Saturday, October 27, 2012

further advancements on how i'm not funny

Maybe it's all the TV and movies i watch but i always knew that those "only funny in real life, but not really in TV" finally happened to me. For an example of "Only funny in real life" or "OFRL": people talking in unison, or someone shouting at a door after someone has slammed it in their face. My little experience falls into the latter of the examples.

Jessica, or Jess as her moniker from Bryan, is a friend of the said person; and rapidly approaching close acquaintance in my case, is a short, feisty woman of, i'm guessing, 27; in this case feisty falls into the closer association of "bossy", but falls much closer to assertive and/or strong willed. In Jess's case i'm willing to over look this quirk because i don't necessarily dislike her for it. It could be because she actually enjoys my odd company, and even though she can be intimidating in that motherly kind of way, i don't really shy from her. But more than likely it's that odd blend of assertiveness and beauty that i don't automatically write her of; actually it's because she bosses Bryan around and doesn't take any of his guff (a word i dislike, but in this case, Bryan doesn't really shell out "shit" but more of "guff"). There is a soft spot in me for women who have a no nonsense feel about them.

I digress.

While at the grocery store buying my lunch for work someone walked up behind me and slapped me with something on my shoulder, when i turned to look my attacker was holding a magazine in front of their face so i could not see. And my instant judgement of the assailant said, "Female, 5'5" or 5'6", mid 20's, sharp dresser, buxom, comfy boots" then my brain shouted "You don't know her! Run! She's probably someone you went to high school with! And now you'll have to have a the small talk about what you guys are doing now and more than likely she has kids and she's dying to show them to you!"

My relief couldn't of been measured when the magazine lowered exposing the bright smile of Jess. We exchanged salutations and we chatted as i continued to shop. "So you're coming home right?" She asked as we were approached the freezer food section.

"Nope, sorry, i gotta work," i said and nodded at the pretty woman that was handing out free samples of a flavor thing of Jose Curervo, which i was sure tasted like sugary poison.

"No you're not. You're coming home because we are making Jell-O shots," Her matter of fact voice as her default.

I thought about the fun possibilities there, but work was close and it'd be a real dick move to call in sick ten minutes before i had to be there. "Sorry, i really can't. Even though that does sound awesome."

"So we have berry and peach flavored vodka for tomorrow night, which juice would go best you think?" She lead me over to the cold case where the milk and OJ are stored.

Scanning the bottles i noted all the different kinds of OJ, orange with pineapple and peach, orange with mango, strawberry and papaya. "What the fuck happened with just fuckin' orange juice." i thought. "That one might be good with the peach vodka."

"Okay, that sounds good. Let's get that," she said, "And then bring it to the house. Oh and also pay for it. Well Bryan's waiting for me, so i gotta go. Bye."

Flabbergasted, i stared at her back, then shouted, "Wait, you can't boss me around we aren't dating!" She continued to wave as she rounded a corner and disappeared into an aisle. I looked over and saw the Jose Curervo woman looking at me, an expression of amusement on her face. "Woman," i said to her with an eye-roll. She nodded as to say, "Yeah, i know what you mean."

After i walked away i kinda laughed at myself, thinking how in real life shit like this is kinda funny, but i never laugh at it in movies, but i see other people laughing at all the time. Then i thought: my life is a movie that not even i would laugh at. I take great comfort in that.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The sleep of a hater

If it wasn't for the convenience of the Gregorian calender, there'd be no indication that Fall was here, the weather outside says that season is far, far away. It's bright, sunny, warm; even the trees in the backyard have no color on them. The nights are getting colder which is the only sign a new season is here, but the cold also leads to me having troubling dreams. I can't call them nightmares, they are too simplistic in their psychological attempts to bugger me. It makes me upset that the perfect shit storm of a sleeping brain movie is to set up a situation in where i put forth too much effort only to have it fall apart in the end. That is my nightmare, that is my fear.

Monsters use to roam my mind in the darkened hours of the day, but as i grew older my mind begin to fight back the phantoms that ruled there. My last monster dream was somewhere in my young teens, being chased and tired of running, i turned to face my pursuer, fighting my fear and the urine that wanted to soak my pants, i faced the monster head on; only to find there was no such beast. Just me running in a dream not getting anywhere. When i awoke i remembered the lesson of that sleep movie: there are no monsters that aren't human.

Which is now the newest theme my mind plagues me with on colder nights. It might seem odd to only have a certain part of the year where you know you're going to have troubling dreams, but i figured out why; in the summer it's always too hot to sleep, and even though i do get the amount of rest that i need i never fall deep enough to dream. This could be ridiculously false, but you have to admit it does sound like it rings true.

My figurative beast that troubled my sleep came into the from of a situation i loathe being in: infatuation. I met a girl in my dream (never seen her before in real life, after waking i realized she was a composite of several different women that i knew or had crushes on during Elementary and High School) we hung out at a party i went to, we conversed, we teased, we connected; i smiled, i laughed, i loathed. And i hated it because my dream self saw what was coming and when the collision of the happens were coming to a point i was going to get bowled over in the worst way. And because this was a nightmare, i had no way of fighting it, and sure enough i put effort into building a relationship with this phantom woman, and none of what i was doing offended her, in fact she welcomed the friendly advances to maybe move to something a little more serious. I saw the road, i saw the hurt and despoilment ahead, there was nothing to avoid it. The more we talked the more i became entrapped, and swooned. My mouth said words i wanted to believe, as my brain screamed to cut it out. She in turn expressed verbal interest; i agreed, we dated, i was happy, even with foreseeing that it wasn't going to end well.

And as predicable as any book written after 2008, the worst outcome came to fruition. The interest in her eyes for me died harder than Old Marley. Many of the details here are vague, but there was one point where i was sitting at her table in her apartment with three other guys and her. She was explaining to each of us why she dated us and why she was calling if off. The first man, who's name i do not know was told she enjoyed his outgoing nature and of course his in-shaped physic. The next one, who's name was David, was told she enjoyed his polite and intelligent way of speaking, that he was interesting and fun to be around and their sex was interesting as equally fun. At this point, i had a feeling i was going to be told the words "funny" and "genuine". All of the adventures i had with her beforehand were fantastic, i felt like i haven't in a number of years. I truly liked this girl, and everything for the past week leading up to this strange meeting was agony. When i first saw her disinterest the first thing i did when i got home was step into my room and i sank to the floor as slow as a ice statue in July. I curled there on the floor next to my bed and openly wept, the pain was so intense in my heart i couldn't stifle my sobs, they smashed out of my lungs and i wailed. But the next day i continued on with business as usual, as if i didn't notice her beginnings of dismissal. After she called things off, i once again broke down, but i couldn't get to my room, i did it right after i closed the door. (In the dream i lived alone.) So the meeting is underway and i'm remembering all this events; I'm keeping calm and i'm looking forward being told sweet things to soothe me before she dismisses me completely and i leave her apartment probably never to see her again. She turns toward me looks at me more deeply she had in the last two weeks and says, "You were just a replacement."

The sting in my heart is intense enough to blur my vision. "I wasn't important at all?" I ask knowing perfectly well that i wasn't. "No." she answers flatly. I stand, i apologize to her for not being more important and shake the hands of the other men and tell them goodbye, i leave. The sun is warm, the birds chirp, the bees buzz near open flowers, music plays from an unseen radio and i fall apart inside.

I woke up angry. Not at her, but at myself for being lead by the nose down that path. I knew better, and i still fell into another relationship with my heart on my sleeve. A practice i said i would never do again and haven't in eight years; in real life or dream sequence. But here it is bothering my sleep, performing a new nightmare to laugh at me with. But goddamn do i hate my mind when i sleep and intimate relationships in real life.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Then the morning came.

Had a dream where a gal pal of mine were having an argument, which means she was mad at me and i just nodded at her silly anger and went about what i wanted to do; at a party in my house. When her illogical anger showed so sign of baiting me into a rebuttal; she started with calling names and saying things that were suppose to hurt my feelings, a trick all women do when they run out of options. When nothing was going to work and she started in on the deeper name calling, which was working, i turned very slowly, stared at her and said, "I got way more ammo in my back pocket on this, then you do me. I highly recommend that you cut it out, go take a walk or something and come back when we have both cooled off."

