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Monthly Archives: January 2015

When it all goes wrong

Yoga pants are the Almighty’s gift to men everywhere.

Done right, yoga pants can cure erectile dysfunction in a New York minute.

A prime example of this is in front of me in line at Starbucks at this moment.

I have never been an ass man, but I would love to introduce myself to this one.

“Hello, my name is Bitter and I would love to wear your ass like a hat.”  (Nod to City Slickers there.)

Done wrong, it is a sad and discouraging thing to see.

That is standing in front of me as well.

Like 5 pounds of jelly in a stretchy 3 pound bag.

They are together, yoga friends, no doubt.

They are chatting amiably.

Like some sort of masturbatory before/after picture that you HOPE has been photoshopped.

What truly sucks is that there is no way to separate one from the other in my head now.

Kills the fantasy.

In my fantasies, there is never a wingman to distract the nasty friend, I prefer a closed set.

So now my head is just sewered for the rest of the day, trying to figure it out.

(I deleted about 300 words of disturbing sexual fantasy description here. It started to get a little creepy. Suffice to say that the nasty friend ruins the fantasy and I can’t get past it.)

And now we know where erectile dysfunction comes from, bad yoga pants choices.

Glad we cleared that up.

On to new business.

Its the end of January and I am about to lose a friend.

My Starbucks mug I received at Xmas that gets free coffee refills for the month of January will soon be dead in the water, no more refills.

Sad, like the death of a beloved character from my youth.

I remember the beginning of the month, we were so damned young.

They were good days, the “salad days” if you will.

The free refills seemed like they would go on forever.

We were so in love.

We would always be together.

And now, with the end of the month looming, things are getting tense.

The coffee today is not as hot and has a little bit of bitterness to it.

I will drink the coffee, go thru the motions like some sort of caffeinated automaton.

But my heart is not in it.

We are like familiar strangers.

I will miss you, holiday mug.

We will still be friends.

Nodding at each other when we meet in the kitchen, when I open up the coffee mug cupboard to get a cup, I will see you, dusty on your shelf.

But lets not let it get weird, ok?

I mean, we have had some good times, we can still have some coffee sometimes.

It doesn’t have to get weird.

Sure, lets do that, lets make a date and go have some java, like old times.

Sigh.

Its weird, isn’t it?

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Come here, now go away.

Leave me the fuck alone.

Caffeinated and annoyed is a bad place to be.

The problem seems silly to be putting it down on a page, but it is what it is.

My dealer will not leave me alone.

Here it is:

I am in my favorite breakfast place, eating and getting my java on.

I have said many times that, as far as addictions go, caffeine is one of the better ones.

Mainly because it is easy to get, cheap compared to other drugs and the acceptability factor is off the charts.

But there is this new waitress in the diner and its slow.

Which means the new girl does not have enough pressing work to do and needs to look busy, but has not been here long enough to know all of the methods of looking busy, so she is doing the easiest one.

Wandering around with a coffee pot, offering refills.

I love that, to a point.

Don’t get me wrong, there are times when its busy that I cannot get a refill and am on the verge of performing sex acts in dirty alleys to get a top off. (Yes, its a stretch, but this is not about you. Put your hand down and shut your pie hole.)

But the new girl, lets call her Bitsy.

Bitsy has so far asked me 4 times if I need a refill in the last 5 minutes.

I do not want to discourage her, mainly because I will need her sometime soon for that refill she is offering.

She has a very innocent look on her face, which either makes it harder to be an ass to her, or just might make it more fun to be a total dick to her.

She looks familiar enough that I have begun to wonder if I know her mother.

Possibly, I fathered the girl. (There are penalties to living in the same town all of your life and being a prolific male slut in your early years.)

And then it hits me.

On my 9th birthday, I received an odd gift from a relative.

A pet rock.

I named it Alfonzo and put it in its little nest on my dresser.

A few years later, in a fit of boredom, I painted a little face on Alfonzo, complete with huge blue eyes.

Bitzy looks like my pet rock.

Its almost spooky, but there it is.

I still have Afonzo, by the way.

He and I have been thru a lot of shit over the years.

