Tuesday, June 19, 2012

So Much Slower. (Fiction)

The walk from the cab to the door is so much slower. Oppressive heat.  I will fall down, later, but not right now.  Falling down is what I fear but do not think, here at the beginning, that my fears will come to fruition.

My dress does not stretch to meet my needs. It does not quite cover the black strapless and threatens to flash the flesh colored Playboy boy shorts pulled in to place to protect the world from my erotically staged tattoos.  A tight tube of black crochet and dangerous heels. Flaming curls and lip gloss.

The walk from the cab to the door is so much slower.  We saunter inside, our mini-entourage of misfits.  Fumbling for ID, for money, for tickets.  Bewildered by requests we knew would be made of us.  We blink at the candlelight, freezing for one second before paving the way to the patio.

A bar has been erected outside.  There stand people I know, people I have known, people who will soon forget me if he ever actually tells anyone he is no longer in my life.  I speak at them, the same gibberish bullshit I have been spouting all day long.  The heat and the once an hour whiskey has me thoroughly bummed out.  I am tired of talking shit and taking it from people gargling marbles.  My brain had a break today, all day.  I want to turn back on.  I am happy in the company of those I keep, but I feel like I am waiting for someone, for something.  A drink, for now, will do.  We sprawl out in the weather as everyone else chooses the ten degree temperature departure inside.  I scan for him, for them, really, the one I want to see, and the one I want to talk to.  I would like a do over. to meet again, for the first time.  Would I do it all again?  Would I do it all over again?  Would I do the one and not the other? Did I even have a choice?  I will find out later, before I fall on the floor, that no, I never had a choice.  Rejection will fall gently, somewhat on dead ears.  It's all rose petals and absinthe in this place.

The walk from the table into the bar is so much slower.  I am hindered by heels stuck to the bottom of giraffe legs.  Uneasy, shapely stilts.  the legs of the insured.  the legs of the assured.  Legs that stop traffic and move ships.  I am told, and do believe.  That fact will not save me from self consciousness and those more casually dressed.

He is not here, but will be.  He also, is not here, but will be.  I am comfortable with this knowledge as I hug the bar, my drink, a smoke.  the buzz makes me warm, comfortable.  I will be surprised later at the angry marks on my feet.  I feel nothing right now, no pain. Not even when I fall, which does happen, later.

He appears, a mirage, halfway through my first drink.  He looks so good to me, so bad for me, so bad to me.  He thinks me self centered, not selfish, self assured, not stuck up, Unaware of anything going on around me.  He is right. I am generous in the right lighting, the right mood.  These are the things he hates about me. That I do not need him to tell me how to look pretty at myself, that I know when to draw a cartoon or bring him a cookie.  He wants me to forget how to behave because he forgot how to not be an asshole.

He hugs me, I look passed him, now that he is here, I am bored with the concept of his arrival.  wrapped in a cocoon of inebriation, I breath and watch, waiting for whatever I am waiting for to reveal itself.  I know it's a person, male, but otherwise, I am in the dark.

My friends are bored.  We move around, trying to get comfortable, cats in a patch of sun.  I am always happy around people.  I am never trying to find a fuck. or a husband.  they always find me, eventually.  Tonight I tower over the masses.  Some bitch with funny hair and a painted face looks at me like I am the freak.  Men part the seas.  I have the eyes of the blind: for no one.

The walk from the bar to him, the him, the other him, is so much slower.  The answer to my question is revealed in the form of a friend.  He looks good, too, without needing the tie or the hair gel.  A pipe dream. A pipe. I made him a cartoon once about being my drug dealer. I still have some pot, hash.  the silent killer of so many love-times. I stopped being a hypocrite and put away my rolling papers.

Hover.  He sits, I sit.  He stands, I stand. I shiver and sigh and shimmy like a sex worker.  Two drinks in and is there anyone in this fucking bar?  I look to my right, he is there, I look up, he is here, I look to my left and am assaulted by the look of the glum.  I shrug and turn back to where the center seems to lie.  The guys go outside, I sit and chew on and spit out words as my mind wanders to where they have gone. Outside.

The walk from the bar to the patio is so much slower.  My friend, he takes me in, seemingly for the first time all night.  In that moment this dress was a good choice.  The other one, he gave me a cursory once over.  No love there.  I look good, after he looks good.

The heat sucks.  I say as much.  We can smoke inside, so why don't we?  He is so sober, I am so fucked.  Not quite fucked up yet, but well on my way.  It occurs to me at this point that there may be more to life than watching this bartender out of the corner of my eye while sitting on a stool trying not to fidget.

My focus is dragged back to what he is telling me, about a boring girl who is good in bed and why everything ends after two months and how nice it is to stick your dick in someone.  I ask pertinent questions and here lies that soft rejection wrapped in an arm full of compliments.  He has been waiting for her all night. she doesn't show.  I don't feel bad for anyone involved. I know that tonight I could get what I want in a very small dose, but he knows that I don't want that, will never want that in any dose not lethal, so we will sit and chat and I will drink and the chasm will close up, maybe once and for all.

People move in and the conversation stops. for a moment phantom traces of cocaine flashbacks cloud my blood and I have too much energy.  It is hot, my heart palpitates and I decide that one of my female companions must learn to waltz. now. She is as drunk as I am, so dipping her proves impossible, and this, this is the moment where I fall down.  I do not laugh as it is not funny. embarrassing and made so much worse when I look up to meet the disapproving eyes of the bartender.  I am tired and ashamed.  He doesn't even have to say all of the things he says. I know. I sit in silence. Overwhelmed by the need to fuck off.  Girl and boy friend bond. I let them, someone should be happy, get lucky, tonight.

