where'd we go?

I can't take a nap today. my head aches. i got not a wink last night among the fucking and the fueding. no, really. tossed off all my clothes after one rousing round of scrabble. he put down ex. i added the s and we decided that indeed was a much better game. this bottle of vodka has lasted for awhile. i haven't been here. i have been drinking princely sums and not cleaning my apartment in favor of this boy. this pot smoking prince valiant. the rebel, the joker, the villian all rest in one body, til we meet again in 4 hours. he gives me less than nothing and i take it and pay. meanwhile where are things going with this new golden boy. he seems genuine but what the fuck does that mean after a week? birth control and a move back uptown, i guess. for now. passed out at around two only to be woken, fucking 3 hours later. awake again at 8, i start things this time. with love of the feeling, the only one i can touch anymore.

brand new man

he is tall and touches me often. these are the things i noticed first. i communicate in code, without eye contact, head bent slightly away. it took me forever to see his green eyes.his straight nose.the smile. he looks familiar.some actor from some movie, some long time ago. some crush. dont tell mom the babysitters dead, maybe? i saw his curly hair, how he sought out my attention. leaned in, leaned out. kissed me. dry wit, smile at me. we are towering over the evening. swapping stories, holding hands. my skirt is short. i take the stairs slowly, in front of him. sex is not on my mind. sex is always on my mind. we buy gummy worms and have some wine.

he speaks in absolutes and tells me about us in six minutes, six weeks, six months. i am afraid because i have been down every road and every road ends with me picking up my paints and my pot, cutting across the grass,thumbing for a ride back to the beginning.

if i were a boxer

if i could tell you everything i would never tell you anything true. i wish with all of my heart that you, whoever you are, did not exist so that i could float here like the rest of them, content to be on the verge, a breaking point of madness and lack of wonder. everyone flirts with this cliff, this bottomless empty bowl we fill with charms and gods and nameless fucks. some story. some game. whatever creates the art that they buy that they want that they love that reflects them. these mirrors for the narcissism. hold yours up to me, fall in love, you will not be found wanting.

wait for it, sad prince, whatever reason i look tarnished. stare me down,then, when you think i am less, when whiskey makes you more. i will shimmer and sigh, sauntering over to you. what do you wish, what is your want? i will take off all of my clothes and still be dressed. you cannot come inside, despite your hard pounding. you will try. i will show you my back, as it is said, what you see as i am breaking your heart. the fog in which you will exist should part some day soon, i will be a mirage. you will think i never existed at all. until you see me again. until you spy my breathing on someone else's neck. someone with a no better than you ever were, only not you, and that is enough.

this ain't fiction people.

there was a night, my tattoo explains it, when i cheated on my boyfriend. sort of. we were on a break.he fucked someone on our couch. i gave the couch away as it was too big to set on fire. back to the beginning.

things start to unravel when you find pictures of your boyfriend with a bunch of naked strippers at the strip club his ex works at after you specifically asked him not to go there. the thought of him at any strip club makes you want to douse your head in acid just to distract yourself.

you threaten and then attempt to push him out of your way as you scream scream scream.the neighbors are downstairs, smoking a bowl, elegant eyebrows raised. this is a few years ago, so you did not know the term for them was "hipster" yet.

you and your boyfriend go to applebees, get drunk, hook up, and then decide on the break. suits you just fine. except that you work and live together. so stupid and so young is 22. so you start flirting with this coworker that you love. he is a redhead, and your names rhyme. fate, right? he writes. he is funny. you guys decide to go on a date.

you are so excited! you meet at a local bar. and who is there, as well? your fucking boyfriend. waiting for some chick. he is mad. you are not. the chick looks like a troll, and you look like a playmate, but without the tan or slut gear. your date shows up, you hightail it to a seedy bar. it is so romantic.

you drink beers and play music on the jukebox. some crackhead sells you a rose. you leave only when he overhears some guy plotting to kill some other guy in the bathroom.on to another bar.

he proposes to you with an onion ring, declares himself smitten. he kisses you on the doorstep. your boyfriend does not come home that night.

you end up sleeping with this guy with the rhyming name. he says he loves you. as sweats on top of you, the ceiling seems to open up, revealing storm clouds and warm air. you feel empty and alone and on the verge of some torture. this is not going to end well.