She screamed, "NO!" into my face. So with a blank expression i spoke a sentence (dont ask me what it was, i don't remember) and tears welled up in her eyes. She sank to the floor on her knees and covered her face with both hands and she bawled into her palms.

Everyone at the party turned to look, i stared down at her and when she looked up at me; with that same blank expression i said, "Next time, take my advise and cool down. Or next time i wont hold back. So get up, go home and go fuck yourself."

I woke up strangely mad, refreshed and had a burning need to call said gal pal and apologize. Today is going to be interesting.

Friday, September 21, 2012

A new age and it's plan

After a brief stay in Virginia i've come to the conclusion i may not be fit for flying, but i'm for sure that i'm meant for travel. Which makes me want to go to Japan even more, and even though the plan to get there has changed drastically since last i've come here to write, my chances have taken a positive curve upward, it saddens me that it's still only a 60-70% chance. But that's far better than the route i was going and only having it a near 5% chance.

Ness and Irene have begin preparations for their divorce and in that wake Ness plans to throw his life in the states away and escape from his ill begotten life that has developed in Virginia. He's explained the situation to me half a dozen times and each time the image he paints gets a little clearer on how getting to Japan is going to work, however his usage of Navy lingo had me blinking at him in confusion; so after thinking about it, i came up with the perfect analogy. The ship that is going to dock in Japan is coming after deployment, so it's like school and docking is the beginning of summer. Well that means summer school is about to start and some of the teachers want their time off, so Ness wishes to transfer to that ship and be a summer school teacher, so to speak, but they still have to get his resume and see if he want him.

It's a crappy analogy, but boiled down to brass tacks it works so damn perfectly. So Ness wishes to leave as soon as he can to Japan and he wishes for me to go with him, and as much as it pains me to quote the cliche line: it's an offer i couldn't refuse. And if Ness is accepted to work on the ship i may be leaving for Japan as soon as January. The worst part is he wont know if he got the job until like October, November or even December. Which doesn't sound like a long wait, but when it's about a life changing answer, even a week is a life time. Another small bump in the road to Japan is if Ness does get the job on the ship and has to go on deployment as soon as he gets there, i'll have to wait longer to get to Japan, luckily and hopefully that waiting will be done with me in Virginia. So this way when he gets back into Japan and give me the thumbs up to come along i can put my stuff with in his and it'll be shipped to our apartment there.

While i'm optimistic about this plan, i still have glaring doubts that this will work out and that's mostly due to the fact that i want this to happen so damn bad. And if life in the past 10 years has taught me anything, is that the things i truly coven never come to fruition. So for now i'll just have to do what i can do, and that's just sit back and wait for my life to begin.

Friday, July 6, 2012

(this story is nearly ten years old. And in someways it's the first story i've ever written, even though i wrote lot before this one come out. But i consider it the first because this is one of the only two stories that were ever published and it's the first time any of the stories i had written before that sounded like my "voice". This is the flagship that started my near 10 year obsession of finding my "voice".)

The Dying Prime Figure

She was sitting on top of the backrest of the bench sipping beer from a glass bottle; she swayed as she leaned back to get the last drop. I smiled as she regained her balance and looked at me. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” I sat down next to her.

“You don’t feel…comfortable?” she breathed that last word in my face on propose. The sweet, sour reek of beer and potato chips.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. Her question meant more on the situation than the chair. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but I felt she could’ve done something a little different then this. “Why?”

Ignoring me she picked another beer from the box at her feet, “Want one?”

“No thanks, why?”

She shrugged and opened the bottle with her tooth. “That’s dangerous, you know, don’t ever be stupid like that, okay James?”

“Fine I won’t, why this?” I pointed at her face.

“I like it this way, don’t you?” she leaned in close once more.

“I don’t know, I knew Matthew to well,” I turned from her.

“Oh,” was all she said. It was the sigh of someone who gives up, the ultimate fuck it.

“Matt and I were good friends. When he went away, things changed; I changed to help him but it didn’t work,” I said turning to her sweet, smiling face. “Kate, some room please.” I eased her over to her side with my elbow.

A visible frown I didn’t think she meant to show peeked out from her smile. “I always liked you.”
“I know, but I am truly sorry. You have to understand its weird for me,” I stood from the bench. “It’s like he died but he came back. Like reincarnation.”

“Reincarnation,” she smiled as she said it, as if the word tasted like something honeyed. I liked the way it sounded from her voice.

“You understand, right?” I said and stood in front of her. The sun was going down behind me, the red gloom of the vanishing daystar made her face hard and sharp. The shadow of her nose shown on one cheek, the jaw jetted a smooth calm outline, her face was hiding all her secrets. I felt like crying, but the cold wind that picked up made me shudder in my jacket, my tears forgotten for the moment.

She ignored my question and sipped her beer; her neck revealed remnants of the old Matthew.


“I gave that name up,” she said as she put the empty bottle down.



“When do you think you’ll stop loving me?”

“I can’t. I’m a woman because of it,” she stood from the bench. “Look I’m sorry for coming on too strong. My feelings won’t let me do otherwise.”

She had hidden her feelings for years; agony was all she could feel. I’m surprised that she lived through it. Sighing, about the past, this person had been my greatest friend.

When was it that I noticed the change?

They came gradual, that much I knew. The mascara one day in fall, it rained, it ran onto his face. Lip gloss, but that was all the time. And the one day on a surprise visit I catch him wearing a blouse. At the time it was weird for me, but being a good friend I looked the other way.

Wait…now that I think about it maybe he let me catch him. Dismissing all of those events, the one I can’t deny was the last day I saw him.

It was last year on his birthday. His mom answered the door; she looked worried from the beginning.
“James, hello, come in,” she said her voice shaky.

“Thank you,” I muttered walking into the house I went to almost everyday as a kid.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Matt’s voice shouted from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, I would’ve been here sooner but there was…traffic…and…” For a second I thought maybe Matt had already came down and this was a new girlfriend, I mean he did say he had a surprise for me. With each step down the stairs vivid pictures of his features shown through the mask of this pseudo-woman.
I remember leaving in a hurry, don’t remember what I felt. Was I shocked, disgusted, did I feel betrayed, or did I know about it but just wasn’t ready?

I left for college the next day. Matt wrote a few letters to me, I read them all hoping that it was all a joke that I overreacted to. But it wasn’t a joke, he meant to do it, to show me his secret, put trust in me in a time that was most critical for him. I ran away. Why did I run away?

Most of his letters were apologizing to me about the love he had for me changing him to “this”. Never did he use “her” or “she” always “this”, I would have liked it better if he used her or she, because it meant that “she” was a phase. An alternate ego he made to help cope with his love.

I wrote a few letters in return, some were angry, others sympathetic. I still wanted to be friends, expressing the word “friend”. I wrote my letters as if it was a game that he was playing; I think some of them came off a little bitter, which in turn hurt both of us.

In November of my sophomore year a letter from Matt came. In the summer that passed I avoided him, a stupid thing to do but I wasn’t ready. Wasn’t sure how I was going to handle my own awkward feelings to this odd situation. There isn’t a handbook or a 1960’s educational video on this kind of stuff. The letter smelled of perfume and it was typed. All of his letters were handwritten. Ignoring this minor detail I read:
“I’ve done it. The operation was a success. I was nervous about it for a long time but I finally done-“

There was more, a lot more; I crumbed the pages between my shaking hands. Surprisingly I found myself crying. Tears fell down my face onto my desk, they continued for another hour.

So here I am nine months later standing in an open park in late August on a dying day looking at a person I never met, but know so well. A bizarre question raced behind my eyes, was it her love for me that brought me here? If that’s true then how strong is her love? Strong enough to make me forget the past?

That thought frightened me.

I mean I'm not a kid anymore nor am I an innocent high school student. I'm just a man.

Her gentle kindness felt like the adoration of a pet. Even though I didn’t think anyone would reject her physically, I mean he really did look like a woman, but a part of me wanted to give up on Matt and continue a life with Kate.

