cool woman than to have nothing at all becaus e I was thinking too much with my dick.

A is so easy to talk to. Honesty is not a problem there. I need more of that. More of the perspective she gave me tonight. More of the hugs she gave me when I left. I'm glad I went over there tonight.

Holy shit. I'm going to call Amanda tomorrow night.

The mind reels.

ELP's Tarkus in the player. I have to be awake again in five hours.

Love,
Dougie

Fuckin' Plato

I'm going over to her place in a few hours. Hang out with a bottle of wine.

Well, I'll be damned.

I loved the way that went. "Now, I still have a boyfriend, so it's like, totally platonic."

"'So, Doug, just in case you think you're gonna fuck me, I've got news for you...'"

She thought that was funny.

Should be fun, though.

I don't think I ever told the story of one of the things she said the one time we went out. She was kind of making fun of me because of how I felt weird asking her out when she was one of my guitar students. I told her something like "Well, I just don't want people to think I'm using this job as a means of trying to get laid." Which is a fairly stupid thing to say or even think, now that I think about it.

Her reply? "You're a MUSICIAN. You're SUPPOSED to use your job to try to get laid."

"Thank you, you've just made my life a lot easier." We both laughed that time.

She's pretty damn cool.

Love,
Dougie

Fuck You In The Ass, Tom Scholz

I felt like dogfuck yesterday. Mostly just tired, which was making my brain unreliable as well. I managed to have a great day anyway, because, well, I was with Katie. How could I not?

But I was tired. I called off work today at 11PM last night, right before going to sleep. I woke up once around 3AM, then was out cold until 8:45.

I feel better. But not quite together yet. I think the sleep apnea is back, so even if I get a lot of sleep, it's still shitty sleep that leaves me kinda fucked-up all day. I've found myself eating more recently. I'm afraid to get on a scale. I doubt I'm back up over 250 like I was last year, but I know I'm past the 235 I got down to a few times recently. I think I've lost and gained back weight three or four times in the past year. I get in a decent frame of mind and manage to eat well, exercise a bit, and keep my head together, then some shit comes along and while I may deal with it far better than I would have a couple years ago, I stop being so concientious about taking care of myself. It takes WORK to stay healthy, both mentally and physically, and I feel more capable of it than ever, but I'm still falling off the track more than I'd like.

The sleep apnea probably isn't helped by having a sinus infection blocking my breathing. I haven't felt sick, but I've been blowing unspeakable Lovecraftian horrors out of my nose for a month now.

"Ahh...ahh...ahh..YOG-SOTHOTH!"
"Bless you!"

When the fuck did I start doing cocaine? Jesus snot-bucket Christ. Most of it has been bloody, and what the FUCK is this hard black shit? I could save it up and make it into fucking body armour to send to our guys in Iraq. The phrase "nasal wood chips" came into my head one day. It's thoughts like these that have limited my circle of friends.

If I eat some ungodly hot peppers, it goes away and I can breathe great again. For about an hour. So I should eat habanero peppers once an hour. Well, maybe not. Then it would be blood and chunks of Kevlar coming out my ASS. Can't fucking win. At least today's tissue remnants are mostly green instead of red. A marvel to be seen. Dysentery green.

Camel's perfect brand of melodic prog-rock in the player right now. The Snow Goose. One of the more lovely things in my collection.

Oh, Amanda. What am I gonna do with you, you sweet little vixen?

I just got home from lunch. Her hair was in a perfect ponytail (it curved up slightly at the bottom, making it look like an actual pony's friggin' tail, and it amazes me the things that I notice sometimes, especially given the shit I NEVER seem to notice when it comes to women) and she looked so good, so warm, so...Amanda. Dammit. Nine fucking months. I've been at this for nine fucking months. And I feel like I need to give birth to SOMETHING, just to get this feeling of expectation over with.

She was over the anger. It wasn't mentioned. She was tired, but smiling, and our bits of talking between her trips to other tables were very pleasant. She was happy to see me. And I was relieved. I had no idea what to expect when I went in, but I figured it would be good, and I was right.

She said she will call me, she just has had a lot of shit going on lately. Mostly, I'm not really expecting the call. Soemthing tells me she won't. But I might be wrong. Fucked if I know.

Work has been hell on her. The guy she broke up with a few months ago has been calling, wanting to try again. It was very interesting to see her talk about that. (And interesting that she told me about it, it seemed to be a clear and deliberate message to me that I'm not the only one not wanting to limit my options.) She lets so fucking little out when talking about US, but she's quite easy to read on other subjects. The way she said "So I'm thinking about getting back with him" was laced with a large amount of both irony and cynicism, and I could tell she doesn't have her heart in that at all. She'd told me before about when they split. In a parking lot, both drunk and screaming at each other. That came back on me, and I sat there with a couple thousand questions in my head again. Not just about her. About me too.

She also said her other ex - her daughter's father - has been really shitty with her lately, and even shut the door on her face the last time she brought her back home to him. (They have joint custody.) She has no idea why, and I remember her saying that they usually got along quite well together.

She looked tired and worn down by all this. I sat there and looked right at her, unable to think of much of any intelligence to say to her, but wanting so much to make her feel better.

She came back later, more conversation. And I looked at her again, the wave of desire nearly drowning all pretense at keeping ANYTHING inside. I looked her right in those brilliant blue eyes and said, "God, you are so beautiful."

The way those eyes lit up, the way she wrinkled her nose and grinned. That look of...wow. That was the closest I think I've ever seen her with a sort of frisky "come on and fuck me, boy" look. It was so PLAYFUL. I've made some very vague and playful hints in the past several months about what ELSE I'd like to eat other than those chili five-ways, and I swear to you, that look on her face suggested Mutual Dining Options that...oh lord...the fuck-chemicals burned and burned. Holy shit. She turned right around and walked off to another table, obviously not wanting to let any more out. But...dammit. I'm leaving this soon.

And now I sit here still with a million questions.

But it wasn't just that. In fact, not even mostly. I still felt an almost overpowering urge to let loose and say all the other things I want to say, all the thoughts and desires of wanting to give and share and be human and loving and all that other shit that is probably making you fine readers want to puke and say "You're funnier when you just talk about pussy, Doug."

But I wanted so much to stand, reach up and take her face softly with both hands, hold it there, look into those eyes, and say "I want you, Amanda." And kiss her. Softly. Gently.

And then drag her to the floor and fuck her brains out. I mean, come on. It's ME we're talking about. I'm a drippy over-romantic cheesehead AND a raging pervert. We've established THAT shit a long time ago here in Dougieland.

She asked when I was coming back next, told me she'd be there this weekend. I told her I'd be back Saturday. I'll be in Cincy Friday night, leave Saturday morning, and come back up here to pack my gear and head up for the gigs. Marion on Saturday night, a private party outside of Huntington on Sunday afternoon.

I'm holding on to some kind of hope, I'm just not sure what it is yet. I seriously doubt that she's willing to have the kind of relationship I'm thinking about, maybe only seeing each other once every two or three weeks. Part of her problem with her last boyfriend was that he wouldn't commit to more than whatever it was they had at the time. I don't see this really happening. But...I don't know. I really don't know. I know about as much of where this is headed as I did when I first laid eyes on her back in August. Then it was all about fuck-energy. All about ravaging her body. Wanting to eat her like The Snatch Buffet. I actually had dirty little daydreams about her having to take me to the emergency room, trying to explain to them why her boyfriend had just dislocated four or five vertebrae.

I still want that, of course. But adding in this other stuff, this good warm fuzzy stuff that I try to write about in an intelligent manner but probably come off like a douchebag about...I want that too.

I put a dollar bill on the table. On top of it, I put a slip of paper. Another copy of my phone number. A quarter holding down each side of it. Two more quarters next to it. And then I left.

I left facing another piece of myself, one of those bits of cognitive dissonance that I'm never quite sure how to deal with. That slip of paper with my phone number. Why it was already there, already written down, waiting in my pocket.

It's been there for days. This morning before I left for lunch, I went somewhere else. But H wasn't there, and she didn't recieve that slip of paper. Amanda did later.

I recognize the inconsistency. But I don't honestly feel bad about it anymore. I'm trying to take care of something I feel a strong need for, and I can't pretend to be other than what I am - really fucking alone and sick of it, trying to find a way of making something happen, and not wanting to limit my options. I can't do that to myself.

But I also don't want to fuck up anything that might happen with Amanda. She can't know what I know - that the paper on top of today's tip was originally meant for another woman.

Fucking hell.

I'm starting to feel awake again. The coffee she brought me did its job.

Onward.

Love,
Dougie

Whee!

I no longer have HBO. Somebody tape this shit for me!

His book Nothing's Sacred (which I have already) is coming out in paperback on July 10. Good shit, boys and girls. Good shit.

Speaking of shit, that's more or less what I feel like right now. But hey, Uncle Lew is back on HBO soon. Whee!

Love,
Dougie

It's Because Of Me

A beautiful evening, I've just returned to Bill's house after a great day with Katie.

We picked her up yesterday after loading two vehicles full of my shit, and dropped said shit at Bill's. Katie immediately showed her Grandma the yard, and grabbed Bill's bird feed to go feed the large variety of feathered friends that help to make us feel so welcome here. Bill radiates a certain energy, and his home has a certain unique charm that makes me very happy to bring my girl here. I have no desire to prolong my stay here once I've moved out of Indy, but I'm happy to be in this place for a while. Just the SOUND of this house amazes me. the natural reverb in each room is a thing to behold.

We went to two different birthday parties today for her school friends. Mom and Dad and Jo came to the first one. I left Katie with them last night, returning to their hotel for a few minutes to kiss her goodnight before a late-night breakfast at Waffle House and coming back to Bill's to stay up and drink and watch his multitudinous downloads (lots of British TV and old '60s music videos) befor ecollapsing at 3AM.

I already wrote about how Lewis Black knocked me on my ass. The show was an incredible bookend of sorts for me. May 19, 2005 found me in the very same building watching my other favorite comedian, Bil;l Maher, after which I drove to a hotel in Greensburg, Indiana the night before I moved to Indy, staying with the magnificent D9 for a month before getting to my apartment. Exactly a year later, I'm in Cincinnati, seeing Uncle Lew and making the firs tmoves towards moving back to Cincy. It's symbolism of a ridiculous yet resonant kind. I've become extraordinarily skeptical of EVERYTHING in recent years, but it's hard to not believe SOMETHING is lining up on a level beyond myself at this time. I don't pretend to know what it is, I don't even care. It's just happening.

