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My Birthday Evil Queen Weekend Pt 2: Winning Sucks

Before leaving Abe’s, I asked him to perform reiki on me. I realize a lot of people may not know what reiki is or think its total bullshit.

As defined by one of the first three links on Google: Reiki is a form of therapy that uses simple hands-on, no-touch, and visualization techniques, with the goal of improving the flow of life energy in a person.

Hands move just above your skin and maneuver your energy. Hippy dippy? It works.

I love Abe’s reiki, but of course the first time he did it, he went down on me afterward. This time I couldn’t have sex with him.

Despite the fact that I was delaying my visit to Alan to be with Abe, I still felt it would be too low to sleep with Abe just before arriving in San Diego, knowing Alan would hit on me. I did think, having Abe’s scent on me might further encourage and frustrate Alan. I am manipulative to some degree, but not an asshole.

After reiki, you feel a natural high like you just had a few orgasms or maybe like that first pint of beer after hiking an entire day in the heat. Its something . . . something special. It feels like a warm river is moving just beneath your skin’s surface. And though a massage is relaxing, a reiki session leaves you feeling at peace in a way you might not be able to find any other way.

When he finished, he pecked me on the mouth.

The hangover headache I had mysteriously transferred over to Abe, and I made my leave to the other ex, while singing:

“All of my love,
All of my love,
All of my love, to you.”

I heard it on the radio on my way home and opened up to the words deliberately for the first time:

“Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light
To chase a feather in the wind
Within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight
There moves a thread that has no end.

For many hours and days that pass ever soon
the tides have caused the flame to dim
At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom
Is this to end or just begin?”

Abe told me later, that during our reiki session, I looked like I was 15 years old. Not only my face, he said, but also my body.

***

When I pulled up and parked in Little Italy, I got out and rolled my suitcase a block and a half to Alan’s apartment building. The ocean night air is cold, but that good cold that burns your cheeks and opens your nose to the night. Alan’s apartment building is a rose/peach kind of stucco. I felt good. Then I got a phone call from Abe. My hands were full so I didn’t pick up in time, but I did read the text message.

Abe: “R U revenging me?”

I felt my first ping of guilt.

I wrote: “I love you. I just had plans, that’s all. Don’t confuse yourself. I gave you my birthday because I love you.”

I walked in an Alan greeted me. The kiss hello was awkward, tight and brief. He read the moment. He took a step back and understood something about me then walked away.

He said, “I got your text to not try too hard on the dinner so I just threw together some rice and vegetables.”

I said, “Perfect.”

He put together a plate for me on a TV tray and we sat side by side on the couch in front of the television, just like the latchkey kids we were growing up. The vegetables tasted like they came from a can and the rice was a little undercooked, but the effort was noted. He was really trying.

After a volcano bag or two, I was spent and fell asleep almost immediately.

I woke up to him on top of me in the midst of a sexual act. With my foot still in dreams, I said, “Oh, I didn’t know thats what was happening.”

He said, “I am sorry, if I didn’t know you knew what was happening, I wouldn’t have done it.”

I woke up throughout the night to him pushing me, and then I would half-consciously apologize for hogging the bed. This sounds like it could be playful, but even in my dreams, I could sense that he was frustrated.

When the morning came, I needed coffee. Its all very matter of fact for me. I need coffee. It was raining over the Farmer’s Market and I took his dog Wilson and Brad on a walk to my car, to recover some necessary items I left behind.

By the time I got back, something was completely different about Alan’s attitude. He was cold and short with me. I kind of dismissed it since I was still on this curve of, “I really don’t give a fuck after you abandoned me last summer.”

I knew either a) he looked at my text messages to Ab. b) he saw my Gmail and a blog comment was posted to ” Blowjobs are for Boyfriends” c) I said Abe’s name in the night (I can talk in my sleep)

It was raining and the coffee didn’t help, so I fell back asleep in his bed. He napped on the couch. Yeah, something happened.

I woke up around 2:30pm and put my shoes on. I asked him if he could watch Brad while I go out for awhile.

He said, “What are your plans for today?” There was emphasis on the “are” like he didn’t like being kept in the dark.

I said, “I was going to head down to Ocean Beach, do some shopping and look around for a while.”

He said, “I imagine if its Dog Beach, they would let you bring Brad into the shops.”

I looked down at Brad, he was staring at me and wagging his tail.