But the smell of the past sat too heavily on her. Behind the scent of mellow perfume, dusty face powder and the dark odor of hairspray, was Old Spice, sweat from thousands of baseball games and car grease.


Underneath this sparkling beauty was an old friend, who spoke about his secrets to me, consoled all his feelings to.

Everything was already obscure.

“I’m not asking you to love me. I’m just looking for your approval or something to that. I understand the strain this is putting you in. But what I really want is not to lose you. At the end of the day all I want is your friendship. To turn around say your goodbye and smile you sincerest smile and move on. Don’t worry about it so much, I’m not asking you to love me forever. Please still be my friend that’s all I want. Tell me we’re still friends.” Her words were slurred but within her drunken state I believed them. At least I wanted to believe them, more than anything. Even if she was lying to hide her feelings, this was the way it was going to be, this was the way I was going to treat it.

As I mulled over my answer she said, “If there is one thing I learned from all this it has to be, somewhere in the world someone is sick of being happy.” Standing from the bench she stretched her back. I must of given her a puzzled look for she asked, “Come on, tell me some days even you don’t feel like smiling.”

“There are,” I said looking away.

“Is today one of those days?”

“I don’t know.”

“So this is it, I guess,”

“Huh,” I spin around to look at her walking away.

She stopped, “After today you’re going back to college and we’ll never see each other again,” Picking up an empty bottle to throw it away she looked at me with a profile glance.

I wanted to shout no it isn’t, but I felt the same way. A feeling that this was her one shot at getting me.
But it failed; can she really give me up that easily?

“No it won’t,” I muttered not really believing my words.

“Really?” she smiled.

“We’ve been friends too long just to give up on each other,” I sat down on the bench. Her back was to me; her face hidden from view, I wondered about her expression. When a silence gripped us I broke it with, “Am I right?” Nothing. “Kate?”

Tears fell down her face ruining her mascara, cutting tracks in her face powder.

At that moment I knew there was nothing else to do. My words: useless, my actions: without thought, then I was crying too. For in that instant I saw a woman and she was crying. Weeping for the loss she felt for so long.

“Don’t cry, please,” I said hugging her. The small body I held became tight then relaxed and hugged me in return. We were continuing something extravagant but I’m not exactly sure what.

The light, this situation, my life and my future death, hung on my heart like an askew clock. It made me dizzy.
I knew the past, knew it all too well, but I could forget it. It’s as simple as letting go, everyone knows that.
She eased off a little but I grabbed her again, “A little longer, we both need this.”

Her body started to tremble, she was crying again.

I didn’t want to be there right then, in a moment that was so full of ambiguities. But I didn’t want to forget it, for at the time my feelings were real. I guess I could stay here, in this marred young woman’s arms. Here with my lying heart, in a place when time lead us astray.

In a time when we all thought death was the only way to handle oppressive situations. We live for knowing that we exist for a reason, to know that we are dying for a cause that we have to make up on our own.
Kate’s is to find happiness in another, to love and return to her dying life, knowing that she completed her task. I, on the other hand live a dying life to find a motive for love. To know when it’s all right to love another. I’ve done that today with a girl that isn’t what she thinks she is.

But I think I understand now. It’s like I said before.

I didn’t want to be there, but at the time I knew my feelings were real. So I’ll stay.

Love is something that’s real. No matter how abstract it may be.

I then decided that today was a good day.


Sunday, June 17, 2012

Experiences from the Weird

It seems people that know me on a personal level tend to not recognize the weirdness that goes along in my life. As they themselves don’t see it as weird because in their heads it comes to the category: It’s not odd, it’s just William. And to a degree I’ll have to agree; there are things I’ve done no matter how weird I thought they were, I did just for the experience . These experiences usually pan out to be nothing, and seemingly not as weird as first thought; the trouble is since I never truly put much thought into my decisions to do “weird” things I tend to forget them all together afterword. The people that witnessed the acts, or did the activity with me always seem to remember them and in such strength they can recall lines of dialog I said as we engaged in our, whatever else word there is for such a situation, activity or etc.
But for the last few weeks I’ve been on the phone with my old friend Irene about going to go visit her toward the end of summer. Since, 1) out of all of us I’m the only one that has yet to go. 2) in the six years I’ve worked at my current  job only once have I ever taken a vacation 3) to finally see Irene. 4) see the fuckin’ east coast for the first time. I’m not a well-traveled man, in fact I’ve seen pretty much 0% of the world I live in, hell I tend to miss things in the town I’ve lived in for the past 20 years. (Jesus, 20 years, somehow that’s sickening to me.) So I really want to go.
During one of our conversations which usually range in the area of “random” we actually hit on the fact that I plan to visit, and I asked if I should pack a blanket. She snorted with a bit of amusement mixed with annoyance, “I have blankets, dork.”
At about this time, she brings up a little fact that I (somehow along the blurry, and moronic path that has led me to where I am today) forgot. Some years ago I was living in a fairly decent sized house with, oddly enough, pretty much the same people I’m currently living with, give or take a two people. But in the house from long ago I lived in a smaller room, and even smaller bed which I was sharing with Irene. Taking into consideration that I work nights and when I got home at 5am I usually wake her up so she could get ready for work. But there were plenty of nights that we shared that squeaky twin sized bed. But take this more into consideration, about this time we had already stopped dating some 2 years prior and she was engaged to my friend.  I’ll reassure you now: that nothing ever happened. Emotionally speaking sleeping next to her is much in the same way people feel when sleeping with a pet; comforting and ease putting, but no sexual tension.
At that point in our relationship I had a hard time seeing her as anything but a close friend. Usually I don’t like to account for others on their thoughts on the shit that I do, but I will say this, she felt the same. It was so apparent that we were safe with each other, her fiancĂ©/my friend thanked me for sharing my room with her as he was out doing Navy stuff. Only once did he ever express any concern, and it was when he was dead drunk during our New Year’s Eve party, to which I assured him with a friendly, “Dude, shut the fuck up” with a pat on the back, and bright smile. He dropped the subject forever. But for those eight months that she and I shared our lives in that room, we just went about our days.
But as I was saying; she says, “I have blankets, dork. You don’t have to bring any. All the beds have blankets. You can always sleep with me anyway.”
“Well, I don’t know. I was just making sure. I didn’t want to be stuck on your couch with nothing,” I said. And it was at that point, I remembered our life in that tiny room and bed. Remembered isn’t the right word, I’m always aware that we shared a bed both romantically and not, but at times I tend to forget the length in which we had. And near every time it still strikes me in an odd way. It’s not weird to any of us, and I’m glad for the experience but it seems I forget the tenderness I had for another person. And that’s what is weird to me. I had no reason to share anymore with her. We had broken up and even though we stayed friends, I could have easily just said, “No.” But I didn’t. And for that I’m grateful to myself. But I can’t help but wonder why I did. Was I lonely? Did I really want/need someone else there? Did I think it was going to be fun? Did I do it just to say I did, so I had a weird story to tell? Or was I just being nice?
Part of me believes that I did it because I thought it was weird.

Monday, May 14, 2012

“Working Title" 6-5-11 (second rewrite)

Well into my sixth year of my twenties, i found out that i’m truly more ridiculous than i gave myself credit for; a habit i was not really aware of, but had a small idea about. Much like the salt contained in those soft rubber noodles in the Styrofoam cup: i knew there was a lot, but not the true amount. If i knew how ridiculous i was and if i knew how much salt there is, i would’ve stopped. But let’s face it, those noodles are addicting as is being ridiculous.

In those days my afternoons were spent playing video games, reading anything that i had on me at the time, or even the little number of books my friend/roommate had in his possession. Which ranged from manuals on how to fix motorcycles, the teachings of zen, to a biography of a pro wrestler that died a long time ago. There was also drinking, and smoking cigarettes; these two i did while doing the other things i mentioned before. And lying on the floor in the living room and watch the few sun beams that reflected in from the neibors window slide and eventually fade out on the ceiling.

My nights were two sides of two different coins, when i wasn’t participating in one of my roommates parties with his friends, i would snuggle up to the arm rest of the over stuffed couch that served as my bed and watch tv to help me fall asleep.