Lew had his usual opening act, the ADD-freakhole known as John Bowman. I LOVE this goofball. He did pretty much the same act as two years ago (the same that's on his album, In Stink) but he's honed it to a perfection I admire greatly. He spends a good portion of his set talking about touring with Lewis for the past three years. "I know you all see the happy and upbeat Lewis on television, but that shit doesn't quite play out after three fucking years on a tour bus." God, I envy him. I'd like to spend three years touring with Lewis Black's DICK, let alone the man himself. Check Bowman out, he's a fuckin' hoot.

Another guy got 15 minutes before Bowman, bgut I cna't remember his name. he started off a bit lame, but ended up pretty funny, if not brilliant. I was happy to see Lewis giving time to younger talent. But I'm glad it was only 15 minutes.

Lew's Red White & Screwed tour is, to my mind, a milestone nin the history of comedy. He's at a PEAK. I can't believe how ON he was all night, non-stop, roaming the stage like a predator, spewing beautiful bile for us all to wallow in. He's a goddamn genius of raw hilarious emotion. Every onc ein a while I get a bug up my ass to try my hand at stand-up comedy, but then I see some fucker like Uncle Lew and think "What's the goddamn point? I can't compete with this shit." /all I'll do is rip him and a few other guys off, which is pretty much what I do on this fucking blog to begin with.

It was goddamn inspiring, though. I left the Taft Theatre feeling strong, carefree, fucking thrilled to be alive. Even in the midst of all the SHIT that goes down in this continuously deteriorating nation, there's still reason to get behind the mule and plow forward with a smile on yer fuckin' face. Thank you Jesus, for Jews like Lewis Fuck Black.

"Christians will say things like that Jews will grab a Christian baby off the street and kill it and eat it. But that's not true. We'd make it work for us first."

One of his main themes was how hard it is to be a comedian when every news story is a punchline, how he cna't keep up with the shit. "I see a story and think 'I could make that funny', then THIRTY OTHER FUCKING THINGS HAPPEN." And after the show, I came back to Bill's and hit the main Yahoo page. one of the main news stories? "Bush says newcomers should learn to speak English."

Yep, these jokes pretty much write them fucking selves.

If I can figure out a way to weasel another 30 or 40 bucks out of the shit I call my income, I'm going to see Bill Maher in Indianapolis the week before I move. Goddammit, I NEED this shit. Raw knife-edged comedy has become just as important to me as music in the past few years. I need it to survive. I'd be dead without my sense of humour and the brilliant souls who feed it. Lewis Black. Bill Maher. George Carlin. Richard Pryor. Doug Stanhope. Sam Kinison. Bill Hicks. Lenny Bruce. David Cross. Lunatic visionaries who fuel my life-preserving insanity all. Gawd fuckin' bless them.

Katie and I had a great time at her friends ' birthday parites. the first was at Parky' s Farm, a wonderful part of the Winton Woods park, with farm animals and a "playbarn" set in a gorgeous part of the northern Cincinnati metro area. Watching 20 kids running around yelling "Chickens! Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!" how can that NOT be a highlight of your day?

She was loads of fun (even with two massive emotional breakdowns that she got over within five minutes - you know, she didn't get shit to happen EXACTLY the way she wanted it to, just like any other five-year old {or older} who still has lessons to learn) and it was a riot to watch her with the other kids. It's too bad that they will soon be splitting into smaller groups, as they go to different places to start kindergarten. A few of her friends will be going where she is (the second highest rated school system in Ohio) and I know for sure that one of her favorite boys will be (who we also saw at dinner last night) but it pulled at me a little to know that she will soon be saying goodbye to some of her friends. Another lesson to be learned.

The second party was all girls (except for the birthday girl's brother) at her house. I was worn out, but tried to keep talking to one of the other kid's mom. It was one of the highlights of the day, being a dad - getting to see THE OTHER KIDS' MOMMIES. A few of these MILFs are boner-inducing on a COSMIC LEVEL.

(And since I know Bacardibreezer wants pics of these MILFs, maybe I should sweeten my end of the deal by saying I'll find a way to get pics of them if YOU get me video of the shit YOU did this past week, you little vixen. LOL)

We visited Bill at the music store, and Katie spent a long time messing with drum kits. She found one her size, very cheaply priced. I know her mother will hate me, but I'm considering this, simply because of how Katie LOOKED sitting behind a drum kit. She looks like a drummer. AS we left, she was staring thoughtfully out the window. "Honey, what are you thinking about?" "I can't stop thinking about drums, Daddy."

That's my girl.

We got dinner and I took her home. We met her new cat. Mimi is still there for now (I hope Sheryl keeps Mim, she's a wonderful creature, but she poops everywhere, so I understand her dilemma) but they have a new tiny kitten they're trying to find a name for. I think Max works best. He's a little fluffball of feline enrgy, and we all got a good laugh out of watching him play. It was nice to share that moment with them both, especially to watch Sheryl. I'm still trying to process everything, even a year later, but I have never once felt bad about taking Katie home to the best mother she could possibly have. I hate leaving her, but I know I'm leaving her with the best.

Wheels turning inside this weekend, trying to find a way of wrapping up ALL the details of moving back to Cincy, not just the easy shit like trnsporting furniture, and coming up with money. The really hard work is yet to be done.

Amanda.

I didn't go there Friday. I didn't have the emotional strength to do it, the focus required. I was locked into moving shit and being with Katie. I'll have to go in Monday and pray she's there.

Part of me knows I have to shit this thing down as best as possible. Another part of me craves any little scrap I can get, anything to prove I didn't waste my fucking energy for the past nine months with this beautiful woman. There is no question whatsoever that I'm leaving. There are nothing BUT questions about what I'm leaving behind in a certain favorite lunch-stop on the east side of town.

I can't begin to sort through it all tonight.

Robert Cray's album Strong Persuader has been a good friend in recent weeks. The whole thing, because it's all brilliant, but go look up the lyrics to the song Fantasized if you want to know exactly what I wish I could sing right now about Amanda. It's fucking dead-on.

But today I put on another Cray album in the van, I Was Warned. Just A Loser hit me in a strong way, part of the reaosn why at the beginning of this post. I don't want to say goodbye to Amanda. I'm still reeling from knowing what I've learned in the past week. Dammit. It has to be done, part of me already HAS done it. But I haven't really let go yet. And knowing me, knowing the shit that I've come painfully to know about myelf - that letting go is a BITCH FROM HELL for me - I know this is going to take a long time to work through.

But I press forward.

Love,
Dougie

I Left My Balls On the Floor Of The Taft Theatre

Lewis Black's new album is lovely, but I wans't as knocked out by it as I thought I would be.

But tonight, he repeated little of that, did mostly new shit, and I laughed my goddamn balls off non-stop for an hour and fifteen minutes. You know how you buy a comedy album and there's one drunk guy in the audience who cackles like a fucking loon the whole time? Tonight, that was ME.

I don't think I've ever kept up that kind of sheer fucking hilarity in myself for that long. Thank you, Uncle Lew. For making us laugh about life and love, again.

Love,
Dougie

Katie's Birthday Presents From Daddy

And some CDs:

Joe Satriani- Surfing with The Alien

The Flaming Lips - The Soft Bulletin

Jeff Beck - Blow By Blow

Sting - The Dream Of The Blue Turtles

Santana - Caravanserai

DiMeola, McLaughlin, Delucia - Friday Night In San Francisco (Our friend Bill was at this show)

Willie Nelson - Stardust

Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels - Best Of

Aaron Copland - Fanfare For The Common Man, Rodeo, Billy The Kid, Appalachian Spring
(Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra, Stephen Gunzenhauser)

I'm gonna see her in two hours. Whee!

Love,
Dougie

When The Rain Comes...

I just went to the VP for cheap beer (Steel Reserve) and an 89 cent burrito. Fuck my health. I've beeb eating beans, rice, and veggies and drinking nothing but water, coffee, and sugar-free energy drinks for three fucking days now.

Just as I was about to leave, a fucking Noah-s Ark GIGANTO PISS-STORM came down. It only lasted abut a minute and a half, but it was LUDICROUs. Cats and dgos? Fuck that, it was raining ELEPHANTS AND DINOSAURS. And mongoose. Not sure what the fuck mongoose have to do with anything, but I don't get to type the word "mongoose" too often, so there ya go.

Then it went away. But now there's lightning and thunder like a motherbastard.

Just put some Mean Green Motherfucker sauce on my bean and cheese burrito. Steel Reserve open and generously sampled. Today is Katie's birthday, and it sucks that I can't be there, but I'm planning a great weekend with her. I sang Happy Birthday to her over the phone tonight. The way she said "Thank you, Daddy" turned me to mush.

Love, Dougie

#62,913

And, of course, the sonofabitch owes me money.

I'd just spent $44.62 on my ticket to see Lewis Black on Friday night. (Fucking Ticketbastard's "convinience charge" is EIGHT DOLLARS AND EIGHTY-FIVE FUCKING CENTS now.) Guess how much my cut of his lesson payment he owed would have been? You got it - $45.

I made that much from other students, but this is EXACTLY what has been driving my blood pressure up the most for a few months now. I was very happy to take this teaching job in January, I thought it might be the start of good shit coming my way. In eleven years of teaching, i've NEVER had reason to expect the kind of ROYAL ASS-BANGING I've recieved at the hands of the trailer-park white motherfuckers who are apparantly 3/4ths of my clientele.

Between students not showing up and not calling, and students not PAYING for lessons (usually because they've disappeared completely) I fiugre I've lost something like $500 in income in the past five months, mostly because the guy who runs the store hasn't put enough procedures in place to help prevent this kind of shit, but also because it's virtually unavoidable in most cases anyway. By the way, now that students have dropped to half the number they were two months ago, I don't make that $500 in a MONTH anymore if everyone shows up. So you could say this shit happens roughly 20% of the time. That is FUCKED.

You expect a bit of this, and let it go. but I've had FAR more problems at this store getting expected and back income from people who don't understand the simple phrase "You pay by the month, and you pay whether you are here or not, because I am here and you are paying for a time slot."

And to not even bother to call most of the time. Fucking SHITHEADS.