The walk from the bar to his car is so much faster. He drops me off, attempting to push away my sadness with words to admonish the bartender, a hug, a joke.  He goes on to take girl home.  what happens next in their story, I do not know, am not allowed to care.  I sit and smoke with my friends as the arrive on the stoop one by one, telling my tale.  Each offers words of wisdom against the bartender and fists of single friends I should be perfect for.  Inside is so hot. I can't stay here. So I make a phone call and try not to pass out.  He drives by a few times, my friends don't bother to tell me.  He honks, angry.  It is 3:30 AM.

the walk from the house to his car is so much faster.  I apologize for my friends, while he spits insults at their retreating, oblivious figures.  I apologize again for falling, trying my hardest to come off more sober than I could possibly be.  We find our final destination. I sway with my cigarette letting his words, the I love yous wash over me and fall to the ground.   I should not be here right now, but right now I don't know where else I should be.  the walk from his side inside is so much faster.  My head hit the pillow, cool sheets, familiar walls.  I will deal with this tomorrow. right now, I just want to forget all about falling and falling down.

should we get naked?

we are all just sitting, standing around feeling the same way. the same exact way. like making out. don'tcha just feel like grabbing that girl, that guy, that figment of your fucking imagination and kissing them til they get that annoying kool aid stache?

when was the last time you kept creeping up her shirt and she kept slapping your hand, because that is what we do. we set boundaries. we scold.

when was the last time you kept creeping up her shirt and she did not stop you? because, guess what, we are human, too.

my breathing is getting a little funny. i should probably stop writing now. and maybe get a life. just saying, though. one of the things i miss most about make believe is the believe part.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

i am kind of a big deal.

i am kind of a big deal.

in my bath tub. water displacement and all that jazz. and that is where my kind of a big deal status ends.

that being said, i am amazed at how many fantastic, if not totally generic compliments i get every single day from this site. i have to wonder, though, why do these compliments not get me feeling all warm and gooey? well, because they feel copied and pasted. see for yourself, the eerie similarities:

Hi there gorgeous ;).

 your photogenic I like it haha

Hi. You are absolutely beautiful

wow.......is all i can say...your gorgeous...

Ur amazing

your very cute

you look very beautiful with youe eyes expression!! :)

you so hot
Hey you lookin.great

You are super cute !

You are very attracting! Nice photo's

damn your fine

Hey beautiful

and this is just one day. i am not poking fun at anyone or saying that they should not compliment people. i just wonder if we all should not be throwing our warm fuzzies out more regularly, and to people's faces. myself included.

So beautiful.I think we should fall In Love

Very good looking I still think u r ;)

Hello gorgeous, how is ur days going sweetheart

hi there is you a sweet caring funloving and faithful woman if yes lets chat txt me

Hi u doing ma I see u look sexy

Friday, June 8, 2012

imaginary sex.

come right here and be you.
suck it up. what you want is not at the bottom of your glass.
though it gives you courage, it will give you no pleasure when later you are exhausted and i am moving on.

be so great and mighty. deep breathe and daydream about what it would be like to see my face in the morning.

and all the things you will have seen to get to that morning.

have strong hands. hold me as i rock and moan. rock and moan.
force me to look you in the eyes. watch me blush. lips slightly parted, drunk with desire.
no one sees you that way. not in this moment. you are incredible. you that is reflected in my eyes.

take over from there, not being able to contain yourself any longer. bring me to my back. thrust and grip. thrust and grip. overwhelm yourself with the moment. give way to the tide. i won't mind. my time came and went. came and went.

choke back tears as prayers in dead languages cloud your judgement. cry out involuntarily as i grasp your shoulders. collapse into deep kisses. share my pillow. hold my hand. close your eyes.

your heart beats and aches. beats and aches. the pain subsides. you know i will be here in the morning. games over. you win.

and all it took was a single step toward.

*i wanted to make a comment about this post, as people have been asking who the mystery man is. um. this is complete fiction. as in, it never happened. all wishful thinking on my part. now that that is cleared up, let us move on, shall we?

Top 5 ways To Make Your Date Regret Her decision To Meet You:

you show up late. very late. so late that she starts to think she got the am and pm mixed up. and you do not call to say you will be late. twenty minutes and no phone call? bye.

you show up and announce that you are flat broke. so why are you dating? i am not saying that the guy is ever obligated to pay for everything, but is the girl? this has actually happened to me twice. i ended up buying a few drinks because the conversation was interesting, but nothing beyond. you can afford your bong rips but not afford to pay your own way when meeting someone socially? loser.

you force your date to go to some out of the way place because it is stumbling distance to your front door. no. it is super polite to choose a meeting place that is comfortable for your date, in case you decide to get all axe-murdery on her or something. i will rarely venture out of uptown for the first meeting just because i like to be surrounded by people who know who i am and where i am when i am with someone i do not know. i get that you are probably harmless, but really, one can never be too careful.

you show up drunk or high. should be a no-brainer, but isn't. i get that dating is stressful and having a way to relax beforehand is a good idea, but, believe me, you aren't fooling anyone, mr bloodshot eyes.

you talk about sex. a lot. you talk about your ex. a lot. you talk about sex with your ex. a lot. see where i am going with this? guys who are insecure tend to talk about sex way too much, which can make a girl uncomfortable. even if we do want to hop on right away, we still like to be treated like ladies. also, guys who talk about their exes a lot are usually rebounding. this is why i skip profiles where the ex is mentioned, even briefly.

what i wish is to know what it is that women do on first dates that can be so annoying. i want to know if i have done any of those things, or maybe even to know what it is that girls do that blow guy's minds. i would like to put a list like that together about guys, but not one thing has happened yet.