I would be proud of the fact that I have kept my pet rock all these years, but the reality of a pet rock is that it is a rock.
To have a pet rock for a long time only means that you never threw it out.

Its not a living pet.

Let’s be real, if Alfonzo were real, he would be dead by now, I am not that consistant with the whole “Daily feeding” regimen that living things need.

Bitsy just topped off my cup.

I thanked her and smiled at her.

In memory of the Alfonzo that might have been.

Ahhhhh, morning coffee.

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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I don’t need a BFF, dude.

There is such a thing as being too damned friendly.

When I am writing, I try to give off an unfriendly, “Asshole” kind of vibe. (As opposed to the friendly asshole vibe I give off the rest of the time.)

Mainly because nothing sucks worse than getting a line in my head that has just the right amount of cerebral stank on it only to have it evaporate like early morning mist because a stranger has decided I was BFF material.

“What are you writing?”

This is the witty opening line that ruined my thought process and sewered the killer blog idea in my head.

The unspoken here is that now you are stuck with my pissy, angst-filled rant of a post about shitting on strangers.

Suck it up, life is like that.

As I pull myself away from my writing I take a good look at “Magoo”. (I can’t remember what he said his name was, but Magoo fits.)

Magoo is one of nature’s children. He has an innocence about him that is almost charming and in any other setting, I would be happy to chat.

But he is in the wrong creative neighborhood at the wrong cerebral time of the night.

Lot of mind assault and battery happens in those settings. (He would be the star of the show if there was a mental episode of “Cops”. And I realize this imagery is a stretch. Work with me.)

But his question does demand an answer.

“Obituaries. I write obituaries for the LA Times.”

“Oh.” Deer in the headlights. The little smile is gone.

I’m not finished.

“Pays better than you think. Plus you get to spend a lot of time talking to grieving families.” (Its important to smile and be too excited at this point. It twists up the deeply ingrained expectation of being really serious on a serious topic. Like a giggling mortician, its out of place and more than a little disturbing.)

“Is that a good thing?” The question kind of tumbles confusedly out of his mouth.

“Its awesome, really gives you a heads up on estate sales and used cars.”

“Oh.” The deer in the headlights is beginning to realize that the headlights are not friendly.

“I am up for a promotion. Sex crimes beat. You talk with a LOT of rape and shooting victims.”

Eye contact breaks at this point and you can feel the flight part of the fight or flight reflex taking over.

He’s not sure what is wrong with me or the situation, but he knows SOMETHING is wrong and its making him antsy.

Bingo.

Almost on cue, the guy mutters something that sounds like something between a hiccup and a word that sounded like “Megosh” and walked away.

More like scurries away. I watch him go, smile and put my headphones back on.

Yeah, I know.

Asshole.

It is what it is.

What kills me is, I had my headphones on.

I could put a sign on the table that says, “Fuck off” but I figured the headphones were enough.

Besides, the last time I put the sign out, enough people complained that the manager asked me to take it down.

Once again, I know.

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Calm before the asshole storm.

It’s 1955, I’m sure of it.

I am in a diner, having breakfast.

Never been here before, but the waitress poured me a cup of coffee when I sat down without my having said anything.

This is how she took my order.

“What’ll you have, sweetie?”

She is snapping her gum as she takes my order.

The fact that she is about 70 is almost an afterthought.

And then, Vince came in.

I know his name is Vince, because the hostess, my waitress and several customers all said “Vince” when he came in.

He sat at the bar with the air of a man in his place of power and confidence.

He never ordered, but he got coffee, eggs and toast.

Pretty much all he did from when he came thru the door, till he walked out about an hour later, was hit on the waitress.

Did I mention he looked to be in his 70’s?

The counter I am sitting at with Vince has a full view of the parking lot.

Vince rolled into the parking lot in a vintage Buick Roadmaster, circa 1955.

Thats the one with the steel dashboard.

Like Jay Leno said, you hit your head on that, they hose it off and sell it to someone else.

I watched the interplay between Vince and the waitress and really felt better about life.