My ass is sore. I've allowed myself very few luxuries in the past year. VERY few. Simply going to see a concert Friday night is more than I usually can THINK about.

The Indianapolis experiment has failed. I can name quite a few good things that have happeend here in the past year, and I dont' regret moving up here at all, but fuck this shit in its rancid bunghole - I'm out of here in 34 days and will at least not have to spend as much per month to even SEE my daughter as I make now in four days at my utter dogshit day job. The worst paying job I've had in the year I've been here. It's devolved to this. FUCK Indiana.

In better news, I just heard Disturbed's version of the old Genesis song Land Of Confusion. (It's hard to think of anything from that period as "old", but it's been 20 fucking years now.) I rather like it, though I imagine hardcore Genesis nuts having conniptions and shitting on themsevles hearing it. Good and crunchy. It's one of the very few things Genesis did after 1981 I give a fuck about anymore (this coming from a guy who was WORSHIPPING those fuckers 20 years ago, because, hey, they USED to be good) and I dig the new version. Yay for Disturbed on that one.

I saw H tonight. She's in her seventh month. And...oh fuck...she looks AMAZING. She actually told me to come in as often as possible in the next month before I leave so we can say hi to each other. She delivers that in such a sweet, innocent voice, but there's a look in her eyes that.....AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Fucking hell. I want that girl in a really bad, sinful way, baby. I swear, when she actually looks me in the eye, she's looking at me like she wants to fuck me. I might be imagining this, and it's so fucking TWISTED that I'm not even sure what else but sheer psychosis on my part can explain why I keep going back, but...AAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wish I had beer right now.

Love,
Dougie

Reason #62,912 Why I'm Glad I'm Moving Back

I remembered the last time I did. Katie was here visiting. She helped me stir it. She likes to help with things like that.

I stood there for several seconds before I realized that I had been standing there for several seconds, thinking about how cool it was to hand over a pitcher of lemonade to my daughter and have her stir it for me. For us.

The smallest thing. And I miss that.

34 more days.

Love,
Dougie

Hmmmm...

His early '70s band Detroit is a blast as well. Velvet Underground fans should know about Detroit's version of Rock & Roll, which Lou Reed says is the best version. He's right too. The original and subsequent Reed versions are great, but Detroit's kicks the living shit out of all of them.

I was thinking about how much I loved seeing him last September when my band opened for him, so I hit on Pollstar to see where he's at.

My band's schedule drops off for five weeks in August and September before the last two gigs I'll do with them. Mitch lives in Detroit, and there's a few gigs up there in August.

Suddenly I have a clearer idea what to do for a vacation in August. I probably can't afford what I really want to do (go back west and drive all over the desert for a week) but a weekend in Detroit sounds like a plan I can actually sorta do without destroying my bank account.

Funnily enouggh, he's playing in Roswell, Mew Mexico at a "UFO Festival" too. I don't know what the fuck Devil With The Blue Dress On has to do with little green fuckers from space, but I'd like to see that.

Hmmm. Michigan. I get the weirdest ideas sometimes, but this sounds like a damn good plan. When I told him how much I liked the show last year (I think I might have had a total of 60 seconds with him before our keyboardist took him back to his hotel) he told me that if I REALLY wanted to see him, I had to see him with his band up in Detroit.

I've got a friend in Port Huron, and it's even tempting out of sheer perversity to go back to Flint. I went there back in...'97? Can't remember now. Met a girl I'd talked to online. It was a complete fucking waste of time as far as the girl went (there's virtually no story to even tell) but I got to drive around the most dismal goddamn city on the planet for a while. Jesus Fucking Shit. Flint, Michigan SUCKS. I ended up at a Chi-Chis on the edge of town, where me and the bartender were the only people not in the kitchen, and talked about relative crime rates in Detroit and Gary, Indiana. So much for driving four hours to get laid, eh?

Just a thought. I might end up taking a three-day weekend in August to jack off to Internet porn non-stop. Fuck knows what I'll do.

Love,
Dougie

Happy Motherfucker's Day

Definitely a switch back, playing with the regular drummer. He did pretty well, but I noticed the stark difference in groove on a few songs from the last two gigs.

I finally met our guitarist's new baby. She's what, two months old now? Lovely little thing. Then she looked up at me.

Wow. She's got her mommy's eyes. The ones that on her mommy could DESTROY A MAN'S SOUL from yards away. I looked up at her mom and...yep. Jello. I have become fucking jello.

He's done a couple practices with his new band and is enjoying it a lot. I'm really happy for him.

The tension from Friday was almost completely gone, it was a much more relaxed atmosphere before and after, and we had some discussion about how to handle the next few months. They might try to go on without me and Matt, but I don't think our singer's heart is into that idea. It'll be interesting to see what they do.

I took a long way home, driving through Muncie for no real reason, just a bit of a nostalgia trip, driving by places I used to go when I used to go there a couple times a week.

i spent ten hours in bed last night, and might have actually slept close to nine of it. I even took a semi-nap for an hour today. I fucking needed it, and I won't be doing that shit again for a while.

Listening to Coheed & Cambria for the first time tonight. I was recommended them after I raved about the Mars Volta a while back. There's definite similarities, and I rather like them, but it's not nearly as interesting as Mars Volta to me. THAT band is still kicking my ass every time I listen to them.

Amanda hasn't called. Somehow this doesn't surprise me. Of course, it means that I now have MORE questions, which multiply like fucking bunnies every time I think about it. But I somehow havne't thought about it that much today. This whole thing sucks, but I'm so fucking ready to be out of here and back to Cincy, I can't let anything get in the way of that for long. I packed three more boxes today, and tried to get loose tapes and CDs into their proper places. This is a Never Ending Process Of Futility in my world, as unorganized of a fucker as I am.

Last night driving home was funny. I'd spent so much time in the previous few days thinking about women from areas ABOVE waist level, that it was surely inevitable that I'd snap and go back to a raging river of fuck-hormones. It hit at about 7:00 last night. I wanted to fuck EVERYTHING for the rest of the night. So I forced myself to stay in, though I'd thought about going out to a local bar and check whatever bands were out, since I've been spending Saturdays with my own band for so long. But I didn't do that. I was both tired as hell and horny as all fuck, and that's a lethal combination that makes me REALLY FUCKING STUPID. So I got some cheap porn. Trust me, the universe is better balanced that way sometimes. And that chick on page 37 sure looks like that elusive cross between a waitress and an industrial vacuum cleaner that I've been searching for for so long now.

Gotta get up at 4AM again. I think I'm ready for bed.

Goodnight, you fuckers.

Love,
Dougie

Shine On Brightly

I don't know if I rocked like a motherfucker, but I had fun tonight. I certainly sang my ass off. I don't know where I found that energy. I sure wasn't feeling it before the gig.

I love the new sub drummer. He wasn't as consistent tonight as last week, but he still kicks the shit out of most of the material, and he took a solo in the middle of Funk 49 that was a blast to watch.

It'll be a month before he's back. June 17th, two days before my lease is up and I move back to Cincy. Tomorrow's gig (well, later today) is with the regular guy. Damn.

Lots of tension off-stage. Onstage it was great. The singer got good and drunk beforehand, and he's funnier than shit that way. But his reasons bother me, the same as MY reasons for downing a double scotch three times later in the night. We're feeling the end coming. He's not letting on what he really feels (because he never does) but he's upset about all this. I know he's upset at me and Matt both, but he also knows we have to go, why we need to go. He wishes us well, but he's still pissed, because we've ALL put an enormous amount of energy into this band, and it's all going to hell at the end of September. I don't blame him, I just wish he'd say it. Instead he got fucked up and..well...it was a lot of fun anyway.

I've drank far less in the past week or so than I have in a while, but I did my part to deplete the alcohol supply of Marion, Indiana tonight as well. Watching him left me with little choice.

This sucks on a lot of levels, and it's really htiting me hard tonight, but there is no doubt that what I'm doing is right. I'm going to be closer to Katie. I'm going to be driving less, not killing my car as much, or my budget. I'll have some fucking TIME on my hands again, instead of this psychotic schedule I now keep. This is the right thing for me to do. But I have to give up this band, and I didn't want to do that just yet.

And...Amanda...

I checked my cell phone 74,000 times tonight. She never called. After the gig, I saw a message had come in. My heart jumped into my throat, did six backflips, three Hail Marys and sang the national anthem. She called! She called!

Nope. It was a message from Mom.

Fucking Hell.

The gig helped, but I still thought about her. Still wanted to talk to her. Wanted to HOLD her. Sex was Priority Number 947,612 tonight. Well, except for that one time. And the other. And oh, that chick by the bar. And the one...

I'm kidding. It really was way back down the list. For once. My arms ached for two reasons tonight. I was beating the shit out of my bass, and I wanted to hold Amanda. Look into those eyes. Die there and be reborn.

She really has a hold on me.

Sitting there at Steak & Shake today, trying to enjoy my lunch, but mostly feeling like sixteen layers of rancid dogfuck, it occurred to me that something really bad was happening. I was doing something really wrong.

Looking for happiness outside of myself. And letting her unhappiness at me leaving control me.

It scares me. I think back on how badly it has fucked with me in the past when I know I've upset a woman. I HATE that feeling. When Susan left me, I was a goddamn basket case for months. After the divorce last year, I was a dangerous person to be near on a highway. Knowing how much I'd failed, how bad of a job I'd done at making these women happy, I went to the extreme of denying myself any happiness as over-payment.

I can't do that again. I can't allow the disappointment I feel in the wake of discovering Amanda's true feelings towards me to control me, to divert me from the path I know I'm supposed to be on. I can't.

But that look in her eyes. Cold hard fire. As if I'd betrayed her and pissed on her.

I can't get my head around this. That I could have meant that much to her all this time, but I'd never known. But doens't it make sense? Jesus, this is the first fucking time in my life I've done this RIGHT. I've given her tons of space, tons of time. I've planted seeds, and they've been damn good ones. I've not been overbearing, but I've made it clear how much I like her. I handed her a handwritten copy of one of the most beautiful love songs ever written, and I told her she was worth waiting for. I've been GOOD to her all this time.

And now I'm shutting it down and going away.

She knows why, and it's why she'll get over it. She's met Katie. She's got her own daughter. She knows (because I've told her) how hard it is to be away from my girl. She understands. But...I've hurt her.