cold harsh daylight finds you trying to navigate away from his apartment. you get lost, feel sick. end up seeing your mom so you can get a cell phone because the one you got from your boyfriend has been canceled. you got through 22 years without it, but now do not remember how.6 years later you think a land line is probably a good idea. you are tired of being so connected to how often your phone does not ring sometimes.

you get home eventually. your boyfriend gets home,too. you are both so tired from not fucking each other. you take a nap, after it is determined that neither of you had sex with anyone else on the bed. the couch, as i said, had to go.

later, you wake up and go to applebees. you get drunk and get back together. the girl he banged understood, maybe, about you. you never know. you don't bother to screen phone calls or anything. you will stay with this guy for another year and a half. you will leave each other and it will be terrible. the stuffing will be knocked from you. you will forget how to fight after. as for the boy with the rhyming name, you will run into him a few times over the years. you will hook up. he is exhausted. a star collapsing in on itself. he will move close by and then stop calling you. it is for the best. you have finally stopped jerking him around. you do this sometimes. keep people within arms length just to push them.

you never see your boyfriend again, but he is your friend on facebook.

when paintings attack

so there was this guy who came in for a few months to the bar where i work. he would come in alone, at first with his phone, and then with a book. he was nice and polite. he drank surly and jameson, ate cheesebread, whatever.

because i am not an idiot and he was not very covert about it, i knew that he was interested, in at least looking at me, as he did so often. he started showing up about once a week, and we got to chatting. he wasn't a bad looking guy and he seemed pretty cool from what i gathered. i had a boyfriend and so wasn't interested outside killing time during the slow time. sometimes, too, when it is busy, these tables are the best. like islands in a hectic storm. it's nice to stop off and know they will not ever need anything major, just more water every once in awhile.

so, one night he shows up with friends, who introduce themselves to me. weird, i don't even know the regular's name, so...we talked a bit more and at this point i am single. nothing happens,though, until a week later when one of his drunk female friends lays it on me that this guy likes me and has been coming in to see me and talks about me and whatever.

exciting, though, not creepy. he isn't a weirdo. just saying.

so, i give him my number, he loses it and makes valiant attempts to retrieve it. does. calls me. we hang out. and that's that. nothing. i am being my usual self. intense but goofy, so whatever. it's never me. he starts opening up about his previous pseudo wife and his very cool kid, and all the problems with money and commitment and suddenly i am very tired. and very glad he has to go do something so that i can just go home.

some men are such fantasists, such idealists, that they hold this weird daydream at the forefront of reality because that which is slightly out of grasp is more interesting than what is in one's arms, i guess. my being real exhausted him. we will be friends, but our equal illusions are shattered. his of Pygmalion, mine of Cyrano.

I try very hard not to take numbers from guys at work. it is not healthy, and there have been a few casualties.It could be worse. i could be dating a coworker.

don't hate on your waitress

it's always funny to run into people you know and love waiting on in your bar. it really is, if you actually do love them. if not, meh. most of my regulars are couples and chicks. this surprises people to no end as i think they think i perform sex acts on all of my male customers simply because i am a single female. i can pay my rent and bills in 3 shifts. pretty sure i don't need to be giving out handies with every pizza sale.i just don't have the time.

anyway.

a couple i had known about a year was sitting across the bar from me and my friends. they were drunk, but then, so was i. i bought them a few shots, and girl came up to talk to me. "You know, when i first started coming in to BLANK, i really did not want you to wait on us. you were so friendly, it was weird, i thought you were hitting on my boyfriend. you look like the type my boyfriend would leave me for. he sucks, sometimes. but then i realized that you are just nice. sorry. you aren't a slut, but, you know? love you."

i had to sit for a minute after that. sip sip vodka soda.sip. all gone. i remember being with a guy who used to check out waitresses. and baristas. and fucking everything that moved. it made me feel terribly paranoid and insecure. i would call him on it, he would say i was a lunatic. so i get it. but it is not my fault.

if your boyfriend is checking out the server, or if you are just being insecure, well, don't take your shit out on me. i treat everyone the same. i am always in a good mood, and i have never and will never flirt with my customers. i make really good money because i am consistent and thoughtful. not because i am eye candy who will pretend to worship you. this is not a strip club or a sex chat line. i am not getting paid enough hourly to entertain your fantasies, and i am guessing the five bucks you are going to write in as a tip no matter what the bill, will not keep me warm at night.