I said, “Hm, I could always try to take him with me. I am going to Dog Beach so I should bring my dog. Ok, Brad, you win. I will take you.”

His tail wagged furiously as I gathered his leash and harness.

Alan said, “I do that too, talking to myself until Wilson wins.” He smiled and looked down. There was still some affection for me in there.

Brad and I went to Ocean Beach as the rain cleared. I grabbed another coffee and videotaped him running along the beach. The sun set and the darkness was coming over my little patch of heaven.

(I have to upgrade my account to upload the video- and that’s $100, so nevermind the video!)

I stopped by a shop and saw an Ocean Beach porcelain mug of just a woman’s bikini breasts. I thought it was perfect for Alan, so I bought it. Everything was 75% off anyway.

At the register, I saw stone hearts, about the size of my palm, maybe a little smaller. I picked a blue one up for Abe and a red one for me.

I said to the cashier, a middle-aged bald man, “I am courting two exes. The mug is for one and the stone for the other. Who do you think I like more?”

He quietly rang them up and then forced out a, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

I said, “Its my birthday.”

He said, “Good luck with your decision.”

Was I making a decision? I thought it was obvious I can’t be with either . . . not obvious to the middle-aged bald man running a souvenir shop. Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

I warmed up the car and left Brad there as I went for an appointment to have a massage and wax at the Hidden Spa.

They asked me if I minded having a male do my massage. I said, “Not . . . at . . . all.”

Now, since I was making the entire weekend my birthday, I informed them it was my birthday and asked if I could take my dog into the massage with me. He just galloped around the beach and I was concerned he would catch a chill.

The receptionist said, “Well then, of course!”

The whole entitlement thing, the “Its my Birthday and I am a Princess,” attitude was getting me far with everything. Instead of anticipating “no”s from people, and making an effort to work around everyone else, I was going to unapologetically do my own thing. This sense that I could really do whatever I wanted to, was liberating. Maybe I could be a rich bitch after all.

So I brought in Brad, who growled at Bryan, my masseuse. I said, “We have issues with men, both of us.”

Brad saw Bryan, growled a little more and then I said, “Are we done?”

Brad wagged his tail and in we went to the masseuse room.

Bryan was tall, had some groovy soul patch and unkempt hair. He was a tall and young white boy.

I brought Brad in and kept his leash around the chair, undressed and waited for Bryan. When he came in, the massage was exquisite. Male masseuses have a firmer hand on you, and on the receiving end at least, you get a sense that they are carving your body out of stone.

His fingers circularly rubbed just below my lower back onto my buttock. He put his hands through my hair and almost pulled.

I asked, “Do they teach you all of this in school?”

He laughed and said, “Yeah. We practice on each other so we know what feels good.”

I wondered if a massage is always erotic to a man who typically has a female maseusse, there is simply no way a man can put his hands on my body, make me feel wonderful and it not be arousing.

He complimented my tattoo.

I wanted to be sexy and beautiful, but the truth is, after a good massage, my hair looks like it came from the bush, my minimal make-up is smeared and my eyes are struggling to open for the light. Perhaps that subtle scent of bo. Nothing flattering about it. But I tried.

I picked up some soymilk and headed back to Alan’s. I asked him if he was up for watching “Alice in Wonderland” and taking drugs with me, specifically x.

I wondered about taking it before a professional massage, but I never take drugs unless I am in complete control of my immediate environment, and/or have a plan.

He said, he was not in the spirit for it.

Now, I was hoping he would agree just so I could improve his mood and enjoy the rest of my evening. I didn’t want to spend my birthday sitting next to Mopey and eating Capt’n Crunch. But that’s exactly what happened.

I came in, hearty, with his gift,

I said, “I hope you don’t have one already . . .”

He opened it and said, “Nope, I don’t have boobs yet. Thank you . . . thank you for giving me a gift on your birthday.”

I smiled. I did want to make him happy.

He made it a point to not even let our elbows brush. He was withdrawn and quiet. He did, however, put on the “Big Lebowski”- (which was my 2nd choice for viewing to an “Affair to Remember” at Abe’s.

We spoke about war and civilization.

Alan, “No matter what we complain about, we do live in a privileged society.”

Me, “Oh, I wouldn’t argue that. I saw someone back their car up to a dumpster just so they wouldn’t have to walk to throw out their coffee cup. I think that qualifies as privileged.”

Alan, “There is a theory that where there is a functioning water system for the people, access to clean water for everyone, there is less civil war. Because the people need to feel that there is something worthy to protect.”