It's hard to accept. The self-loathing part of me is saying "Well, that's no surprise. You've shit on every other woman you've claimed to care about, why not this one, asshole?"

Fuck that. I've done my damndest to do this right. This is just bad luck coming at the backside of some really good luck. It's never one or the other. I get to be with Katie more and have a saner life. But I've had to sacrifice the band and a shot at Amanda to do it. And...that's the way it has to be. It just is. It sucks, but so does the price of most things worth fighting for. You do it anyway, because it's right.

I'm holding on to hope. That maybe something will still happen with her, in some way. Somehow. But I don't know. I can't just yet. I'd like to believe I can salvage something from nine months of being in her world. I hope I can. but I don't know.

So I wait on that phone call.

Dammit.

Love,
Dougie

Wow

I told Amanda I'm moving.

"Well, that's bullshit." And she walked off.

That look on her face...

She came back with coffee.

"You looked like you're pissed at me."

As she walked back to the counter, she said "I wouldn't say pissed, but I am mad. I'm definitely not happy about it."

She said this loud enough for everyone in the place to hear.

Numbness creeping across me. I suddenly felt like shit.

I almost hadn't said anything. I'd written my phone number down, had it on the table ready to go. It's been a while since I felt uncertainty about her. I felt it all the time before, never sure whether to say or do what I wanted to. But recently I felt confident around her. But sitting there when I first went in, I suddenly felt the fear again. I plowed through it anyway.

And got rewarded with anger. Jesus. That look of hurt on her face. Hurt mixed with real live anger.

Without her saying it, without me even asking, I got the answer to my question.

She likes me.

I told her I'd still be by weekly for the next few months, and she seemed to cool down almost immediately. "As long as you still come by sometimes, that's all I care about."

THAT was bullshit. She cares about mroe than that. I could tell in the stiff way she said it. She still isn't letting much out, but I could read her this time.

Suddenly this whole thing really hurts.

She has my number. she said she'd call. "I sure will, now that you're LEAVING ME." Absolute fucking scorn in her eyes when she said that. Jesus Christ.

I haven't quite processed al this yet. I told her i'd be back next week, but I expect that she'll call soon. Now I'm going to be dreading that call and living for it at the same time.

She really likes me. And she's pissed at me for going away. I don't fucking believe it.

I've gotta pack up and go to a gig. I'm tired as hell and numb from this thing with Amanda. I'm either going to rock like a motherfucker or be really lame tonight. I can feel it.

Dougie

FUCK Howard Dean

But FUCK him. This SPINELESS COWARD is now courting evangelical right-wing Christians with his bullshit assertions that Democrats "have an enormous amount in common with the Christian community, and particularly with the evangelical Christian community" in regards to gay issues. FUCK this cowardly, turncoat piece of shit. Hey, maybe DEMOCRATS share this shit, but those of us with SOULS do NOT. Some of us DESPISE the evangelical right and every goddamn thing they stand for. And fuck you in your worthless ass for trying to court these cocksuckers, you pathetic cunt.

I HATE these fucking Democrats. They do NOT represent me. Right-wing conservatives have done everything they can to portray an image of being "persecuted" by "liberals" at the very same time that these supposed liberals are bending over with their very own supply of Crisco to take REPUBLICAN COCK up their sorry assholes, wasting America's time with issues that do NOT matter.

I've got news for you fucks:

1.) Gay marriage Is NOT a real issue.

2.) Video games are NOT a real issue. (Listen up, Hillary, you cunt.)

3.) ANYONE who plays footsie with Republicans is a SOULLESS SWINE and is NOT TO BE TRUSTED.

FUCK these Democrats. They represent everything that is lacking in spine and principle in this formerly great nation. If ANYONE is to take on these Republican SHITHEADS who are trying to turn us all into a nation of Jeezo-swilling consumer RODENTS, they have to do so with BALLS and SOUL, not this half-assed capitulating horseshit. FUCK Howard Dean. FUCK John Kerry. FUCK Hillary Clinton. They are WHORES every bit as much as the minions of Bush and his evil fucking empire. Liberals in the USA are evety bit as self-righteous and fucked as their pseduo-conservative counterparts, and they are KILLING us all.

I love my country. I hate what we've become. A nation of wretched priority-challenged CUNTS in thrall to a pseudo-moral elite who offer NO true solutions, NO true change, NOTHING but hate and fear and
SHIT. I piss down the throats of these swine. We need a new leadership. A new party. Until that moment comes, I regard traitorus FUCKHOLES like Dean the same way I regard Bush. Ball-less tools of an authority I've long since given up on, a suckup slave of religious POWERSLUTS who care NOTHING about the issues and assholes that I will rail against UNTIL MY DYING BREATH.

To Hell with all you pigs. You do not represent me. And I no longer care what the fuck you think.

Love (because that is the opposite of THEM),
Dougie

Pablo Escobar, Honey

Somebody will get that title. At least I hope she does. I still miss her.

Been driving to the audio book of Killing Pablo by Mark Bowden. I raved about this book a couple years ago. It's a fascinating study of the Columbian drug lord, and I'm captivated by his evil exploits. As much as I despise the things he did, it's hard not to be in awe of his balls, his blatant mastery of the evil underbelly of everything vile and self-serving that fuels our human race. He makes Tony Soprano look like George McFly. I admire the motherfucker in the same breath I hate everything he was. Read the book. It's good shit.

A very nice few hours with Katie. We dropped stuff off at Bill's, ate fruit and drank grape juice in the parking lot of a Meijer's store while listening to Procul Harem, and got Mommy her Mother's Day present at Half Price Books, I dropped her back home.

Then I called one of my best friends as I bougbt gas, and he's become a father tonight. A few minutes later, the right side of the plastic thingamajob underneath my radiator fell off on I-75, and i used a liberal amount of duct tape to repair the damage. (While traffic went way too fast inches away.) Then I drove home oblivious to all but the exploits of Columbian drug lords.

I'm drunk as all hell right now. I've decided against the letter to Amanda. I'll simply give her my phone number and tell her I need to talk to her. I think she'll understand. But who the fuck knows where it will go.

I have to wake up in five and a half hours. I've got seven women on my mind. Three that...uh,...well, none of them seem to give two fucks whether I live or die, actually. FUCK Jackson Browne and The Eagles, anyway.

Terrapin Station still in the CD player,
Dougie

It's Sinking In

I'm moving soon. Holy shit.

Eight boxes packed full of books and magazines. Three of them are already in the car, as I'm going to Cincy tomorrow. Drop stuff at Bill's, spend two or three hours with Katie, get the fuck back to Indy and get up at 4AM to go to work. Leave work Friday straight to see Amanda, back home to load gear, then up to Marion for a gig. An afternoon gig Saturday.

Thank fuck I have Sunday to decompress a bit, but I've got plenty of stuff around here to do then too.

Bill is making me feel good about the possibility of going into music sales. Not my first job choice, but Christ, it beats the fuck out of what I'm doing in the daytime now. And I should be able to get a few students through it as well.

The Cincy band I haven't played with since August is back together, and have been playing gigs for a couple months. I didn't know anything about this until I saw their website a few days ago. They never called me. Oh well. I'm gonna miss playing at pool parties with topless drunk chicks, but I won't miss going to gigs wondering if one of the guys is getting arrested at the same time.

Terrapin Station is filling the room as I type. Far and away my favorite Dead track, for obvious it's-sorta-proggy reasons.

How to handle Amanda. Does she even care. What the fuck. Questions, questions, questions. Flooding into the mind of the concerned deviant bassist today.

The kid with the really hot Teri-Hatcher-esque mom seems to be the most affected by me leaving. He was pretty erratic tonight, and seemed PISSED at me. But then he'd ask me to play the example I'd just written down as fast as I could and he'd laugh at me again. Good kid. I'm gonna miss him. But yeah, I'm gonna miss jerking off all over myself thinking about his luscious hot mommy even more. God DAMN, I'm gonna miss her.

My lease is up on June 19th. Shitloads to do before then, and I have money issues out the ass to contend with. I applied for a second credit card yesterday. I HATE that, and it feels uncomfortable, but I have no real choice right now.

I've become addicted to the comedy of Carlos Mencia. Wow, something to offend everyone. I saw a blurb that said "Makes Chris Rock sound like Bill Cosby." A bit over-stating the case, but...yeah...not bad. Definitely gonna make yer more liberal white folk pretty squeamish. I think he's fucking hilarious.

Saw a lovely woman at the Shell station today. Mid-20s, pleasant figure, not barely legal/pregnant/married (well, I didn't see a ring)/something else to make me feel like a perv. Just a nice looking woman with one HELL of an ass in those jeans. I almost thanked her. "Hello, miss. Thank you for making my dick hard in a nice Christian manner."

OK, I'm still gonna burn.

Time for go to bed, Tor.

Love,
Dougie

I'm Such A Bad Little Boy

it's not that I'm going to TRY to fuck a woman who is married and pregnant. I just WANT to.

I saw H today. I can't get over how intensely attracted I am to her. And yeah, she's a very nice, sweet girl. But mostly this is animal-fuck-energy at work. She's beautiful to begin with. but there's something about the comination of what she is to begin with, and the fact that she's getting HUGE that makes me FUCKING INSANE.

I was SWEATING when I left. Trying to not show how totally shook up I was. I held it together perfectly well while I was talking to her, Didn't even vaguely hint at what I was feeling. But once I hit the door, I thought I was going to lose my shit right in the parking lot.

But I held it all in. Asked her how she was doing, wished her well, told her I was moving soon, got my stuff, said goodbye. I WANTED to fall to my knees and beg her to just let me look at her for a while.

And for fuck's sake, she keeps looking at ME with...what IS that? she already knows I think she's hot. It's this sort of slightly-embarrassed/flat tered look mixed with...no, I HAVE to be imagining that. My brain cells can't compute the math involved in this woman looking at me...almost exactly the way I wish she would...

She does it sideways, trying not to show it. Jesus H. Christ. I have to be imaginging that.

I have the most ridiculous little fantasies going through my head right now. I'm gonna end up shovelling one big pooper-scooper full of DEMONIC EXCREMENT behind Satan himself down in the ninth circle of Hell for this.

Told tonight's students I'm leaving soon. The store owner would prefer me to be out at the end of the month. I wanted to stay through the week I'm actually leaving, and it'll be a couple hundred bucks I won't see now, but the way these things work, I can't complain. It's going to make the transistion easier for him and whoever takes my students, so it's not like I didn't exepct it to come out this way.