The parties were always mild in comparison to the “straight out of high school” ones you’d see in movies or tv.  We were different, we were adults, we could drink, be marry and not have the police show up, it wasn’t that hard. Even though one out of every fifteen parties they would show up to ask us to keep it down. Jon and i tried our best to be crowd control on nights like those, but after 5 beers and half a bottle of whatever, whoever brought over for us to try, our attempts soon became lax then none existent all together.

My roommate Jon, was the type to love others, a trait that i thought was bothersome when i had a job and my own place to live; but once i lost both of those and the girl i was suppose to be dating, his trait for some reason didn’t bother me so much. Even though we weren’t that great of friends to begin with, when he heard i had gotten fired and was about to lose my apartment he called me and said i could stay with him. At first i wanted to reject his offer; it was too nice and too kind, plus i was having visions of sitcom scenarios where i was out of work for far too long and Jon being too saintly not to complain about my joblessness would eventually cause him to uncharacteristically explode into anger and ruin a fancy dinner party he was having. But i did understand that if i were to live with him, i would have to be actively search for work, it was his only demand.

The other plus side to living with Jon was not only did the parties serve as fantastic distractions of spending my day staring at reflections of sun beams, but they were (and i hate to refer to them as; a should be dead expression) girl magnets.

Jon had a charismatic, orthodontist smile that could win over even the coldest of ice queens, case in point: his current girlfriend, Cynthia or Sin if you were me and hated her. But this smile of his won over girls that would normally have nothing to do with me, but he’d invite them on a whim to one of his parties, give them directions and his phone number in case they got lost and then smile. Most of the time the girls frowned a little, perplexed by this socially awkward attempt to hit on them, but his smile killed their doubts in a flash of white teeth and they would offhandedly say, “We’ll think about it.” Which is proven female talk for: fuck off.
The success rate for Jon’s method: 89%

As soon as his smile disappeared and he was away from the girls he’d call everyone that usually came over and tell them he was having a party.

Once i had asked him, “Why invite girls then throw the party? Isn’t better to have a party then start to invite girls?”

His answer: “This way if no one else shows up, i can just party with the girls.”

“Okay,” i said pondering if their was some deeper meaning to his simple style of speech, “But what if the girls see no one else is there and they think it’s lame and then leave?”

He shrugged, “They never left before when no one else showed up.”

I chalked it up to his looks that they stuck around.

Given his incredible simple nature, Jon was also polite, respectable and not at all exclusive to Cynthia which didn’t seem to bother her, or maybe she didn’t know. But it was mostly Cynthia that pushed me to move out and get a job; after awhile it became clear that she wanted me out so she could move in, but Jon smiled at times like that and would say, “In due time.” A line i think he got from a movie.

Her heels clicking on the stairs as she came up to the front door of our apartment would send rage and chills up my spine. Then without knocking she’d open the door look around as if to inspect and search for something to complain about, if she didn't find anything she’d close the door and always with out looking at me ask as if Jon was home. Depending on my answer she’d leave in a huff slamming the door or quick step it to his room as if i were some beastly predator and her salvation laid in wait next to him.

I always finished our little encounters with a joy filled, “Good talking with you Cynthia.” Something she hated so much she had Jon repeatedly asked me to stop saying it. Needless to say i didn’t and made my voice even more jovial the next time, that high pitched baby talk one hears when an owner tells their favorite dog that their a “Good boy”. It was my second favorite pastime.

My first favorite was Mona Zenella. She was the girl i found on the fridge.

Jon and i had always liked the idea of people expressing themselves in artistic ways when they knew they would be anonymous. His apartment in particular was made to be the landlords residents so it was twice as spacious as the rest and also had more storage room for the landlords file cabinets. i guess the architect never thought in a few years all that info would be stored into a single computer. So with the space Jon and i put an extra refrigerator in the only storage room that had a lock. We did so to A) keep from people getting to our private stock of our personal favorite beers and B) when the beer was gone give people a place to go into the room and do whatever. Mainly it was to keep the friskier couples from doing stuff on either the couch (i.e. my bed) or sneaking off into Jon’s room. We left a note on top of the fridge saying for whoever was in there to clean up after themselves and to leave a message on the fridge with either a dry-erase marker or how ever they saw fit.

This method proved to be both disgusting but hilariously forthcoming. People left poems or just signed their names, some took advantage of the markers and drew large murals tattooing the white surface with drawings of planets, minotaurs or giant penises ejaculating on crudely shappened breasts. A few times we would find posters of bands tapped to the sides or even stickers of movie quotes. At the end of each month Jon would bring out his uncharacteristically expensive camera and take pictures of all four sides, save them on the computer and then mark them with the month and year. Saving them for whatever reason he had, i never asked. After word we would clean it all off and wait for the next month to end.

This act became so routine if Jon was at work on the last day of the month i would take the pictures and save them for him and clean off the fridge.

A year into living with Jon and still being jobless; a end of the month party had just finished for the night and before i went to sleep i wanted to clean the fridge. Jon had left the party early so he could sleep before work, even though the party was his idea. I asked him way he wanted a party if he had to sleep so early to go to work.

“Tradition,” he shouted and lifted his Clydesdale covered beerstein filled with vodka and orange juice in salute.

So with the place now empty i pulled the key from the hook next to the toaster and made my way into the hallway with a rag and some glass cleaner. After opening the closet the first thing i noticed even with the light off was the stark white rectangle looming in the murky dark. Usually it was easy to tell when i opened the door that it was covered in stuff, but now only a black square sat in the middle of the white. I flicked on the light keeping my eyes on the square to have a pair of dark, dark blue eyes fixed to my own.

A picture of a women with black hair over one bear shoulder and lipstick so red it was nearly purple stared at me. She was dressed in a classic fifties black cocktail dress with gloves of the same color that came up to her elbows. In one hand was a rocks glass filled with, what i guessed, was scotch; an imprint of her lips left on the edge of the glass and in her other hand that her chin was resting in was a cigarette, the smoke from the end trailing upwards her face. Her lips were parted as if she was speaking when the picture was taken, revealing an even row of small pearl white teeth. The gentle hook of her nose spoke volumes of a women not of any Irish or German decent, her cheekbones also had an exotic air to them. All of these features were arrange in a way to give her both the appearance of the cute, shyness of a young girl and that of a woman that knew what she liked and she wanted out of the world around her.

She was the single most gorgeous thing i had ever seen.

Gingerly i took off the magnet and held the picture by the corner; i studied all her features once again, but those oddly dark blue eyes were what i marveled. I turned the picture over to see if there was anything on the back for any evidence to who she was, because i didn’t remember anyone like her at the party last night. Words covered the back, perfectly spaced and sized, the kind one would see in a magazine article, i read them but it was just broken sentences about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. But one name appeared in the jumble of words: Mona Zenella. It clearly had nothing to do with the girl on the front, it could have been the name of the person who wrote the article or someone the writer had interviewed or a specialist on the mechanics of oil in water. But it was the name i decided to give her.

I placed her on the floor away from the spray as i wiped down the fridge even though there was nothing else on it. As i finished dusting the top i thought about throwing the picture away, but i didn’t. I kept it in my draw in the kitchen that had all my utensils in it, Jon liked his spoons and forks separate from mine so we wouldn’t mix them up. When i told him i only had two pairs of butter knifes, forks and spoons, he still asked that i leave mine in a drawer all my own. It ended up being a collection drawer for stuff i wanted to save, like bills from my old place i still needed to pay, and my check book to an account that had $.86 in it. I placed her in between the pages of a book i had in there so she wouldn’t get wrinkled.

For the rest of the day i ran theater plays in my head about meeting Mona in a classy restrauant not eating anything just talking over low light and drinking top shelf booze. She was mysteriously charming much like the women from the old black and white movies. She liked me, she didn’t mind i was only average height, although she didn’t laugh at my jokes she would giggle. In my little fantasies i wasn't suave, i was borderline smooth, just enough so that it made up for my lack of looks. I maybe ridiculous day dreaming at that age but i understood my limitations even in my imagination.

