March Of The Ferocious Penguins (AKA Venomous Duck)

March Of The Ferocious Penguins (AKA Venomous Duck)

11.21.05 (10:46 pm)   [edit]
Standing in line tonight at the Sprint store (which can take centuries - great phone, fucking SHITE customer service), I struck up conversation with a cute blonde girl in a Purdue sweater named Monica. Kept it simple, and she actually seemed to like talking to me. Of course, then she left. Oh well, it was nice to talk. I'm obviously 15 years older. I'm finding more gray hairs every day, and she still has a bit of acne. Yep, Hellbound therefore am I.

I had a shitty few days. But it started interesting. I was feeling a bit out of balance Thursday when I went to Steak & Shake, and seeing Amanda really threw me. It was as close as i've come to truly hitting on her. She was having a bad day herself, and it was clear that it was a guy causing the problem. I offered to kill him for her.

"No, I don't want to hurt him. Just hit him a couple times maybe."

Shit, that's no fun. Maybe if I used a brick. "Well, I'll do that for you. Then you can run off with me."

"I need to run off somewhere. I need a three week vacation."

"Well, we'll save money and you can come with me when I repeat my trip west I did back in March. Want to go to California with me?"

"If I went there, I'd never come back. I love it there."

"So do I. If you were there with me, I'd never come back. Come on, gas is cheaper this week. Let's go. Well, you might not want to leave your girl here. That's why I came back, for mine."

"Maybe I can mail mine there."

"Great idea. So, wanna run off with me or not? I know this GREAT Mexican place in Phoenix we can stop at."

She just laughed and went back to mopping. I was standing next to her. I'd never done that. I am always either across the room from her or sitting at the table. Standing next to her, I was struck by how short she is. She's such a little thing. And....wow...I really want this one.

It feels almost normal. No sick daddy-lesbo games like with Melinda. No "I simply must worship you and make a complete drooling ass of myself" like whenever I'm within 20 yards of Jenny. It's mostly pure animal fuck-energy, but I've got to know her a bit over nearly four months, and I feel a certain weird almost-connection with her on a level that has little to do with sex. Which is nice. We're both working shit jobs, we both have young children, and as far as I can tell, we're both divorced. That comes from overhearing stuff she's said. I still don't know where she's exactly at, but I'm pretty confident that the guy she was pissed at last week is a boyfriend, not a husband. Fuck him. I'm closing in. I expect nothing. Well, I expect to be shot down. But I'm trying anyway. It's taken four fucking months, but I'm finally ready. I just have to know where I'm at now. I've gotta know. And I hope to find out tomorrow. Wish me well. I'm going in on a thread here, but goddammit, I gotta know. Those eyes are calling me. That smile is making my knees turn into liquid shit. I've got a fucking Boston song in my head, for Christ's sake. I'll do anything to get Tom Scholz out of my goddamn head! God, help me!!! I know I don't even believe in your invisible ass anymore, but fucking hell! Help me out here!!!!!!!!

Standing there looking down at this sexy little lady (and the word "sexy" always seemed goofy to me, but it fits her perfectly) with her dark brown hair (man, I need to see here with her hair down), sharp blue eyes, and that smile seeming almost trained to scramble the brains of man, I wanted something about as close to a healthy desire as I've had in months. Fucking? Sure. but there was no guilt attached to it. None of that stupid Christian shit that plagues me normally. No, this time I felt like I could really share something. Not take too much, not feel compelled to over-give to the point of being psychotic. No following-like-a-lost-pup py like I felt about Jenny. Just...a connection. That's all I wanted. A good strong connection with a real live woman right in front of me, not some idealized whatever the fuck I was thinking about 12 seconds before that.

So I carried this with me as I left. And it stayed through Friday.

I felt wretched Friday. I had a horrifc case of the shits. I was on the toilet every 45 minutes, sometimes more. My head was pounding. I was tired as fuck. And it wasn't food or lack of sleep. It was stress. That was obvious. All the shit I'm carrying around was working me over. I'm terrified of what's happening to me financially. I'm terrified of my insane need for female companionship at the same time I'm thoroughly enjoying living alone. I miss my daughter constantly and hate myself for being so far from her. My parents are making me batshit and I despise feeling beholden to them once again. I had a 21-year old girl in my arms one minute and a limp sausage in my hand the next. This computer is filled to the brim with time-sucking, porn-spawn vermin that slows down my attempts to pirate every last CD known to man.