So I'll be a guitar teacher for three more weeks. Then I have to try to find a way to do that shit again in Cincy, because I'm going to miss that easy money.

I have several boxes of books and magazines packed already. Taking them to Bill's Thursday night, and I'll spend a couple hours with Katie.

I'm concerned about the current job. I HATE it, but I need it for another month, and I'm worried that they'll wake up and realize they don't need half the temps they have in there. We keep getting out early. Maybe they prefer it this way, but it does seem a bit much.

But I had the CD walkman today, and that makes things FAR more tolerable. The best part was listening to Roger Waters' Amused To Beath, which I hadn't heard since I saw him live a few years back. I love that album more all the time. The lyrics are amazing, the songs have far more subtle pleasures than I'd given them credit for before, and Jeff Beck...fucking SHIT. It's JEFF FUCKING BECK. The guitar palying on that album is unreal.

And ya gotta love that line about the piano lid comng down to break Lloyd-Weber's fucking fingers. Hehe.

Other CDs at work today included David Gilmour's About Face, Living Colour's Stain, Kansas' Point Of Know Return, Magma's Udu Wude (perfect music to sacrifice goats to Beelzebub to), and Chris Rock's Never Scared.

I have a thought going through my mind about a potential road-trip in August once the band slows down, only three hours from Cincy. I'd like to meet somebody cool who reads this shit, and I hope she likes the idea too. No, I won't be trying to get any, I just would like to meet her.

The electrical problem seems to be back in the car. The ABS light is on, but I can't tell anything wrong going on with the brakes. One of the service lights likes to come on sometimes too, then goes away. The car seems to be fine, but I'll have to take it back in when I get a chance. Not much of one for a while, though.

Might be taking the biggest load down to Bill's next weekend. Mom and Dad want to visit Katie, and will bring their truck down, along with the van I'd borrowed. (If, of course, Mom can survive the Incessant Jungles Of Interstate Doom with Dad's guidance.) So I'll be doing a lot of work Sunday getting shit ready to go.

I called A tonight. The lawyer. Left a message. Told her I was moving, but she could still see the band down here in July when we play nearby. Asked her if we could get together for a couple hours on Sunday. Damn, I really do like her. I'm also planning on seeing that country band we saw together again. They play every Thursday, and they kicked my ass so hard I have to go back to get my cheeks split again.

I started writing a letter to Amanda, which I plan to give her Friday. It will likely be edited a thousand times before then, because I want to do this right, and I keep worrying that it'll come off like the work of a lunatic fuckweasel. but I really do want to tell her how I feel, see if I can get some kind of reply before I go.

For some reason I can't quite fathom, I'm listening to a CD somebody burned me years ago of remixes of Genesis songs from their last few albums. Half this stuff is pure shit. Why the fuck am I listening to this?

God, she looked like that pink blouse was about to burst open. I've always noticed that I have a certain attraction to pregnant women, but this one is making my fucking medulla snap. SHE TOLD ME WHEN SHE'S WORKING NEXT TIME. Holy fucking shit.

Oh fucking no. Invisible Touch is running around my head. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love (and pain),
Dougie

I Want To...

Fuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuck

Fuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuck

Fuckfuckfuck FUCK
Fuckfuckfuck FUCK
Fuckfuckfuck FUCK
Fuckfuckfuck FUCK

FUCK

Fuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuck

Fuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuck

Fuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuck

FUCK

Fuckityfuckfuck
Fuckityfuckfuck

FUCK
FUCK
FUCK
FUCK

FUCK

Just thought I'd mention it.

Fuck,
Dougie

My Sunday Feeling

I wasn't going to tell her, but I thought I'd prepare the way.

"Katie, I have something to tell you. You know I've been trying to spend more time with you. I think it's going to happen soon. I can't say everything yet, but I think I'm going to be able to see you at least twice a week soon."

She looked thoughtful.Then sad. I wans';t sure what she was thinking.

"I'd never leave you behind, Daddy."

What?

"What do you mean, honey?"

"I'd never leave you behind."

"Honey, do you feel that's what I've done to you? that by moving so far away, I've left you behind, haven't given you enough love?"

She hesitated.

"No." There was more than a simple "no" in her face, though.

"Are you upset at me for moving so far away? You can tell me if you are,honey. It's OK. I understand."

"No, Daddy. I'm not upset." Then she started smiling again.

I took that reply as "Yes, I actually am a little, Daddy. but mostly I'm not, so don't worry about it too much."

She understands her emotions far better than I did at her age.

"I wish you could be here more often. You're so far away."

I felt she was calling my bluff. Like she could see through me.

"Katie, I wasn't going to tell you yet, but here's what is happening. My band is breaking up soon. Our guitar player is leaving. And I'm coming back to Cincinnati next month. I'm going to live closer to you. I don't know where yet, but I'll stay with Bill for a while, and then I'll find a place close to here, and we'll be together more often."

At first she looked...distrustful? As if to say "Yeah, right, Daddy. You're full of shit." Then...her mouth was wide open, her eyes huge. She was one the verge of hyperventilating. Happy face. Like she'd won the lottery. Then...calm again. She said nothing through all this.

"I'm so happy to be with you more often again, honey."

No answer. she looked...thoughtful. but happy.

"I want you to know how important it is to me that you know how much I love you. I need to be near you, I'm happier when I'm with you. I know you're happy too. And you need to know that I lov eyou, and that Mommy loves you. I can tell you that, but I need to SHOW it to you. There's a lot of kids who don't know. Their parents either arne't around, or they don't tell them, or don't show them. And they don't grow up very happy. I want you to be happy. I love you, Katie. And that's why I have to come back closer to you."

"You're getting a new apartment?" I could see by the look on her face what she was really asking.

"Yes, a new place. I still won't live here with you. Me and Mommy won't live together anymore. But I'll be closer. I can't see you every day still, but it will be more often."

Silence. But she looked...content. Not totally satisfied, but content. I know what she wants. She won't say it often, but I know. And I can't give it to her. But I can give her this.

"I love you, Katie."

"Me too, daddy. Can we go now?"

She kills me. OK, Daddy. We've got the heavy shit out of the way, let's go have some fun now . What a kid I have.

We spent most of the day with Bill, and it was great. She fed birds at Bill's house. We saw a hawk overhead. She rode her bike along the Little Miami Scenic Trail, and...fuck, I love southwest Ohio. It's beautiful. I need to be back there.

Later, she said "Daddy, I'm very happy you're coming back." Very matter-of-factly. Not a lot of emotion, just enough to make her point.

I love this kid.

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

Somebody else is very good at letting only so much of her feelings out.

Flashback to Saturday morning:

"Ahhh, more coffee. You are a goddess."

"How's Katie?"

"Very good. i may have some news for her soon. Maybe you might be interested too."

Those eyes. That smile. Oh fuck. I'm going to miss her. Low expectations, but very, very high hopes. And now...gone...

"I won't know until tonight, but our guitarist might be leaving. I might be moving back to Cincinnati next month."

I told her more of the story as of that day. She looked...

It's so fucking hard to get much from Amanda. But for a moment there, there was disappointment in her face. Sadness. Shock.

Then she changed the subject and acted like it never happened.

Goddammit, what ARE you thinking? For the first time since I've known her (August? It's been that long?) I was almost (almost) pissed at her. Dammit. Tell me what you're thinking. i've poured too much psychic energy into this to walk away now without ANYTHING, without ANY indication that you might have had one THOUSANDTH of the feeling I had. I wanted you. I thought about you often. I dreamed about you. I ached for you. wanted to simply hold you close, look into those eyes. And yes, I wanted to fuck you within an inch of our lives. And even now, still notr knowing what the FUCK you are thinking, I still do. I want all of it still. but now I know I probably was wasting my time, and it wasn't even you. It was me. Months of building my hopes on a fucking sandbox called "temporary living arrangments." I was never going to be here more than a year. Somehow I knew that, I just didn't want to say it. And I didn't want to believe all that effort was going to nothing.

Nothing? Is that what it was? Prick. You got NOTHING from this? Months of building up some confidence, some level of sanity? When you looked into her eyes, you felt GOOD. RIGHT. And that was "nothing", you selfish fuck? Put your dick back in your pants and THINK, you self-absorbed fucking cocksucker. You should get down on your knees and thank this beautiful, vibrant woman for not SHITTING ON YOUR FUCKING HEAD. You're lucky to know her at all, assface.

But dammit, I wanted more. I wanted...everything she had to give. There were times I laid in this room and nearly jumped from the bed to go hunt her down, knock on her door, and throw myself into her arms, make love to her, bury my face between her legs and break my goddamn jaw trying to be the best she ever had, tell her over and over again how beautiful she is, how much I wanted to make her happy, make her come, make her love.

Make her file fucking restraining orders on my psychotic ass.

That was late at night. in daylight, I mostly just wanted to know her better.

I'll have to lay this shit out. It feels necessary. Let her know where I've been coming from for months, let her know that it now has all changed, and I expect nothing else from her, I just want SOME indication of what she thought and felt. No matter what it was. That's all I need. If I could have one evening just to sit across from her and look into those eyes for a few hours, that would be a bonus. but all I really want is to know what she has felt, without shutting it off, changing the subject, and acting like there's nothign to see here mere seconds after letting me have the slightest peak into her heart, that little tiny bit that looks like she HAS wanted something more too, HAS felt something towards me more than just the guy who leaves the big tips and the cards, notes, and Andy Partrdige lyrics. Dammit, there's been JUST enough moments where she let her guard down to make me think she felt something too. I just haven't KNOWN.

How do I ask this without being an asshole?

That's my job for the week. I have until Friday, when I see her again. She told me to let her know what's going on. She wants to know. Dammit, she DOES like me. But how much? Has she been happy the way it's been, or has she wanted more?

Dammit, I'm gonna miss her. Love? I don't know about that. but I did care for her very much, wanted to give as much as I would take. Wanted to make her as happy as I know she could make me.

And now...that's over too.

Fucking hell.

I'm tired and have to be awake in five and a half hours.

Love,
Dougie

It's Happening

I've committed to all the scheduled gigs through the end of September. I'll be here for a long stretch of them, then there will be a month and a half through the beginning of August I'll have to drive from Cincy to gigs. We have most of August off, and two gigs in September. I told them i'd do the New Year's Eve gig in Marion if Matt can make it, and there's one here in Indy in October we might do as well, but that's totally up in the air.