I thought how she would give me a wry smile if i said some clever sexual pun. But all the while i imagined those eyes on me.

When i woke up, night had already come, Jon had come home from work and was sleep again, i knew because the TV was turned off. The street lamp from outside gave me enough light to see the clock hanging above the TV say 2:39am. I had slept for nearly 15 hours and i still felt exhausted.

“You’re exhausted because you slept for 15 hours, moron,” said my dad’s voice in my head. I giggled as i sat up and stretched my arms, it was the first time i thought about my old man in a long while. A shudder ran through me as i thought about how disappointed he must be at me for being jobless and only nearly homeless.

I stood up and stayed there letting the feeling seep back into my legs, as the pins and needles begun to vanish i thought about Mona again and her lipstick.

“Jesus, are you still asleep?” i asked myself, angry that i was getting tired again standing in the living room. Grabbing my cigarettes from the coffee table i stepped out onto the balcony and welcomed the warm summer air on my skin; flicked my lighter and inhaled the smoke. I watched as the fumes drifted out of my mouth and mix with the orange light of the street lamp, it gave the impression of swimming under water at dusk. A light from inside turned on ruining the illusion, i turned to see Cynthia walking around in the kitchen getting a glass of water. As she tilted her head back to drink she saw me and placed the glass down. “Oh, you’re awake.” Her tone of a disapproving mother. “So what made you so tired you had to sleep all day?” She elongated the “O” of “so” giving it that extra punch of no matter what i said next would not justify why i slept for so long.

“You want a cigarette?” I said, i really didn’t want to have that conversation with her. She finished the rest of the water, frowned a little and thought about my offer. “I promise i won’t talk to you as you smoke.”

“Fine,” she said and checked to see if her shirt was long enough to not reveal her underwear as she walked.

“Good god, like i want to check out your under garments,” i said. “Save your modesty for someone that finds you attractive.”

She glared and i’m sure if it wasn’t for the temptation of the cigarette she would’ve stormed off back into Jon’s room.

“Oh shut the hell up,” she snapped and stepped outside and took the smoke i was holding out to her.

“Warm night, huh?” i said lighting her smoke.

“I thought you weren’t going to talk to me?”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the street lamp, i thought about how much better Mona was than her. Easier to talk to and not wound tight like the notches of a used noose. If Mona were here she would tell this poor excuse of a woman to get off her high horse and that she wasn’t as important as she believed herself to be. I then thought on how i could say all those things myself, i didn’t need some imaginary theatrical play doing my dirty work, but i knew that Jon would be upset, plus it was comforting having a girl care about my feelings. I shook my head, embarrassed at myself for that last thought. "Hey, retard did you forget that she doesn't exist?"

“Something on your mind?”

“Huh?” i turned to Cynthia astonished by the concern in her voice. “Why do you say that?”

“The only time i’ve seen people sleep as much as you did today is when they are depressed or sick. I figured being a jobless, hopeless, freeloading asshole had finally gotten to your nearly dead conscience.”

With a scoff i turned back to the street lamp and found myself truly thinking about what she said. “Yeah, maybe.” I said.

We stood there awhile longer in silence, smoking until she cleared her throat and said, “How long has it been since you’ve been out of work?”

My shoulders slumped, “Come on, don’t start.”

“I’m not trying to bust your balls, i’m honestly curious. I’ve talked to Jon and he’s said once you get going you’re actually a hard worker. Maybe i can get you a job with my dad. Summer is almost here and he always needs more help this time of year.”

“What’s the job?”

“Moving produce at the outdoor market at the end of Avand street near the gas station out there.”

“ Oh, okay, yeah, i’ve been there a few times,” i said. I wasn’t interested at all, but i figured if Cynthia of all people was being kind enough to pull the stick out of herself, then i might as well be polite and go along with it.

A week later i was working for her dad; it was hot, dumb and mindless work. Basically move item from point A to point B in different fashions. Sometimes with a forklift, or a hand-trunk, or most often by hand. The only customers i saw were families stopping by for a healthy snack for their kids, or the hardcore of the hardcore Vegians; this group of people i hated the most. I always tried my best to avoid them at all cost, they would stop me so they could complain about something such as how the oranges shouldn’t be just sitting out under an umbrella, that they should also be on ice to save them from going bad. But most of the time they would stop to ask me if we had fruit or vegetables i never even heard of and if i told them as much they frown as if i were some backwards country stooge.

I got by in those days under the tiresome sun thinking of Mona and having different conversations with her in different fantastic settings, as my body carted various things to and fro. It was sometime during those days i had the picture of Mona laminated, i used the machine in the bosses office to do it as i was delivering one of his early morning grapefruits that he eat everyday. i started to carry her with me in my wallet. Most of the time i ran on auto pilot letting my hands do their thing as i let my mind drift to thoughts of the girl in my pocket.

Happy that i finally got a job Jon and i celebrated my first month of work by him throwing one of his usual parties and informing me that i start playing rent the next day. I nodded in agreement and handed him the money right then and there, he laughed and folded it into his back pocket and let me drink from his favorite beerstein and bellowed to the rest of the room that he was proud of this son of a bitch and clapped me on the shoulder. Even Cynthia managed to smirk and nod at me. I nodded back.

Sometime during the party a girl started to talk to me, by this time i was swimming in my fun, just drinks after drinks and then i found myself outside with her smoking. She explained that she had been to one of these parties before and that she thought i seemed fun. I smiled and listened to her. Her voice was too husky, her teeth a tad crooked. Her hair a hideous bleach blond, and i had grown instantly uninterested in her talking but was still willing to see where this was leading.

“You ain’t no Mona,” i said out loud interrupting her.

“What?” she said. There was no anger in her tone.

Realizing i just said that out loud i became sober at the thought i was going to spoil my end to my nearly a year of sexual drought.

“Is Mona your girlfriend?”

“No,” i said, now stumbling to find the select words to right this vagina robbing mistake. I foolishly began to explain who Mona was and what she meant to me; all the while hoping this pretty but imperfect girl before me would take pity on my crushed and pathetic life. The more i talked and tried to explain the more her eyes became distant. I knew that this wasn’t going to work but the drunken words kept spilling out of me like a kicked bucket. I even went as far as showing her the crinkled free picture of Mona Zenella.

“So why are you comparing me to this Mona?” Now a tone was there, not so much anger but disgust which somehow seemed worse. “Whatever.” With that she walked back inside.

“Dammit,” i said to myself and watched as the girl picked up her purse from the kitchen table and briefly spoke to Cynthia. As they exchanged words Cynthia’s eyes traveled around the room until they fell on mine, i stared back. I could feel embarrassment fill me. The girl hugged her and then Jon, who stopped for a second  what he was doing. Even though i couldn’t hear him over the hundred other conversations or the music, i knew what he was saying: “You’re leaving so soon?” As the girl spoke Jon’s expression cleared and he nodded.

The girl hugged them both again and left.

Jon went back to his friends, unfazed by my stupidity.

Cynthia stared at me for a few more seconds, disgusted.

Mona sat in my back pocket and for once had nothing to say.

And I felt ridiculous.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

The Pay-offs lament

As I stepped from the plane and took toward the city I had always dreamed of seeing, I laughed to myself when I noticed the skyline wasn’t all that different than L.A. or even San Francisco. Continuing to giggle I made my way out of the runway and into the wide open range of the terminal, where I was greeted by a small gathering of people standing around waiting for other passengers. A few stepped aside as I made my way through them. Even with the wall of voices that surrounded and struck my ears, although I didn’t understand a word being spoken, it didn’t feel different than any airport in California. When I stepped up to security and they waved me over with a black fat wand, I nodded when they were through and stepped over toward the luggage carousel. Taking note how many people were around it, real relief filled me knowing that my belongings had been sent to my new apartment still more than 3 hours away from where I stood. In some unknown new hometown out there in an unfamiliar country I worked so hard to get to. Different people, a new place, not one sign I could read, but still my mind fought that it didn’t feel like home.

