Showing posts with label Story of my life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story of my life. Show all posts

Monday, June 21, 2010

the corner


I'd like to think I've turned a corner.

This insane year seems to have settled into something of a groove—sort of. I've somehow been able to string together enough wins to keep this party moving forward. Best of all, I haven't completely lost my shit doing so.

That's not entirely true. My stresses do have a tendency of ganging up on me whenever I try to sleep, causing all sorts of nasty nights bleary with insomnia.

But on the good side: I'm still doing it. I've met possibly the coolest girl in the world, and from all indications she might just like me too. I know, right?--wonders never cease.

I have plenty to be thankful for. And I am.

But like most humans, I want more. It feels more like a need than a want, but whatever. But fuck—I DESERVE more. I know, I know: don't we all?

Ah, fuck it. I can always smoke a joint and get back to counting the days until the new woman in my life comes down from her faraway land to spend some time with my funky ass...

Saturday, March 20, 2010

What really happened


It has been a week. I think that’s long enough to fully comprehend just what the fuck happened last weekend.

My trip to visit the Marijuana MILF did not go according to plan. At all.

It started out fine. She picked me up from the airport. We drove about 45 minutes back to her area. We picked up her daughter from daycare on the way to her house.

We get back to the house. She plays with the kid for a while. We go inside so the kid can eat. That’s when we go into the basement and she introduces me to the bong, a huge glass number. Next to the bong was about an ounce of homegrown marijuana. We would go through it and a lot more before the weekend was over.

The vibe was slightly weird, but nothing unexpected. It was kind of an odd situation, and would take some getting used to. Whatever.

But it didn’t. She just got weirder. Thursday night we just smoked a ton of weed . When we were getting tired, she informed me that her daughter had passed on her bed, so I’d have to sleep on the couch. OK, cool. I would go on to sleep on that couch for the rest of my stay.

Friday was more of the same. Dropped the kid off at daycare. Came back to the house and smoked a bunch of pot and talked. The conversations got kind of heavy. Life is so different for both of us since our days of fucking and fighting almost five years ago now.

Friday night was more strangeness. I sat with her while she watched almost an entire season of America’s Next Top Model. We got really, really high.

Saturday was “date night.” Fuck me. What a disaster. First I go with her to drop her kid off with her parents. The parents? Not so much. I mean, they were fine. But there is a lot of drama between this girl and her mom. So yeah, things were kind of tense.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Nuthin new about it

I really have no right to complain. I bring all of this shit on myself. I do.

But still. I mean come on. Is this what I get for watching cinematic tripe like “He’s Just Not That Into You”?

I met a girl recently. I liked her immediately, for myriad reasons. It seemed the feeling was somewhat mutual. The night we met, we hung out and had a really fun time at one hell of a sweet party. Much weed was smoked and booze quaffed. No one was feeling any pain. And then we had our moment.

At some point we happened to glance at each other. Emboldened by various intoxicants, I held her gaze. She didn’t flinch. We stared each other down for a good four seconds before turning away. It was the hottest thing to happen in my life in so fucking long it actually makes me want to cry.

Being on this whole go-for-it kick, I set about trying to make something happen with her. Phone calls, e-mails, fucking Twitter—we communicated constantly. The timing sucked though. The holidays kind of dropped in and shut everything down as her family came to town, la di da. Fine.

Fast forward to New Year’s Eve. Run into her on Twitter. Of course. Soon enough she asked what I was doing for the whole midnight thing. And like that, I was meeting her at a party to celebrate the new year, decade, all that.

Best part: I show up to the party. I’m outside dealing with the drama of getting in. I text her that I was there. She says she’ll come out. And she does. She looks great. She walks up to say hello — to me and this dude standing behind me. Moral: this chick had invited two dudes to be her date at the same party. Awesome, right? Right.

OK. Um. She grabs a friend and the four of us go in the alley and smoke a joint. OK. We go inside, drink, chat, hang out, whatever.

Midnight comes. She gives me a hug and a classic side-cheek kiss. Same for the other dude. OK.

Time comes to leave. Everyone is set to hit next party, which is kind of across town. OK. Being L.A., everyone is in different cars. I drive to the other spot.

When I let her know that I was there, everything goes all wobbly. First her friend wants to drop her off. Then she wants to skip the party and go to this OTHER party, which is all the way back on the side of town I just left. OK.

As I’m driving back, I get another text. She’s just going to call it a night. On New Year’s Eve. At like 1:30AM. OK. Cool.

I’m sure she fucked the other guy.

Story of my life.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

I call it the Murph


OK, maybe it’s not exactly Murphy’s Law. But it’s definitely on some fucked up shit.

Check it. The girl dumps my sorry ass for real. Totally stonewalls me at every turn, regardless. Lose my job and have a sibling die. Still nothing.

I go through all of the random stages of grief. I do a shitload of drugs and jerk off like a crazy bastard to insane amounts of porn. The usual shit.

FYI: I’m watching this movie He’s Just Not That Into You for the first time, and at this point I want to shoot Scarlett Johansson’s character with a very big gun.

Anyway.