That makes me nervous, because I rarely feel better about life. (Call me a cynic, But I am usually convinced we are all fucked and out to screw each other over as a general rule.)

There was an innocence to the symbiotic relationship.

If either one of them was under the age of 50, this would be sexual harassment.

As it is, its a relationship that existed during a particular bubble in time.

Like the attitude/perception version of a unicorn, rare and almost mythical in this day and age.

Eventually, breakfast came to an end. (They don’t offer wifi, and I had some writing to do. All of my stuff is in the cloud and, yeah, its annoying at times.)

Outside, the real world intruded.

I was about four blocks away, the light had just changed to green, when the 500lbs beast in the car ahead of me lost his shit.

The lady ahead of him must have been texting, or just not paying attention, but she did not drive off immediately when the light turned green.

So the beast laid on his horn and began actually screaming.

“MOVE YOU STUPID BITCH!!!!”

There was more, but it was worse.

Karma, it seems, is reminiscing about a gentler time today right along with me.

To the left and back half a car length of the beast and his battered Oldsmobuick, was a sheriff, sitting right in the beast’s blind spot.

And his window was open.

Sheriff’s deputies are known for 2 things.

The first is, they are usually huge human beings that DO NOT TAKE SHIT.

The second is, there is nothing they love more than to protect good people from bad people. (The phrasing there is very specific, by the way.)

His lights came on and I was more than happy to let him over as traffic moved forward.

They pulled into a parking lot and I rolled past.

I am truly bummed that I did not pull in to watch.

But, just in case the beast shot his mouth off and forced the sheriff to beat the living shit out of him, there shouldn’t be any witnesses.

Mainly because the beast deserved it, and I am on the sheriff’s side on this one.

Because some people just need their ass kicked sometimes.

“What’ll you have, sweetie?”

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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What did you get her?

The setting is this.

Starbucks. Morning. Saturday. Insomnia. Coffee. Mmmmm. Few people. Guy on phone. Talking too loud. I am sitting too close. GO.

Here is what I have figured out so far.

He is talking to someone on the phone. Has to be a woman and based on a comment about “When we were kids.” I am guessing its his sister.

He is divorced. Its a Saturday, he is alone and not working on a “Honey-do” list. Also, there is no wedding ring, but perhaps a dent in his ring finger from a ring in the past.

Plus there is that single guy confusion rather than that married guy “certainty of being just plain fucked” aura to him.

And it seems that he has run into an impasse with a woman he is dating.

Evidently, he screwed things up last night and has called his sister to get her perspective on his mistakes.

He has yet to sleep with said woman he is dating yet.

But, they have discussed it.

She has mentioned being good at blowjobs. (Odds are she never said this. She said something that he interpreted as concerning blowjobs.)

He, surprise surprise here, likes a good bj. (You and every other swinging dick out there, buddy.)

Don’t start groaning yet, we all know its coming, but don’t get ahead of the story.

So, he got her a rather expensive jacket, and gave it to her a few days before Christmas.

So, deer in the headlights, no gift to give him back, she indicated that she hadn’t gotten him anything yet.

So he suggested a blowjob.

The stupid peeps out there are wondering what is wrong with this.

There are a number of ways to take this, and none of them are good.

The nicest way I can think of is that he gave her dick for Christmas, wrapped in a jacket.

And you want to save the paper on that one.

The worst way is that he called her an old school whore.

I have yet to make this particular mistake, not sure how I missed that.

I never intend to make mistakes, but I have a problem with running my mouth.

And, if you ramble long enough, just about anything is capable of coming out of your mouth.

I have been dealing with this for so long, that when everything goes wrong, I tend to just laugh.

And that never helps.

Nothing takes a pissed off woman and shoves her rage thru the freaking rafters than laughing when she’s pissed.

But this guy has an innocent stupidity to him that is almost endearing.

I mean, he’s giving away dick for Christmas, and she is at the head of the line.

She should feel good that he holds her in such high esteem.

And she could be at the front of that line or the back. Count your blessings.

Seems like a win-win, right?

All of a sudden he and I both being divorced makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?

Remember, always save the paper, no matter what its wrapped around.

 
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Posted by on January 2, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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