the uniform is something i have heard comments on from a few females, as well. funny. i was wearing black tights, a black mini skirt, black flats and a fitted black logo tshirt. the girl who made the comment? wearing almost exactly the same outfit. she  was just pear shaped, short and a bit flat. so we look a bit different in our outfits, but how can a girl say i look slutty, when we are wearing the same fucking thing? Hey jealousy? sorry, you ain't never gonna look like me.

porn star, for real?

a girl i know walks into the bar i work with some dude and two other girls. one girl, cleavage, brown tan and acne scars is a bit frumpy, so the eyes slide right by her, as i am sure she is totally used to, what with being friends with the absolute train wreck to her right. miss thaaaaang walks in on stilettos, short skirt, sunglasses and a super plunge top. tan tan tan. makeup, holy shit. she does have good hair,though, and would be very pretty without all the extra shit. she looks like a parody. people are judging her, she has fans and foes. namely a very pretty mousy girl who is sitting with her thug life dipshit boyfriend at the table next to them. pretty mouse is staring at her and laughing, probably uncomfortable that her jaggoff boyfriend cannot seem to prize his eyes away from her cleavage. nothing much happens while porn girl is there. she eats some pizza, drinks some diet cokes, goes to the bathroom 50 times, and has every cook in the kitchen coming out to stare at her. not from lust, more fascination.

so where was i going with this? oh yeah. she looked ridiculous, but i like all people and treat everyone the same, even thuggster and bambi at the table next door who were rude and demanding. the difference between the two tables? porn queen gave me a 25 percent tip. thickwad gave me a 0 percent tip. that is the difference. as soon as you walk out the door, i have forgotten you, unless you make me remember with numbers like that. porn girl is always going to get a smile from me. d bag will have to wait a few extra minutes while i take care of the people that actually don't suck.

pissing whiskey

there is a great bar in NE. in just under two hours, you can go from 0 to spinning for less than 25 bucks. if you can drink 5 whiskeys and stay on you bar stool anyway. i can, just barely. so i played the jukebox. lots nin,stones, the rev, whatever. nursing a non-heart with a guy i shouldn't be sitting next to. whiskey goggles are a bit different from the beer ones. people look worse, i itch for a fight. got one but quickly gave up when i couldn't figure out how to light my cigg without him. apologize and then there was fire. yes. a small victory. he followed me home, because he was driving me there and came inside. spins came with us, too, just for kicks and i was a total waste of space. luckily, it was my space so i kicked him out. moral of this story? next time me and my notebook are going alone. i missed a lot of good dialogue pretending to  be interested in some old bullshit.

match dot oy fuckit.

it has been a tough year as far as dating has been going. lotta meat puppets, all i am going to say. no, i will say a few more things, i think. first lets start with the emotionally crippled super nice ocd freak i dated for 7 lovely months. promised the moon the stars and all the candy and booze a girl could ever want. i spent the next six months working off the weight and trying to figure out who i was without all those empty promises clouding my judgement.

turns out, i was a bit of a slag.

not really, just dating for britain. quickly i moved on to a man without a chance in hell of surviving my storm o shit. while i rebounded from ocd-er he rebounded from life. raging and upset most of the time, dude was a total alcoholic who was sliding quickly back to being a fat pot head. abandon ship, yes sir-ee.

next up to bat, a long and tall drink of water who lacked ambition and needed me to hold his hand through bill paying and having a big scary job offer. he quit the job in favor of his bong so i hit the road. I might be a waitress and a student and not a fucking rocket scientist, but i see a future and it does not go on and on with my cats in a darkened room stinking of pot and poptarts.

next up, the guy i just could not stop fighting with. holy shit, did we not get along. like the physical side of things was fine, but i felt like i was covered in needles whenever he was around. one false move, pricked to death. that one went back and forth for a minute until i literally could not stand to stand within a foot of him without feeling creepoed.

Between each of these fantastic jaunts have been flirts and flattering asides where long time patrons have confessed their undying crush for me and i, being the hopeless, and i mean hopeless romantic that i am, was happy to entertain a fantasy where they were not simply trying to get laid by the "dark haired one, you know, tall with big boobs?" i though for sure they saw something deep in me...until yes, i realized that that was exactly what they saw. something deep in me.

many a man, nary a single man will tell me over and over that i am so young and should be out having a whale of a fuck every night of the week. to them all, i say, "not with your dick." so not worth having to wake up in my doll's house sized apartment with some stranger who can't figure out how to toast coffee and doesn't have anything better to do than watch cable reruns while i nurse my hangover back to good health.

on the other hand, i am really sick of introducing myself....