When I finally go through all of the stages of rejection or whatever, I had this weird little moment yesterday. I realized that I was good with it. She had moved on and I was part of her past. I was moooooving the fuck on, too. We were dunzo. Fin.

Later on that same day. That same fucking day. A text message. She has some free time between now and date in early January. And if I wanted to get together for coffee, she would be cool with that.

Hm. Really now. Isn’t that...interesting.

Yeah, there’s definitely something murphyesque about that one.

PS: Jennifer Anniston’s character in this movie can fuck right off. Ben Affleck needs to start fucking whatever he wants immediately.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

The last resort

I know he meant well. He always does. That’s between him and the road to Hell.

Far more concerned with creeping life epidemic the whole situation epitomizes.

I mean, we’re all friends here. That much is true. So I didn’t have any expectations whatsoever when he would mention how this one girl was coming to town for an extended stay. One thing I’ve learned in life is not to be presumptuous.

But he kept pressing it. Email, text message, dude even left me an actual real-time voice message like they used to do in the olden days. I was always polite. No expectations, remember. Another thing I’ve learned (but still have a very difficult time practicing) is to NEVER start imagining how things could be with another person ahead of time. It’s akin to sitting around dreaming of what you would do if you won the Lotto. Motherfucker, you don’t even play the Lotto. Feel me?

Woke up today in a fog. Weed, whiskey, COCAINE (so much cocaine…), vodka, whatever. It has to catch up with a person sometimes. But still I ride, like Bon fucking Jovi. So I nut up and give this girl a shout. Hey. I’m here. You’re here. We’re all friends here. Let’s actually BE friends for a change.

The response was lightning-quick. But I guess it doesn’t take much time to reduce someone’s existence down to cushy convenience.

“(REDACTED) did say I could call on you if I'm ever stranded and bored.”

Maybe there’s honor in being a bottom-bitch. I’m just not going to find out firsthand.

I joke about wanting to be a whore, allowing women to have their way with me. But this is different. This is…not fun. Booty calls are fun. This is a slow, sinking feeling two days before some stupid fucking holiday that died with your mother, father, sister and brother.

This is the last resort.

x
The girl smiling in the middle of the seemingly endless bukkake, happily bathing in the baptism of sperm bitterly discharged from the rotting loins of crushed souls more broken than her own? I know her. I’ll probably drive her home afterwards.

The rest is better left unsaid.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Can't sleep


Fact: Gigolos get lonely too.

My father was a very damaged man. But amongst that wreckage was a stunning work ethic that despite a 4th grade education allowed him to provide quite nicely for his family (however much he may have resented said family).

As such, I'm not very good with downtime. One of dad's favorite little tricks was to burst into my room early in the morning while I was still sleeping to scream at me about some stupid shit. Needless to say, it scared the shit out of me. He was like a fucking Nazi, yelling in his stupid southern accent and bad grammar and I'm all startled and wondering if the house is on fire or something terrible has happened. But no. It was something completely banal, like "Where the fuck is the fucking hubcap on the rear driver side of the car?! Where did you go? What did you do? ARE YOU ON DRUGS?!?!?"

Well father of mine, I wasn't on drugs then, but I am now, fucker. And they're pretty much the only thing that keep me from just driving off a cliff or pulling a DJ AM and seeing how many Oxycontins it takes to reach nirvana (i.e. sweet cloak of death). Well, drugs and porn.


So waking up without a stupid job where I'm overworked and undervalued is actually a bad thing in my life. If I'm not doing 100 things at once (and generating a steady income while doing them) I feel like the worthless bum that "ain't never gonna be shit," as the old man liked to constantly remind me.

At the same time, I've done a fantastic job of alienating myself from the people around me. No matter how hard I try, even my closest friends are a good arm's length away. And it fucking sucks.

I woke up this morning well before dawn. My street can be so quiet before the start of rush hour. I smoke the remnants of last night's joint and turn to you. But you're not there. You eventually left me, too. You're just too young, vital and well-adjusted for the likes of me. Which is especially fucked up, considering that you're quite parentally-damaged like myself. Just not nearly as much.

But...at least I realize it. I'm making strides. You seemed to have a good time at the show on Wednesday night. Even though I could feel the distance you maintained between us, no matter what I did. You let me put my arm around you, but I felt you stiffen against it, ever so slightly.

But I persisted. I smiled and laughed and clapped and paid attention and everything. All of the things you used to say you'd wish I'd do. I got a little teary at towards the end. It was a sad song, and it only emphasized how far away you are from me now. Like, so gone.

So I drove you home. I told you I love you and that I miss you. You said you loved me too. You kissed my cheek and gave me a really tight hug. I asked you out to dinner this weekend, and you said yes.

The next day, I got your email saying dinner would have to be postponed indefinitely. You're just really busy with work, and all of your side gigs. Working hard and making money, you know how it goes.

Oh yes. I know how it goes.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Pounding Sweet Ess

"One of the problems with being a bubbling source of creativity—it's like I'm bubbling in a laboratory, and if you don't put a cap on it, at one point it will, like, break the glass. If I can hone that . . . then I have, like, nuclear power, like a superhero, like Cyclops when he puts his glasses on." — Kanye West