When the rhythm of change meets the nightclub of procrastination, the result is me. That's this week's awful metaphor. Use it wisely.
Saturday was escape and I'm finally ready to talk about it. Well, except the bumping and grinding on sweet bettys and the after hours ass-slappin' fun -- because a gentleman never tells.
I went down to the only place I ever seem to go. I went earlier than I ever go because Princess Amidala Amelie Goulet -- who could be the most beautiful woman ever -- called the night before and practically begged me to hang out. (It'd be nice to claim it was all me, but she was visiting her folks in a town a quarter the size and fun of Macon... so...)
Though I complained to her face, I feel obliged to complain again. This once stunning brunette is a blond. I'm a stand by your gal kind of guy so my complaint isn't that she doesn't look as good -- as a brunette, she's especially good looking... especially -- it's that I didn't recognize her. Her retort? "You've seen it before!"
So? Can I help being that dumb? No. I've also seen my brother before but I forget his name all the time. I've been to my house before but I go the wrong way, all the time. I could go on if you'd like.
(Tangentially, I have to confess something strange. Songs get stuck in my head just like everyone else. And sometimes these songs are just commercial jingles, just like everyone else. However, unlike anyone else -- I hope, for their sake -- there are two songs, two jingles and they both belong to two different auto part stores: Auto Advance {"We've got your part, trouble doesn't stand a chance. For the best parts, people and prices, we're Ready in Advance."} and Auto Zone {"Auto Zone, If you Want it, we can get it! [then I add my own lines with the same stacatto rhythm: Cuz we didn't have it, Now you're pissed off, so we'll find it...]"} and what I'm thinking of doing with this tragedy is turning it into art. So this might be the beginning of my one-man acoustic show.)
Amidala and I sat chatting, basking in the glow of a video game where puzzles solved reveal naked people and letters come together to score points. Our minds were like one, chemistry, a metaphysical and spiritual bond. We both had to pee at the same time. Being the gentleman, I offered to go first so I wouldn't wet myself in front of the lady. Instead, I stood and started talking to Raspy Tina (FKA -- Biblical Guy). While she admired me, Amidala jumped up and raced to the back laughing and shouting something about nice guys finishing last.
It was my turn when she returned and if you don't understand bar etiqutte, then you don't understand why we took turns and I don't feel like explaining it to your dumb ass right now so just accept that this is something people do. We're people, we did this.
I come back and damn if there aren't three dudes standing around Amidala hitting on my girl. Well, technically, she's taken -- unavailable like all the women in my life -- so she isn't mine and I can't really worry about their chances of success with her. In other words, I just sit and chill and count drinks. "I've had a long island, two jack n cokes, a tom collins, something blue..."
Then the background noise dies down, their conversation leaks in and I realize they aren't telling Amidala how great they are. Oh no, these guys were evangelists. They were talking God. Oh my, I had to join in.
Keep in mind, I'm cynical -- not skeptical. There's a difference. Also, I'm a recovering conservative Bible-beater so I know this shit. But I respected what they were doing, hanging out where most Christians would never dare step foot. And they were respectful too.
All the same, I kept calling the leader of the pack "Jesus" before I learned his name was Tim.
Jesus was saying that everyone has a purpose. I wanted to know more. "What's that mean?" He explained nothing -- doctrine was falling out like he was talking with his mouth full. I stopped him and asked specifically, "You say everyone has a purpose. This can only mean one of two things: Either everyone has a purpose that they WILL fulfill with or without their imput -- predestination," I paused because he was nodding his head, "AND," I added, "That's really fucking cold because a person's purpose then could be nothing more pleasant than to become a homeless junkie so someone out there decides not to be," he stopped nodding and started shaking his head and holding a sour look on his face like I just asked him to make out with a cow, "Or having a purpose means that there is something you're supposed to accomplish, which may or may not happen depending on 1) what you do and 2) what happens to you. That's just another expectation."
He didn't say anything for a second. Not thinking about a response, just waiting on what else.
"Okay," I said to clarify, "Well, if I'm only here by God's will, then how is my life not predestined? If I have free will, how could a purpose be predestined?"