He told us more about what the offer is, and it makes more sense than what I thought from reading his first email. They'll be in Kokomo practicing three times a week, and doing some local gigs, before going to Nashville.

He went to a recording school down in Tennessee but ended up back In indiana, not using anything he learned. Even if this band falls through for him, he'll have some contacts and be in a better place to do what he should be doing. I hadn't realized he was making just as shitty money at his current day job as I am. No wonder he's so ready to go.

His wife (who looked SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL tonight) is obviously very conflicted. They've got a new baby, and now she has to go away from her family, who she is very close to. But she thinks this is for the best too. and good lord, she looked stunning tonight. She was about to cry a few times, and I hate to see her like that. She's such a sweetheart. Hell, they both are.

I think the other guys don't quite know what to think. And I think they might be more upset with me than Matt, because it's pretty much impossible to hide how relieved I am. I LOVE these guys. I've loved being back, it's kept me sane for the past year. But being back closer to Katie and having my life back to something less stressful and time-eating is very, very appealing. I hate leaving, but I will. I hate being apart from my daughter more.

There is a slight chance he might back out and not leave after all. But the writing is on the wall in regards to me. I'm gone. I've made the jump. No turning back.

I'm waiting two weeks to tell Katie. I can't possibly convey just how much I've wanted to tell her for months now. "Daddy is coming back to Cincinnati. We'll be closer, and I'll see you at least twice a week again." I'll be seeing her in less than nine hours, and it tears me apart that I can't tell her yet, but I want to nail down exactly what I'm doing. I need to be making plans NOW. But I can't tell her just yet.

We'll actually be spenidng LESS time together for another month or so. Next weekend is Mother's day, and I'm probably better off for letting Sheryl have her for the weekend, because I've got some fucking boxes to pack Sunday. And on Memorial Day weekend, we've got two gigs that will preclude going down there. Shit, I can't even go to her dance recital in June now, because it's too late in the day for me to get out and drive to the gig that night.

But this is temporary. We'll be closer soon.

I have some possibilities for what to do when i return, and Bill has kindly offered me a place to stay in the interim while I find a new place. We'll be visiting him tomorrow. Perhaps we can take back up on our acoustic duo project. Who knows. I can't wait to blast through XTC songs with him again.

I'm seriosuly considering going back to the place I was ready to sign on right before I left for Indy last year. In Lebanon. The rent was slightly higher than what I pay now, but the utilities were MUCH lower than anywhere else near Cincy, and I could end up saving a lot. Lebanon is a over half and hour north of downtown Cincy. It's also only 15 minutes from Caesar's Creek, 20 minutes from Katie. It has a very strong appeal right now.

I've got time, though. There's several possibilities.

The upshot of all this is that the gig tonight KICKED MY FUCKING ASS. Our sub drummer is a JOY to play with in comparison to...anyone? I'm probably just enjoying the change too much, but goddamn, he made me happy. He had a few issues, but for most of the night he was so much more fun to play off of. I'm sick of being responsible for 90% of the groove in the band. I'm too white for that much responsibility, and I tend to show it by ending up being heavty-handed in how I compensate for the rhythmic irregularity I usually deal with. Tonight felt like little work at all. I was much more relaxed than usual, and felt the grooves really taking off. He doesn't hit particularly hard, he's not all that flashy (though he has his moments) but damn, he can PLAY. and I can lay back more, can feel comfortable playing fewer notes, and more confident when I play more.

He'll be back with us Friday night. The regular guy is doing a short afternoon gig with us on Saturday. My grandma might come out Saturday, which I'm happy about. She's not seen us in years.

It's going to be crazy for the next three months, but then things might finally start to make SOME sense again. Fuck, I might even sleep every once in a while. Who could imagine?

I think the knowledge of my having to stay another year in the past few weeks before Matt came to us with this was weighing on me. I've felt worse. I've eaten more. Drank more. My back has been a wreck. I pulled a muscle in my lower back Friday morning at work and spent half an hour in the nurse's office on a heating pad. Ended up going home early after another couple hours of fighting through the job. Which is a pretty easy job. That sucked.

I told the new drummer that I've spent the past couple months making sure to have a beer before we start, just to loosen up, because our first set is usually so goddamn stiff I need to feel looser or I'll be too goddamn white myself. I didn't tonight, though. I waited until we were done (an hour before we thought we'd be, and we still got paid well) and had a scotch. I needed it at that point, but that's the problem - I've been NEEDING it for a few weeks now. I've been really goddamn uptight about shit, the thought of being stuck in this terrible fucking 5AM job has made me downright fucking depressed, and I'd resigned myself to another year of insanity and not being with Katie enough.

But that's changed now, and I feel strong again. Well, stronger. There's some big shit to wade through, but I'll be back with her soon. I feel I can cope better now, not need the shit I've been falling back on too much in recent days.

David Crosby is in my mind now. A song for his son, a song I feel for my girl. I want to tell her what she needs to know to be prepared when she's older, I want to make sure she knows the truth of how life is, but I don't want to rob her of her dreams in doing so, don't want to let her trust and sense of wonder be corroded. Crosby has a beautiful song called Dream For Him. I'm living in it tonight, as I dream for her. Dream of being with her more often again.

How am I going to explain it to him
What am I going to say when it's something that grim
How the hell do you tell them there comes an end
How are you going to handle it and still be their friend
How do you explain this world we face
To all of the innocents we brought to this place

These and other questions stand in a row
And I'm not satisfied with the answers I know
What are you going to say to those eyes
I can't even get close to the lies
That are easier to tell, you just say oh, well
I'll explain it when he's older
But somehow that's colder than I want to be

I am uncomfortable lying to a child
Feels like building a trap for something wild
Feels like building your house on the sand
And expecting the ocean to let it stand

Somehow I must come up with better stuff
You see, I'm just not satisfied with all that simplified guff
That they shovel at the kids by the handful
Like candy they buy at the stand full
Of flags by the side of the road
It's not good for them to hand them that load of crap like they do

You see, I want a world where I can tell him the truth
About everything from Jesus to John Wilkes Booth
How they lie in the House and the Senate too
Only get close to the truth when it suits them to
And the very next day
They're back to lying that way

Of course it doesn't seem to matter what I want
But I look at some of the faces all haggard and gaunt
I wonder which thing made them lose their dreams
'Cause mine is alive very much it would seem
And I would just like to be able to hand it to him
Without the light in those eyes ever getting dim
I want a dream for him

I'm coming back to you, Katie. Daddy is coming back.

Love,
Dougie

Dougie: Cheesehead Redux

I'm kinda glad I haven't seen H lately. Earlier in the week, I got off work thinking about her, with The Boner Of Doom filling my brain with dangerous fuck-chemicals and filling my pants with...OK, it doesn't really fill my pants, it barely even causes a slight ripple in the fabric. (sniff, sob) I feel so insignificant...

I haven't seen her all week, and I've been in there three or four times, because that's how I buy my energy drinks, canned mushrooms, canned fish, and toilet bowl cleaner. Three or four bucks at a time.

But I did see the model chick, who I can never remember to look at the time tag of. How much ya wanna bet her name is Amanda Mk VIII?

I've now had two semi-interesting actual conversations with her, and she's more interesting than I thought she was, but I still get the "whatever, I'm a semi-educated Indiana cornfield girl" vibe from her. Damn nice to look at though, and friendly in a sort of superior "I'll take the time to grace you with my majesty, foul peon" kinda way. I don't think she intends to come off that way, but she definitely knows she's fucking hot.

Turns out she actually does do modeling work sometimes. Told me she's been on TV. I should have told her about the time I was on TV, but I don't think she'd want to hear about those decapitated colllege girls, and besdies, I was framed, I tell you! Framed!

I went in this morning and got my stuff, went to the counter.

"So, how are you this morning?"

"Tired." She looked slightly hungover.

"Ahhh, you were out too late last night, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I sure was."

"Being a bad girl, eh?"

"You could say that."

"Cool!" That made her laugh a little bit.

"I try not to do that too much, though."

"Yeah, sometimes I'm a bad girl too, but I only do it once or twice a week. Can't let my friends see me in those clothes, you know."

She didn't seem to totally be sure whether or not I was joking.

"Yeah, my boyfriend and I went to this bar down the road and saw a band last night. They were really good."

"Now see, I'm just depressed now, because you said you had a boyfriend. Damn. Damn!" I tried to conjur up a cute smile.

She seemed amused. But I'm never sure if I'm being cute and charming, or just really fucking retarded when I say shit like that.

She told me about the band she saw (I have no idea who they are, but it's the place I went to a mile from here a few months back and saw some very competent but non-descript nu-metal kinda thing) and I told her about my band.

She's pretty damn cute. I'm still not convinced I wouldn't get totally bored after ten minutes. Well, there's other stuff we could do for ten minutes. OK, two minutes. OK, dammit, 30 seconds then I need a smoke. Goddammit.

Just popped in Roger Waters' Radio KAOS, which I haven't listened to in a long time.

Gotta start packing gear and hit the road.

Love,
Dougie

Lewis Fuck Black Rocks My World

I bought Lewis Black's new album yesterday. The Carnegie hall Performance. It's a double CD, still only around 85 minutes, but it was 12 bucks at Borders, so yay for that.

It's not my favorite of his overall, but it picks up very well on the second disc.

I'll hopefully be seeing him (with John Bowman, who is a complete ADD-riddled freakhole and I like him bunches too) in a cople weeks in Cincy.

If you haven't heard him yet, I think a very fine way to get into Lewis would be to get his previous album, Luther Burbank Performing Arts Center Blues. ANY of his albums are great, but that will be the most currently topical one (other than this new one, of course) and it hits harder than the new one and keeps it up the whole time. Get Lewis going on Janet Jackson's tit, gay marriage, or religion, and he's a TREAT TO BE HAD.

Listening to Jethro Tull's most recent, Aqualung Live. Very nice. The whole album redone, the current band really delivers. I envy the shit out of Jonathan Noyce. *I* wanna play bass for Tull! WAAAAAAA!!!!!