Once outside and the night greeted me, I checked a little map that was mailed to me by my new boss of the area so I could find my hotel for the night so he could pick me up in the morning. Stapled to the map was a note written in very careful but still barely legible letters read, “If you show this to taxi man, he drop you at hotel”. Stepping to the sidewalk I realized I never once ever had to flag down a taxi. “Do I put my thumb out?” I thought. “Just do what you see those people do in all those movies that are based in New York.”
“Yo, taxi!” I shouted causing several people to turn and stare at me. “Sorry.” I smiled. None of them smiled back and hurried away. So I stood away from the sidewalk a little and waved at every taxi that went by. “Damn it,” I said under my breath.

“When they have a yellow light in the window like that it means they are unavailable,” a gruff male voice said from my left shoulder. A middle aged man with a gentle expression underneath his bald head that held a gleam on it, smiled up at me; his accent was nearly none existent. “Wave at the ones that have red lights, it means they are in service. But even if they have red lights doesn’t mean they will pick you up. But don’t feel too bad. Most of them don’t speak English and that’s why they won’t take you. You’ll get one that’s willing. But I wouldn’t shout it tends to make them nervous. Just put your hand out.”

“I see. Thank you so much,” I said.

“You are welcome. Take care now,” he said and went on his way.

“You too,” I said and followed his instructions. After the fifth taxi had past me with red lights, one finally rolled over and stopped. As I reached for the handle the door swung open and smashed into my knuckles, I grimaced and did my best not to shout. Sitting down with a thud cradling my hand to my chest I heard the driver apologize in the native tongue. With my hand still stinging all I could muster was a nod and a smile to let him know I was okay. He spoke again, but not having no idea what he said I guessed he was asking, “Where to?” Fishing out the map with the directions to the hotel I gave it to him. He nodded and drove away from the airport. With no music playing I settled back into the seat, my hand had stopped hurting and as I held it up to the light coming in from outside to see if it would bruise I noticed just how clean everything in the car was. The seats looked newly vacuumed; the window that separated me from the driver was completely free of finger prints. If this was anywhere else the window would be scratched with gang signs and filth. A picture of the driver was in front of me on the back side of the window; even in the low light it was easy to see he was young and pleasant looking. As I looked over I saw he was wearing white gloves and a sharp hat with a dark tie around his neck. I smiled and went back to the world outside.

The plane ride left a long, empty thirst in my throat, and a heavy craving for water flashed in my stomach. Pulling out my flash cards with sentences and tips on how to speak, I combed through looking for the one that could help. But none, really said anything like, “Pull over I’m thirsty.” However one said, “How much longer?” In smaller lettering and written in red next to the main sentence said, “Try to elongate the second vowel sound in the last word, it’ll make it sound more polite.” I spoke the sentence and did my best to do as instructed.

The driver spoke, but the only thing I understood was the number two.

Saying the sentence out loud to myself I combed the other flash cards, having heard me, the driver said the sentence again. I pulled a cluster of cards that said two minutes, twenty minutes and two hours. I repeated it again this time in my head and found what I was looking for: 20 minutes. At the sight of the time frame, I became even thirstier. With nothing to do but wait, I looked outside and watched the world go by. This place was lovely if not packed with people, even for the middle of the night. With little provocation a though sprang: “Even with all these people, will I manage to make friends at my new job?” I giggled, feeling like a childish at the thought.

As we closed in on the twenty minute mark, I noticed that the sidewalks were thinning with people. Now it seemed only couples were out and about. But my thirst was near ravenous; happiness filled my chest when I saw the sign of my hotel down the street a little more than a hundred yards away. I asked the driver to pull over with the help of the cards. I spotted the meter and the amount and gave him some money, he thanked me. When I reached for the door it opened again by itself. I thanked him again and stepped outside; when I tried to close the door it swung close hitting my hand again. Ignoring my pain and stupidity, I looked around and even with the signs being a jumbled mess of letters that I didn’t understand, it didn’t matter, in any civilized country anyone can spot a convenient store from the outside a mile away. Once I spotted a familiar bright sign and looked in through the window and noted a wall of drinks and foods you know that aren’t good for you, I headed for the clean and overly lighted entrance. When the automatic doors opened and a whoosh of cool air blasted me in the face I smiled that I was glad that no matter where you are places like this all smell the same; plastic, disinfectant and overly sugared candy. The clerk at the register gave me an absentminded greeting; I nodded back and made my way toward the drinks in the back. Another clerk was sweeping under some fully stocked shelves with some vigor, as soon as he noticed me walking toward him he greeted me with a nervous smile and I nodded and walked past him.

Once at the clear doors that held the rows after rows of drinks, my lack of being able to read was not helping with finding water. My eyes fell upon the unmistakable American drink trademark of a circle with red, white and blue stripes, I considered it, but my body wanted water. A little lost I turned toward the sweeping clerk who now was no longer doing any resemblance of work and all his attention was on me.
A memory came to mind, once I had graduated with my degree and I had gotten the job I applied for through an agency, which handled exchange workers, they said it would be best to talk to someone that had already been through the program to give helpful tips and the best way to communicate. The only person I knew was a girl in my English class in college. After calling her letting her know my situation she said she’d be more than happy to talk to me. She told me to drive to a town whose name I wanted to forget, and I met her at a barely lit bar. By the time I got there she was drunk and mad with her life. “One thing you’re going to remember,” She said throwing a small but heavy arm around my neck, “if you want to be reminded or not is this: you are white, tall, and blue-eyed.” She smoothly took a shot of a mysterious brown liquid and without so much of a grimace sipped her beer right after and stared me in the face close enough to kiss, “Well in your case they’re more light green than blue. But yeah, you’ll be reminded of those facts. It’s not so bad for girls, but for guys it’s different. Where’s your drink?” Not really following I shook my head, but held up my warm beer, and before I could speak, “Meaning, you’re different, so you’ll be treated different.” I shook my head again. With a scoff and a sigh, she gulped her beer, “When you walk into places you might be followed and looked after. To make sure you ain’t stealing nuthin’.” All I could do was stare in my white ignorance. “No joke,” she said and raised her bottle of beer to have me click the necks together.

“Anything else?” I said wiggling her hot arm off of me.

She pushed her sunshine colored hair away from her face and looked to the ceiling as if searching for an answer there. “Have fun, and don’t let what little negativity you experience get you down, you’re not the first it happened to and you won’t be the last. Water off of a duck’s butt and all that,” she said and waved the bartender down and yelled, “One more, please!”

As the memory sat there big and annoying in the middle of my head, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I smiled and said the word water in his language; comically an expression of surprise rushed to his face. I said the word and picked up a random bottle from the shelf and then said water again but with an upward inflection trying to turn it into a question. He stared and then pointed at the bottle and said water. I nodded and said, “Yes, water,” in his language. He shook his head. So I grabbed another bottle and started the processes again. He shook his head. The Register clerk shouted something and we both looked, he spoke some more and pointed toward the doors I was standing near. It was clear to see that he was gesturing to Sweeper that he should just grab a bottle for me. I thanked Register and waved, he returned a wave just as empty as his greeting when I walked in. With the broom still in his hand Sweeper came over and opened a door next to me and handed me an aluminum can, with a nod he said, “Water.”
In a can? I thought. But I nodded and thanked him and smiled, he did the same.

Can o’ water in hand I thought I might as well try a snack, it might be awhile before I get to my new hometown and I didn’t know when the next time I was going to eat, and randomly picked a bag of chips I didn’t recognize. Stepping toward Register I saw that he looked tired and ready to get off work, if this were my home I probably would’ve said something along the lines that he needed to leave and get some sleep as a joke. Clicking on the computer in front of him he said the numbers of the cost to my purchase; not having any idea what he said I looked to the electronic readout that always faces the customer, and pulled out the rest of the money which was a gift from my drunken guide from my shirt pocket. After Register bagged my items we locked eyes for a moment and I felt a ridiculous notion that he was going to say something like “Go back where you came from” and even in my head, I still heard that moronic southern drawl on those words. But if he did say that it wasn’t like I was going to understand him. Instead, he said in English in a sheepish voice, “Sank yu for your perchess.”