Jesus told me he believed both. Mostly he repeated that we have free will and we have to want to fulfill our purpose. Bah. Philosophical copping out.
I mention all this because you know what, I want to believe I have a purpose and I want to be told what it is. If I just believed I had one, at least I could go looking for it. By conversing with this gentleman, I wanted to find out -- without cynicism -- what to do next.
They had to leave after a while, nothing answered and I'd had all the fun I was going to get. So what to do next was get more drunk. Amidala was down.
It was a blur for a while. Not that I don't remember but I was vibrating at the speed of light. Upstairs, I heard the screech and wail of Sugar Virus. Earlier, I'd bought their three pack special and rambled about how much I'd eventually like their music. So it was time to rock out with my cock... well, my cock was firmly in place. The point is just I was ready to rock and by rock, I mean dance and by dance I mean thrash about not caring what it looked like.
To describe my earlier dances in earlier journal entries -- I contend this is not a blog, mind you -- all I had to do was say "it was the Hammer dance" or "I did the Humpty Dance". You might not know what these look like but you get the idea. Unfortunately, there is nothing in the annuls of literature or early 90's rap music to describe the flailing mania that was my body. But know this, dear reader, my arms and legs were everywhere. My mind was nowhere -- thank god -- and I actually had a couple of partners for this ride. Most consistently, Raspy Tina and her pal, the Pale Rail. Riddle was up there and at one point, I broke formation with the ladies to air hump him as he air humped the stage. It wasn't pretty and though I'd been upset my camera was with me that night -- Riddle was, for an evening, Leon Kravitz, Lenny's brother -- I am not upset that these images live only in my head.
At one point, I ran down one set of stairs and tore through the lower level yelling, "I AM RADIATING HEAT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER!" Then back up the stairs and more dancing.
I had sixteen heartattacks and a glass of water.
So what, it took me a year to leave the bar. I was sad that Tangle My Nangle was going home and that the night was done. There was nothing I could do to convince Tangle and Amidala to join me in a threesome. Not that I would have done it had they said yes, but I was hoping that the salesman in me could convince someone to do something. Separate ways, separate ways except for me and Amidala.
We sat at Waffle House smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee -- or was I the only one? She doesn't eat meat and somehow thought I was trying to be sweet by not ordering any, but she'd only manifest my general sweetness into invisibility for the bacon that was right in front of her.
I'd give up meat for her.
It was nice talking without shouting over the din of a bar. We swapped stories and advice and laughing. Her faults, as she confessed them, were just more pluses. I keep telling her, "In three years, in three years." In three years, there'll be so much competition for my hand in marriage. I'll have to beat the suitors off with a stick.
Old Neglected (FKA Old Faithful) has posed the hypothetical already.
Alright, alright. You're dying to know where all this goes. Does it lead to a night of bootilicious satisfaction as aforementioned in my forward to the storytelling? No. There wasn't anything but genuinely friendly conversation -- though the pervert I am, I believe I was randomly inserting the words 'titties' and 'ass' throughout.
Amidala stayed -- safe and sound -- at my apartment. Since I'm moving out, there was only a couch and a half-inflated air matress. I took the latter, believing the couch to be ugly but comfortable. At this point, we both already had hang-overs and it was something like 4am. Headaches in tow and goofy chit-chat on hand, there wasn't sleep until 7am.
Good god, I don't remember much about all that except Amidala kept falling off the couch -- on purpose -- to land like a canonball on my deflated mattress. She enjoyed the falling and watching me bounce. I didn't enjoy it at all, wishing my head would either give in to the Excedrine or just fucking explode. However, she was kind enough to give me a hug or two throughout the evening and sometimes, that's all a person needs.
So Amidala, thanks. It was great fun. We'll have to make Sunday useless again sometime soon.
And Old Neglected, thanks for introducing me to Amidala. She's no you but that's probably a good thing because I'd just ignore her if she was. (insert smiley thing)
PS -- there's a new dog in my life. a baby dachsund (i.e. weiner dog)... I'll put a picture in my picture section as soon as I can so you can all ooo and ahh over it's cuteness. I, on the other hand, will keep ewwing and arrrgghing over the shit and piss it leaves whenever someone isn't looking.
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