Going to see Amanda on the way to the gig tonight. Not sure what I'm going t say, so I'll probably just wing it, keeping pulled back for now. I might have to tell her I may be moving soon. I wonder what she'll think, if she'll truly even care. damn, I need to know what she's thinking, I just don't feel like coming right out and asking just yet.

Hopefully Matt will have something to tell us one way or the other tonight. We have to set up earlier than normal (it's a private party at a country club, and they want us ready to go right after their dinner, which is cool, because it means we're starting and finishing an hour earlier than normal) so we'll have plenty of time to discuss things.

I've already done a bit of extra organization here at the apartment to prepare if I really am leaving soon. I want to do it right this time, have everything in place and ready to go.

There's a real cute girl at my library. I think I've mentioned her before. She often is wearing a Ramones t-shirt. She has shoulder-length black hair, she's got a few extra pounds on her, a cute smile , and just seems interesting to me beyond how cute I think she is. And...her name is Amanda. What the hell is THAT about? I'd not noticed her name tag until two days ago, I don't think. Where are all these Amandas coming from, and why do I want to fuck them all?

Ian Anderaon - master of the absurd flute solo. Yeah. Ooohhh, a rather different arrangement of Hymn 43. I like! Jethro Tull kicks my ass.

Love,
Dougie

Ahhh, The Truth...

I Wanna Taste You The Way An Alcoholic Wants To Stuff His Face Into A Bottle, Baby

I'm not sure. But I might try it before winter hits. Fall is when things slow down for the band. They know I won't be around forever.

But I do really like playng every weekend. It might happen with another band, it certainly is possible, but this was such an easy thing to get back into, and I really do love these guys. It sucks how safe we've become, how our sense of adventure has taken a backseat to making sure drunk middle-aged women stay on the dance floor every single moment we're onstage, but I do still derive a lot of enjoyment simply from hearing my noise underneath their noise. As limited as much of the music is, I can find ways of putting my own little stamp on most of it, and that's a nice feeling, whether anyone else notices or cares or not.

But I'm tired of having no money because of my psychotic schedule, and I'm tired of looking at I-74 every fucking week. There's a stretch of it that's kinda nice when you hit the state line, but that state line going back home on sunday nights is just fucking depressing. It divides me in a way that doens't quite add up. I like living separate realities, just not the way I'm doing it right now. It's TOO separate.

And I want to see my girl more often. Bottom line. I need it and so does she. I've fucked up a million other things in my life, but I feel very good about my relationship with my daughter. I think I'm doing it as well as I can under the circumstances. But I want it to be better.

This high-school radio station has a weird thing for Rock Me Amadeus. I'd turn the station, but that fucking thing cracks me up in a bizarre way I can't quite explain. Besides, I've also heard King's X and Oingo Boingo in the past few hours, and I can turn it down and hit the Hatfield ^ The north CD when they play some intolerable dance shit. Which happens about every fourth or fifth song.

I just keep it on because I like the announcer girl's voice. Jesus, I'm pathetic.

Speaking of, I held the door at the VP today for an utter knockout bombshell drop-dead unspeakable headfuck of a BABE-A-FUCKIN'-GODDESS. Incredible figure, long straight brown hair. A face that could make a man fall to his knees and promise years of constant oral satisfaction to this...uh...was she even 17? Holy fuckin' shit. Damn you, God. This is YOUR doing, you rat bastard. You're trying to kill me, aren't you?

From Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson:

Jesus Creeping God! Is there a priest in this tavern? I want to confess! I'm a fucking sinner! Venal, moral, carnal, major, minor—however you want to call it, Lord … I'm guilty.

But do me this one last favor: just give me five more high-speed hours before you bring the hammer down; just let me get rid of this goddamn car and off this horrible desert. Which is not really a hell of a lot to ask, Lord, because the final incredible truth is that I am not guilty. All I did was take your gibberish seriously … and you see where it got me? My primitive Christian instincts have made me a criminal.

Creeping through the casino at six in the morning with a suitcase full of grapefruit and “Mint 400” T-shirts, I remember telling myself, over and over again, “You are not guilty.” This is merely a necessary expedient, to avoid a nasty scene. After all, I made no binding agreements; this is an institutional debt—nothing personal. This whole goddamn nightmare is the fault of that stinking, irresponsible magazine. Some fool in New York did this to me. It was his idea, Lord, not mine. And now look at me: half-crazy with fear, driving 120 miles an hour across Death Valley in some car I never even wanted. You evil bastard! This is your work! You'd better take care of me, Lord … because if you don't you're going to have ME on your hands.

I feel like that every time I catch myself getting a hard-on around a girl who just might not be legal.

Fucking shit. I might be packing my bags in a few days. I'll be getting plenty of a head-start, trust me. When Dennis moved, he was nowhere NEAR prepared, and was a gibbering mess when I last saw him the day before he left, poor guy. Sounds like he's officially in his new place in Massachusettes this weekend. I'm hoping we can do something this fall when he comes back for a weekend.

Oh my God. Boingo on the radio AGAIN. Weird Science AND Dead Man's Party in one afternoon? Fuck, I love that Danny Elfman.

For you gee-tar pickers: (I apologize for the chords being crammed together like this, but every other way I do it in this editor fucks the tab up all to hell)

VERSE

-7-6-4-1-0-2-2------2-0-3
-7-7-4-2-3-3-2-0-2-3-0-0
-8-8-4-1-0-2-2-0-2-2-1-0
-9-8-4-3-2-4-2-0-2-0-2-0
-9-6-6-4-2-2-4-0-0---2-2
-7-6-4-1-0---2--------0-3

---0-1-2-0-2----0-0-
-4-2-2-3-0-3-0-0-0-
-4-2-1-2-1-2-0-1-1-
-4-2-3-4-2-4-0-2-0-
-2-0-4-2-2-2---2-2-
---0-1-2-0-2-1-0-0-

CHORUS

------0-0-
-4-4--5-0-
-4-4--4-1-
-4-4--6-2-
-2-0----2-
------4-0-

Play the above (B,B/A,E/G#,E) twice, then:

----2-
-6--2-
-6--3-
-6--4-
-4--4-
----2-

Then do that B,B/A,E/G#,E thing twice again, followed by:

-4--------------------
-5-------0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
-6-------0-0-0-2-0-0-0-
-6--2-4-0-4-0-0-0-4-0-
-4--------------------
----------------------

Squeeze's Tempted. What a nice set of changes. Between that C#/F and spanking it to barely legal teens, my left hand is gonna be so fucked up...

Damn, I'm tired. Mushroom and cheese quesadilla for dinner. With onions and tomatoes, a few green bell pepper chunks. Not bad.

Love,
Dougie

If It Happens... (May It Be So...)

Here's my only problem for myself, Matt, and I don't want to pressure you. Like I say, I hope you make the decision that is right for you, not for us. But if you do this, how soon will you know? I have less than two weeks to back out of my new lease at the apartment. If you go, I'm going back to Cincinnati. I told Mark I'd still come up and gig for a few months, but my incentive to stay in Indy will be gone if the band goes under. My students are dropping off badly, my new day job is SHIT, and every time I drive across the Indiana/Ohio state line, I ask myself why the fuck I came here. The reason is clear - this band. Remove that, and I no longer have any good reason to be two hours from my daughter.

So all I'm saying is that if you do this, I hope you know soon. It's your decision, but that's all I ask - I think I have until the 17th before I have to make my decision.

Good luck with whatever you do. It's been downright fabulous playing again with you in the past year and seeing how much you've improved since we first started. You're a damn good player and one of the nicest people on the planet. I love you, and that's even WITHOUT the bacon grease and gerbils, you little slut. :)

Love,
Doug

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

Later:

Re-reading these last two posts, it's painfully obvious to me- I'm looking for an excuse to go back home. Home is where Katie is. This past year has been fucking insane. I'm running my ass off and barely surviving so that I can live in two very different incongruent worlds. I'm willing to do that. Part of my THRIVES on that. But going too far in one direction will kill any sense of personal freedom that I've longed for for a very, very long fucking time. I've learned that lesson in a big way in the past few years.

But now that I've finally opened doors here, two hours from Katie, I can see the ways to do it closer to her. I'd given up hope on ever having what I wanted to have here in the Midwest. I still have. It's impossible. It's probably impossible ANYWHERe, but it sure as fuck isn't going to happen in this backwater shithole. I don't hate the place. I've come to love the place. I hate the ATTITUDES. The narrowness. The lack of opportunity for anyone who doesn't smell like the other shitheads. This red-state horseshit would rip my goddamn head off if I didn't have the few tools I have to compensate, and they BARELY work. I've settled for somehwere around 37th best living in this wretched part of this declining nation.

But the number ONE best is to be near my daughter. Everything else doesn't add up to FUCK without that.

Face it, asshole. You've been looking for an excuse to go back home for months now.

Matt will probably stay. And if he does, I will too. For a year. I promised them that back before Christmas - I'm here through June of 2007. If he's here. If not, I'm getting my ass back to SW Ohio. I'll make SOMETHING work. Fuck knows what. But I've proven to myself that I'm capable of keeping my head above water on my own. Barely. I spent 35 fucking years needing other people to do it for me. I've spent one year proving my just-on-the-edge-of-compe tence ability to do it on my own. I SUCK at most things. But I suck a little less than I thought I did.

I can't believe how I'm feeling right now. I WANT to show up at the gig Saturday (funnily enough, the first with the new "alternate" drummer) and hear him say he's leaving. I WANT to go back home. I won't if he won't, but only for a year. Something really goddamn big is going to have to happen to make it otherwise, and the only big things that happen to me is the shit I do myself. <[> I want so much to tell Katie I'll be with her more often. I can't do that yet.

Fucking Christ on a crutch. I want to be here. I want to be there. I want to be in Arizona. I want to live. I want to die. I want to go to Heaven. I want to rule Hell. I want every goddamn thing there is to have, and I know fucking well I never will becuase who the FUCK am I, anyway? if there is ANYTHING I need to rid myself of, it's this ridiculous dichotomy I live with every goddamn second of the day where I think off myself as utter shit on one hand, and as King Fuck on the other. how I've managed to end up with this stupid bisected ego-fuck, I don't quite know, but I've gotta get through it. I can see the goal ahead, the place my mind needs to be. But I'm still holding myself back, because I'm fucking STUPID (like most of us are) and I barely know ANYTHING anymore except that I hate as much of myself as I love the rest. I love and hate too much. It's not the bipolarness that bugs me, it's the LEVEL of it. I LIKE going to extremes emotinally. I NEED it. I fucking despise the people who want to even that shit out and live as much on one level as possible, because that bores the FUCK out of me.