I smiled, a little too broadly, maybe; nodded, and then thanked him in his language.

Leaving with my swag I heard Sweeper shout to me also in English, “Hava goo din night.” I waved as I exited, once again the doors pulled open the AC blasted cold air on my back. But it faded as soon as the door closed and the heat of this place sank in deep. It was a humid heat, which I was not accustomed too, it was then I realized I wasn’t home. Finally it had hit me, and for a small moment there was panic. Snapping back the tab on the can and inhaling half of the liquid inside, which was water, I calmed a bit. Walking across the street I sat on a bench that faced the store, but I thought hanging around outside at nearly the middle of the night was a bad idea, I moved down the street where I knew my hotel room was waiting for me.

I wasn’t home anymore. And even though it took me two years of work to get here and I thought I would never be standing where I was, I truly was here. I had put my life on hold so I could save money in order to be here. In those two years I lost a few friends, and I ruined chances to date some good women, but I was here.

And now the hard part begins.

Monday, April 23, 2012

there isnt a lot i want. but retribution would be nice.

just for a change of pace, that would serve me well.

To have such a thing...

i could live and die happy with that.

my words with my spit taste like a darkened metal. I can't wait for the next part of this to start. if it leads me to a sea scented air path, i think i'll be happier still.

I feel that the time for emotions are over for me. I no longer wish to express myself.

if i had a drink i would toast it to being lost. I really do wish i could write. And i dont mean getting words on the  page but something i thought was fun to write.

I really do miss the days in 2003 when all i did was write. I worked, i read, i watched movies, i felt lonely after she left, i pissed off all my friends at the time, and i wrote.

God damn, i could write in those days. I really fuckin' could.

Monday, April 2, 2012

The rhyme doesn't match.

So i'm off of work again, and i've been drinking ever since; give or take some minutes it's been about an hour and 45 minutes i've been off work and took my first sip, i know what takes me to get shitfaced and holy damn have i impressed myself with how quickly i got myself drunk.

The words: "some people like to make life a little tougher than it is" keeps ringing in my head, as i once again skated through another week just working and doing my lame little projects. But my one saving grace has been my conversations with a women that i'm sure i've met before but i can not for the life of me place when and where. Every time i try to think if i have met her, it all feels like a haze dream that could be fake or real.

But I have to say G has been in excellent spirits this week, he's been talking a lot more and only a little worries about the future, i've noticed when we talk he's been smiling a lot more and it seems genuine these days; every time i see it i want to cry a little at the progress that he's made in just the last two months. In someways i can't but help that he's a much stronger man than me at heart. He crawled his way out of his bottomless pit of self doubt, pity, and real mental anguish. It makes me wonder if i could do the same. I know plenty of people have said that i could, but it feels like i only managed to pull myself out because i didn't care in the first place. Most, if not all, my relationships i expect to end at sometime or another. So when they do end, my second thought after "oh man, this hurts like hell" is: "it was inevitable anyway." It takes some time and i let it go. Part of me questions if i even loved those girls that i shrugged off after they broke up with me. i think i did, that i really did love them, even in my own little naive sort of way.

But the conversations i've been having this week, with a particular lovely women, have opened my mind to the possibly that i can once again understand the real fun me that i use to love. i look forward to every time we get to have a conversation (even though it's mostly through text messaging) but i dont care, i feel like the fun version of me i thought was dead a long time ago is making his way back. Plus, her quick wit and intelligence makes me smile and giggle; she has a real "no nonsense" feel about her that i just love. I feel comfortable speaking my mind, even though for now, i'm easing into introducing myself; meaning i'm still kinda not swearing as much as i usually do when talk to someone like either Irene or Sarah. But i feel it wont be too much time before i can skip on some of my politeness and just let my voice come through, but i want her to hear my real voice to before i really just let it go. i dont hold back because of some fear or that i dont think she could take it, it's just my small hatred for text message. Conversations are 70% tone and if the other person doesn't really know how you sound for even half of the percent, most get the feeling you're being sarcastic these days, and i dont want my words to be misconstrued.

But for the most part i really enjoy this woman's company and i enjoy the person i feel around those conversations, which is a pretty rare gem indeed.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

it's that time

So after once again drinking and having talked to G about games and the de-evolution of creativity i can't help but feel him and i are the only ones that wish to save video games with our own sense of creativity and that we could save an industry that is slowly dying. I love video games, but even i feel American gaming companies are killing the very industry by caring less about creativity and more concerned about where their next dollar is coming from.

But games are a side project to my life. So after a month's worth of steering my life away from Sarah, i have finally come to a conclusion that i don't miss her. Which in some ways is sad, but there are only so much anyone can have conversations about how much anyone can dislike their mother. I mean, hell, even "Everyone Loves Raymond" only lasted for so many seasons. Don't get me wrong i still love the woman, but it has become that pity sorta of love one has for a battered puppy than a love formed by a man and a women; even if they are only friends. At this point, i'm getting ready to call it quits; i had dinner with her and that was fine, but i'm not a fan of people who capitalize on conversations on how bad their date was over the weekend. Our dinner only lasted for a little less than a hour and 45 minutes was spent of her telling me the faults of the man she volunteered to go on a date with. Half way through her horror stories, i raised my hand, in the national sign of "stop" and said, "Okay, girly, that date is over. You no longer have to relive it. Just be here with me." To which the people sitting behind us heard everything that was going on, because she doesn't seem to have any sense of volume, both giggled and praised me for being the type of man that's not going to be on a "date" to hear the horror story of another date. Of course they didn't say this to me directly and softly tried to speak to each other.

I never thought that such a thing needed praising, but as i get older, the more i see halfway decent men acting like beating puppies just to get some (even though i dislike using this word) pussy; the more i'm less inclined to try for the honey-pots of women and people seem to like this about me. I mean, yes, i'm not the best looking guy on the block, hell on a scale from 1 to 10 i rank a 3, and even though the old saying is "beggars shouldn't be choosers", but i can tell you, i choose not to beg for it. I don't care how gorgeous a women is, if she's a straight up bitch i seriously can't talk to her and i can't make myself believe she's hot.

A co-worker of Mike's, i'll leave her name out because i don't wish to shame her in anyway; was easily the most gorgeous Spanish women i have ever seen and on top of that she was always super sweet and nice to me. But part of me always believed she was nice to me because she understood that i thought she was good looking. One day during a conversation i was having with one of her co-workers she walked in between me and the person i was talking to and said "hi" as if we were he greatest of friend, and i looked at her and said, "Too much makeup." And then continued my conversation with the other person as if she wasn't there. She was apparently upset by my attitude and brought it up to me one day much later. She was polite about the whole thing and said, "So why were you so rude to me (about the day in question)?" And i answered her honestly; "i think you felt it was okay to interrupt a conversation i was having because you think i believe you are hot. And don't get me wrong you are gorgeous, but that gives you no right to be rudely interrupt me when i'm fuckin' talking. If you want to talk to me and i'm currently in the middle of a conversation, wait your frickin' turn."

I found later when Mike was hitting on her and said that she would date him in a second, she answered (i believe she answered ironically and was only trying to piss off Mike) "Sorry, Mike, but i'd date a real man, like William." I doubt she meant a word of this and was only trying to get under Mike's skin, but i have to say this made me feel a small bit of pride. Like there are still people out there that can still deal with plain and brutal honesty.

It's one of my greatest faults and many have spoken down to my honesty when it comes to women, but the more girls i meet the more that say, i wish a men were more honest and the more i'm honest the more they say they could meet a nice guy. And the more i hear girls say that the more i laugh in their face.

My old roommate Stephanie once said, "I wish i could just once date a man that's a nice guy."

To which i answered: "There are plenty of nice guys out there. But most nice guys are not good looking and let's face it you don't date ugly." And i'm a double whammy, not only am i not that good looking, but i don't bother to be a nice guy. I've played the nice guy role for years and years, the only thing it ever got me was single and many people asking me if i was gay. As soon as i stopping being nice no one asked if i was gay.