You know, important stuff.

Bob expressed concern over my condition. I told him it was stress. He seemed to understand.

"You know, if I could get my hands on a thousand dollars and a blowjob, I might be able to have a solid shit again."

I'm proud of that one. It's been a year since I've had any without paying for it. Well, you pay for it no matter what...

I ended up leaving a few hours early. I had to ask four people today if anyone was pissed at my sudden decline in attendance (late twice and leaving early once within one week) and I was happy to find that it's OK. Not that it matters. I'm looking for a new job Friday on my day off. I can't live on this money, and I'm out of CDs I'm willing to sell just so I can afford gas to Cincy.

Speaking of shit...

I took a dump today at work. Over the weekend, it went back to the other direction and I was constipated again. Fifteen minutes of pure joy.

Two stalls down, someone was worse off than me. This is comforting. i'm trying to pass Elvis through my colon here, and another guy is actually in worse shape than me. But I had to wonder...

That sound. What WAS that? Was that someone's ASS??? Or is there a giant snake vomiting up partially-chewed chunks of gorilla meat at the bottom of a well? What the FUCK is that noise?

So maybe I'm a lucky one. Pass me another roll of paper, buddy.

Weird moment at this week's gig. Shithole bar behind a bowling alley in Marion. Not a lot of people, but we did well, it really rocked in the last set, I was about as consistently good as I've ever been with this band, and my tone was happening, I only felt slightly constipated, I resisted the urge to drink gallons of rum, and I nailed our "theme song" down to a T. I even worked Stanley Clarke's School Days into Mark's intro of me, and it's always fun to work the Low Rider riff into Evil Ways while Matt pretends to know what feedback is for. My backing vocals on All Day And All Of The Night RULED. For once.

A middle-aged guy came up to me excitedly after we finshed.

"Man! You are the best bass player I've ever heard in my life!"

Three things shot through my head in unison:

1.) You obviously haven't heard many bass players.
2.) Why don't I ever hear that from a CHICK???
3.) Damn, that's really cool. Somebody likes me.

I thanked him. It was very kind of him. I've got good comments before, even being compared to some of my favorite players. But it's been a while. And for once, I felt like I almost deserved it. It was a good night.

I drove home thinking about Bill Hicks talking about the guys who come up to him backstage after shows. Never women. Just guys. "We jerk off too!"

I am Goat Boy. Well, he was Goat Boy. I'm Goat Boy Wannabe. Anyone wanna drive to Arizona Bay with me in case Amanda backs out?



Very nice weekend with Katie. We went to the Newport Aquarium, the library, a drive around for a bit, and Bill's house.

Coming back from the Aquarium, we drove down Third Street in downtown Cincy. The Colts-Bengals game was starting soon. Not much traffic yet, but it was starting. I looked to the right and started seeing signs.

I should have spent my college money on a parking garage. I'd be a rich fuck by now. Do you realize that people are charging TWENTY FUCKING DOLLARS to PARK A CAR at a football game? A couple places were $25. I have nothing against football, but I'm sorry. If you're paying $20 just to PARK, you're taking your sports a little too fucking seriously. Stay home, drink beer that hasn't been watered down, and watch it on the fucking TV and stop using so much goddamn oil in your fucking SUV. If I'm going to pay 20 bucks for ANYTHING on the streets of Cincinnati, it's going to be a BLOWJOB.

Wait a minute...where's that piggy bank...damn....I need to start saving my quarters....

I related a story to Bob today about women using sex as a bargaining chip:

"I'll blow you if you clean the bathroom."

Fifteen minutes later I'm at a counter at Dollar General. "I need six gallons of Pine-Sol and a mop. Make it snappy!"

Listening to old Elvis Costello, eating a bit of gorganzola (not too much, I'm sick of waking up at 3AM with a large brick in my colon) and burning some Tibetan incense Bill gave me. Bill treated Katie to some cartoons last night. It was so cute seeing her on his lap in front of the computer watching old Looney Tunes. He's wonderful with kids. I'm lucky to know the guy, and the piece he recorded yesterday on my 12-string is GORGEOUS.

You know what the difference is between a pickpocket and a peeping tom?

A pickpocket snatches watches.

Redd Foxx rules.

Love,
Dougie