But to go as far as I do...that shit has to stop, becuase it's making thigns far too difficult.

Jesus fucking Lizard-Shit. I'm gonna need a HUGE dick joke to pull myself out of this fucking hole I've typed myself into. We'll pull our chutes and float down to Dick Joke Island...

I'm hoping for a big change. I love these guys like brothers. but I love my daughter more. I love MYSELF more. Well,i'm trying to.

I want to go back home.

Dougie

The Fan Is Now Clogged With Shit (Or Is It?)

He hasn't actually heard their music yet, this all comes down from a friend of his who apaprantly is in the band. They know they want him, he doesn't know nearly enough about them. So he might not even want to do it, but this is going to make our band a complete nightmare if he does take it. I doubt we'll survive it. And if the band doesn't survive, I'm gonna have a hard time figuring out how to survive myself. Over a fifth of my income comes from this, and I'm at a point where even twenty fucking dollars makes a giant difference.

I hope if he does take it, he makes his decision very, very soon. If he leaves, I'd just as soon get the fuck back to Cincinnati. I have no idea HOW I'd do that at this point, but I can't fathom staying here an extra year without that as the major source of both sanity and income it has become. This band was the entire reason I came up here as quickly as I did when the spot came open. Being able to play bass every weekend and see my daughter with the money I make has kept me from chopping the first motherfucker on the street who pisses me off into hamburger. My weekdays SUCK ENORMOUS MONKEY SCHLONG. I'm like most people, I live for my weekends. My weekends are NUTS, but they've kept me from going nuts.

I told him to do what's right for himself, and not to worry about us. If I had a similar opportubnity, I'd probably take it in a heartbeat. I don't hold it against him to want to go the next step. I've been waiting for it for years myself.

I just took the time to call the singer. He's with me, and we're both not very worried about it. The way Matt described it sounds a bit too good to be true, and he's got a lot more than just us to tie him here. I don't think this will happen, but...

I've got less than two weeks before I'm locked in here for another year. I have to give 30 days notice to move out. If he does this, I'm out of here. Unless something REALLY good happens very soon, and I don't see it.

I've got a friend who can proabbly help out. I doubt if I could move in my current financial situation otherwise.

I'm not getting too worked up about this yet, but I hope he knows what he's doing by the gig Saturday, and he probably will from the way he was talking in the email.

I told the singer I'd still come up and do gigs for a few months, since Matt probably won't leave just yet and we might be able to find a replacement. But after August, they'll need another bass player too if he does go.

I'm going to crank up the Hatfield & The North, drink some more cherry vodka, and go to sleep. This might not mean a fucking thing. Or I might be spending the next month and a half going nuts trying to move out of here and back closer to my daughter, who I'm only able to see every week because of the money I make with these guys.

Jesus creeping shit. Life goes on.

Love,
Dougie

Fucking Hell

"Hello, Southport Pizza Hut. How may I help you?"

Fuck my ass.

I knew immediately I'd been reamed, but I asked for her - nobody there by that name. I even gave a description, which I knew was a waste of time and did anyway.

What the fuck? She seemed really into me. Why talk to a guy for 20 fucking minutes if you're just going to burn him? Is she that bored?

The thing is, I'm not that upset about her. I'm thinking about Amanda now. I've been fucking paranoid as hell that she's doing the same thing to me - she could give a fuck if I live or die, she's just being nice to me because she doesn't want to say no. I'm probably over-thinking and being paranoid, but that's what I'm thinking mostly right now.

Goddammit.

Why don't they just tell you to fuck off instead of playing this shit? Gave me the number of a fucking Pizza Hut. I double-checked the number to make sure it was right. She wrote it very clearly.

God-fucking-dammit.

Dougie

Whee!

Cool!

I was at the grocery store and I helped her take a couple bags of salt out to her car. We started talking, kept talking, maybe for 20 minutes, and I suddenly was finding myself asking her out to dinner. She said "Sure, why not?" and we exchanged phone numbers. I'm going to call her tonight.

She's 32, divorced, shares joint custody of her 8-year old daughter with her ex, who apparantly she still gets along very well with. Works some kind of office job, I can't remember where now. She's quite pretty. Maybe 5'4", shoulder-length straight blonde hair. Sorta reminds me of a girl I used to talk to online years ago, that I met on the way back home from England in '98. Same first name, even.

OK, I'm buzzing around like a loon now. She kept laughing at my stupid shit (I over-feinged a back injury putting one of the salt bags in her trunk and asked her if she'd drive me to the mechanic since maybe he'd let me pay off an oil-change on my spinal column over a few weeks since I'm broke, and she thought that was hilarious for some reason), she told me about seven times how funny I was. I thought I was just sleep-deprived.

Four or five hours ago, i was in the mood to kill the first motherfucker who pissed me off. Right now I'm fuckin' happy.

Shit, I've gotta wait until 9:00 to call her?

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.........

Wheeeeee!!!!!!!

Dougie
PS One of the few good things about my new job is I can carry a walkman. I listened to PIL's Compact Disc (or Album, or Cassette, whatever your format) three times. Johnny Rotten kills me.

Excuse Me Miss, May I Munch On Your Muff?

Major stirrings within me to drive and drive and drive. Go west, young man. Sheryl's trip to SoCal has made me wish I could be there again. I'm so glad she got to see Keneally again. I wish I could too, but honestly, I just want to roam the desert some more. I no longer feel the need for comfort I did on my trip last year, and I could easily cut my expenses in half from what I stupidly spent last year. I can't believe the amount of money I went through in three months. I was out of my fucking mind at the time, but shit...I could do it so much easier and cheaper now.

I doubt I'll be able to do it, but I know what I WANT to do in August. We'll have a few weeks off in the band since it's when the guys take their vacations, and I want to catch a flight to Phoenix. Rent a car. Drive up to the Grand Canyon (which I didn't see last year) and over to Death Valley. (Which I ALSO didn't see.) Down to San Diego and Ocean Beach, Across I-8 into Yuma. Back through to Phoenix, then into the Gila Mountains. New Mexico. Roswell. Carlsbad Caverns. And back towards Phoenix, going farther north than I did last year, see the Zuni Pueblo area. Back to Phoeniz, eat at that Mexican place my friend Tom took me to last year. Maybe go to Cooperstown, see if Alice is there. Tell him how much Love It To Death and Killer changed my life.

My dream of living in the southwest desert is pretty much shot to hell. But I'd like to visit every year or two. I'll run up another fucking credit card if I have to. I need to be there.

for some reason, Warren Zevon is in my head again, the way he was for a few psychotic months about this time last year:

Well, I went to the doctor
I said, "I'm feeling kind of rough"
He said, "Let me break it to you, son
Your shit's fucked up."
I said, "My shit's fucked up?"
Well, I don't see how--"
He said, "The shit that used to work--
It won't work now."

I had a dream
Ah, shucks, oh, well
Now it's all fucked up
It's shot to hell

Yeah, yeah, my shit's fucked up
It has to happen to the best of us
The rich folks suffer like the rest of us
It'll happen to you

That amazing grace
Sort of passed you by
You wake up every day
And you start to cry
Yeah, you want to die
But you just can't quit
Let me break it on down:
It's the fucked up shit

Yeah, yeah, my shit's fucked up
It has to happen to the best of us
The rich folks suffer like the rest of us
It'll happen to you

God, I love Warren.

so now I sit here six hours before I have to get up for work, not sure WHEN I'm going to sleep. I'm wide the fuck awake in dreamland, motherfucker. The wine is almost gone. Rutherford is still cooler on this album than he was 98% of the time after he recorded it. I still want to die in the desert.

Love,
Dougie

PS Probably my favorite part of last's years drive was southeastern Arizona. I just found this on Wikipedia:

Safford is the location of the Governor Aker Observatory. Safford is also the setting for the Albert Brooks Comedy Lost In America.

Safford is also home to Discovery Park, a unique public educational destination facility with features such as a Hall of Science, a small railway, and a restored Sonoran riparian water feature.

Recently (a location 8 miles north of) Safford has become the site of the largest new mining operation in North America. Phelps Dodge has cleared nearly 25 years of permiting and legal hurtles and is set to begin construction of the facility in July 2006.

Related to this event, legislation has been approved in state committee to transform Eastern Arizona College from its present status as a two year community college into a full four-year educational institution.

Both events are expected to transform this once agricultural valley into a major regional economic hub within the next ten years.

The community is well served by rail and hosts an excellent air facility. Additionally the Arizona Department of Transportation is upgrading highway 191 from Interstate 10 into a full four lane highway.

Goddammit.

Don't You Ever Wash That Thing?

Got a plunger. The toilet is still fucked up. While buying it, I noticed the toilet seats for sale. There is actually a Spongebob Squarepants toilet seat. I am in awe.

Stood in line behind an ASTOUNDING redhead. Long straight hair, perfect light skin. Then she turned around and DRILLED TWO HOLES INTO MY SKULL with the most amazing green eyes I think I've ever seen. She was probably 5'5", looked to be in her early 20s.

She smiled (such an innocent, naive look on her, which might have been horseshit, but damn...) as I tried to pretend I hadn't been drooling on myself looking at her. "Hi." All she said. "Hi." All I said back. You're so fucking obvious, Doug. She seemed faintly amused by my droolage, then she wandered off to the parking lot. I didn't see her when I went back outside. Damn.

If I'm so intent on saying that everythng else is a distractin and I'm only all about Amanda right now, why the fuck do I seem so ready to be distracted? Shit, I'm practically LOOKING to be distracted. I'm good at it. I can't keep my brain on a fucking thing for long.

Something has been bugging me for over a week now. Melinda told me she visited her dad in jail down in Kentucky. Now I imagine this must be a case-by-case thing, but it seems odd to me that the guy would be allowed to see her. He molested her, then tried to kill her. Shit, she tried to kill him back. It seems weird to me that she'd be able to see him at all now. But what the fuck do I know, eh?

This getting up at 4AM thing really sucks. After this past weekend, I'm surprised I can stand up.

God, all I can think about now is that redhead. What I wouldn't give to look down into those unbelievable green eyes as she....oh shit...I'm gonna be spanking it soon...

Love,
Dougie