So be an asshole and have people think you're straight and be hated by most girls for being mean, or be nice and be mistaken for being a homosexual. Jesus Christ, do i dislike relationships. But i think my dad said it best once he learned i was doing P90-X; "Don't worry, Bill, once all the weight is off it doesn't matter how you act, when you're good looking by the majorities standards everything you do will be endearing. But do yourself a favor, don't you change one fuckin' bit. Be the muscular guy that still reads and plays video games, if you stay on that path, you'll find a girl worthwhile."

And i'm inclined to believe him, he used to be on the swim team, i've seen pics of him when he was my age he was a very fit man, i mean muscles for days and he has always been a nerd at heart and his (second) marriage has lasted him a goodly amount of time. Which in someways is reassuring, but i still can't help but feel that i'm just not meant to be in a relationship. Even more so now, that i feel that i'll be moving in like 2 to 3 years to a totally different country.

So once again, i'll be putting my life on hold before anything of any sort of relationship nature happens. No one right now wants to date my ass, but in the future when i'm getting ready to be ready to move i'll have to say, "Sorry, but i'll be leaving in a little while. I can't shackle myself down before i'm going." Which i think is just a sad excuse for me to make to myself to feel better about being single. I mean, even as drunk and shit faced as i am at this moment, if any women i saw as halfway decent (meaning she's awesome, and intelligent, who gives a shit what she looks like) said she'd like to date me, there's no way i'd say "No." Unless i was a total moron, in which case i probably would.

Sometimes, i believe being a moron will one day save my life as i'm doing something stupid.

Friday, February 10, 2012

And cue the clapperboard.

I have to say getting friendzoned by a girl....... one would figure by now i'd just get use to that fuckin' play.

It's screenwriting 101, it's as predictable as a movie with a dog in it. By the end it's going to die.

It's the same setting, same main character, different female lead, all the set pieces are in place, the actors are on time and sober, the lighting is working, up goes the curtain, the music flows into the auditorium and it's the same play you saw last year, and the year before that, and before that, and before. So why keep going and wasting your time and money?

It's a question i keep asking myself. I'm not lonely, nor do i feel alone, and i don't hate the girls that have friendzoned me, hell a few (if not all) i'm still on friendly terms with and in some cases we still hang out. I'm an adult i don't hate the women themselves; hell i know sometimes people can't help who they don't like no matter how nice the other person is. It's just human.

But now after close to 7 years, i'm really starting to take inventory and am seriously wondering what it is i'm doing wrong. I'm not an asshole (some people say that is part of my problem), well not to the girls i like, but then again i have moments of sheer asshole-ness.

You know, what? Fuck this. Writing this shit out...sober, it's just a whinny waste of my time. Sure, i get a little upset from being friendzoned, but it's not the first time and i'm sure it won't be the last. I'll just keep going, no one ever won anything quitting halfway through.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

The heart's fury.

2012, easily the best beginning i've had to a year in a long, long time. Got laid for the first time in a well let's just say for a long while. I finally have a clear view of what i wish to do; in the career market that is, and i've started P90-X.

But with all this self improvement bullshit going on, other area's have taken a huge hit. Call it collateral damage to the soon to be re-formed making of a new (but i wouldn't say "improved") Me. Area's that have taken a major hit are: money, my writing, video games and my reading. Luckily, my enjoyment hasn't truly wavered. I won't say that i'm happy, but there is a sense of gladness. Even if it's constantly being beaten down not only at my own apprehension of having a natural smile, but the worry for a friend who nearly decided to take his own life. I've been scared, and i've been worried, but never has it been intense.

After getting insanely drunk and playing some music that i thought would help my deeply hidden articulate being finally reveal itself, i wrote this letter to my friend:

"Even with the delicate mixture of brotherly love, father like protection and the over all warm stillness of a heart flooding with admiration, i truly can't find the right words to say in regards of the courage, testicular fortitude and determined recovery that i've seen in you these past few years. The character you've displayed pains me with knowing how cowardly i've been and how selfish i am.

 I will confess that i've written off most of what i've heard from you and seen on your facebook (before your hospitalization) as longingly over the top Emo bullcrap. But the 360 my mind took when you came down that day is one i wont be forgetting for a long time. Nothing in my life so far has made me reel back so mentally that i actually lost what to think, say, or even find a spark of humor in the situation. The real William, sat there those five minutes; as raw, as forthcoming, as quiet and fearful as he could be, wondering what was going to happen to his life and by extension of his friend. With the devastating wake up call that exploded in the place behind my eyes, all i could manage was a vague and nearly meaningless nod of my head, to represent that i was there and listening. But that was all i could manage.

 There is a pride that i have, a small piece; if it were to manifest itself into an object most would see a small shard of broken glass, but to me it's a reflection of the mirror that was once my youth and if tilted in the correct light would reveal my one special piece of pride: having the right mindset to befriend someone who treated me so badly that first day, of not giving up and making myself known to someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. It's pride the first and nearly that last time i can recall that my character as a selfish, loud mouth, S.O.B managed to pay out of once. And that decision to make you be my friend has payed back ten fold over the years. It's a decision i have yet to regret. If things continue to progress as they have over the last ten years, then i don't see my decision that day as a bad one.

There isn't much i can say that life will get better; that at the end is all the wealth and well deserved things good people get to collect at the hard, jagged path of living, but i can say i've seen the uselessness of what most call life. And if everything i've witness through my years has taught me is: there is no grand prize at the end, you don't pass go, you don't collect $200. You sleep and the universe continues....the end.

 Life, love, loathing, playing, reading, tv, and all that we let ourselves believe to be living is a joke. Worst yet is it's a joke with no punchline. But i'll be damned if i'm going to let the joke run it's course on me. I plan to see it through and hope upon hope that death takes me long after i've wished for it. I plan to fight till the very damned end of the little flame that is my life whispers out. I don't know your plans of the next few years, fuck, i don't even know my own, but i do know that i don't want two things: 1) i don't want to toss you platitudes believing you'll just be/feel/know you're better than the person you think you are. 2) that my life could have been more fulfilling and richer IF you were there.

I fucking hate platitudes they are the dismal hand finisher of a fantastic blowjob. Unlike most of the people you know i can hold a fuckin' conversation with out lazy, catchy words and be as real as i feel is needed during any conversation. You are better than you believe and i know that my life has been richer from you living and it has continued to prove that over and over when you start another year of life. I have thought many times of the big bow out. To collect the last of the applause, smile, wave goodbye, walk off the stage and disappear into obscurity. Few things have kept this bag of bile and bones moving along, and if i were to itemize the list of things that tie me to this earth your name would be there, right between "have sex one more time" and "see how far video games will advance".

 We have much more wine to drink my friend, there are conversation to be had and plenty more meals to be consumed together as friends, as family, as brothers. It's going to get harder here on out, but i will swear to any deity you love that i will do my damnest to prove to you that life is to be admired for it's obscurity as much as it's uselessness. Each day you live, is proof of growth, proof that you are mightier than you believe you are. That you fight which is truly meaningless, to prove that nothing in the long run can fault you. As a brother i will stand to see it through.

 You are loved. It may not be the kind you wish, but it's there."

After i sobered up, i found that on my computer with a little box indicating that the person had received it. My words in that letter might not seem like anything to you, but to me, those words are ME. I have never spoken that plainly before. Not to a friend, or my parents or even in my own writing. Those paragraphs above are the fear-filled me, there is no hubris in my words, just the plain and very real fear of losing. The loss of the person i think is myself, my friend, my beliefs on what is and is not. I'm scared. All in all, when it comes down to it, i'm scared. But my fear doesn't have a name or at least i don't know what to call it.

i wish to make 2012 the year i no longer exist. To take the William i know, the one i both hate and love and see if i can't make him into something.....else. I don't know what, but i just want to be me but something, else. Something, just more. No more wishing, no more pretending. It's time to do. And i started it by: when people ask me to go somewhere, i no longer say "no". i groan and then follow along. So far i've gotten drunk for free and had a blast, met a few nice people, and rediscovered my love for specialty grocery stores and have been working out. My fear grows because i don't know what kind of person i'll be at the end of this. I just hope he doesn't regret the me that exists now.

I think i'm done drinking. So no more writing for now.