We talked about how lifestyle has changed so much that what most people experience it through a lens.

Alan, “The argument is a man used to experience something like (motioning to me) Disneyland through his own eyes and experiences. Now a man experiences Disneyland through the lens of the camcorder. It has completely altered our perception of life experience. We only see what is happening ahead of us through a camera, in a desperate attempt to capture that experience, as opposed to living the experience.”

I love Alan, sometimes.

Me, “I love Ocean Beach so much, there was a place, a two bedroom with a fenced yard for $1400 a block from dog beach.” I texted Abe about it earlier.

Alan, “But I won’t be here much longer.”

I tightened my mouth. He could see it didn’t matter where he was going to be.

I matched him, volcano bag to volcano bag and said, “I am trying to smoke as much as you so I can get some kind of indication on how stoned you are when we interact.”

He said, “How is that going?”

I said, “I can barely keep track of a conversation.”

I asked him what was wrong, he said nothing.

I asked him if I offended him, he said no.

I asked him what was up with the melancholy, he said this is how he always is.

Maggot Brain by Funkadelic came on, and we both just sat in the song together. As rocky a boat as I made, we always enjoyed the view.

When I went to bed, and he settled on to the couch, I asked him if this was the last time I was ever going to see him again.

He said, “No, tomorrow morning is the last time you will see me.”

I tried to stay up and spend time with him, but I was tired and stoned, so I went to bed and laid there, thinking about what a bitch I am.

Laying there alone with both his dogs (it should be noted that his dog slept with me over him that night) and I thought about the elaborate web I constructed over our heads. How I had played Abe and Alan off of each other. Abe’s bullshit with Hailey was easily spun around into using Alan to make him jealous.

I thought about how Alan leaving me when I needed him most last summer, was complimented by my chill three months later with apathy and despondence.

Don’t get me wrong, they deserve it. But it made me feel like shit. It was supposed to be my birthday weekend, and I was using the people I loved against each other like it was some kind of game.

I did/do feel that someone needed to school these boys on empathy. They needed to know how they made me feel, if not for me, then the next girl. Perhaps it’s not my job to do that. Maybe it is. I don’t know.

Either way, I was up all night pining for Alan. The rejection or somber reality of his feelings turned me on to him, and I wanted to seduce him- probably just for the upper hand but there was still a burning in my complimentary Angel-card holding Victoria’s Secret panties.

I knew it was probably evil of me to try to fuck Alan when I clearly hurt his feelings. So I went for the lesser of two evils and masturbated in his bed, leaving my scent somewhere near his pillow so he could smell me after I left.


The morning came, and I immediately packed my things up.

I went to his computer to close out my browser and clear the cache so he couldn’t have access to anything on-line.

Open, was a text window: “There’s always a moment when you start to fall out of love, whether it’s with a person or an idea or a cause, even if it’s one you only narrate to yourself years after the event: a tiny thing, a wrong word, a false note, which means that things can never be quite the same again.” – Douglas Adams

Beneath it, I added, “If you fall out of love so easily, you were never in love in the first place.”

He entered the room, “You don’t have to rush off right away. We can get coffee or something.”

I said, “Thats ok. I feel like I am imposing now and I want to enjoy the rest of my birthday weekend.”

He said, “If you want to stay, I can pay for your ticket to the Wild Animal Park.”

I smiled and said, “Thats alright.”

He looked conquered on the couch.

I said, “Unless you want to talk about whats bothering you?”

He said, “Whats the point, you are just going to leave anyway?”

I threw my hands up in the air and laughed. He didn’t.

This was unexpected. I didn’t know how to deal with this genuine emotion in Princess fashion.

I said, “What do you mean? I just came to hang out.”

He said, “I know, it became clear it didn’t matter at all if I was here or not.”

Well, mission accomplished. How does it feel, mother fucker?

I brought my car around and put my suitcase and Brad in, while running upstairs for anything else.

He saw me and smiled a little, “Where’s Brad?”

I said, “He is in the car.”

His smile faded.

I got everything, said goodbye to his dog Wilson and shoved everything in my car.

When I put my keys in the ignition, I realized I forgot my Capt’n Crunch, so I jogged back up the steps to his second floor apartment.

I said, “I forgot the Capt’n Crunch. I need that.”

He came in and I faced him with the box and I said, “THANKS!”

He laughed with a mouth full of toothpaste.

I hugged him and kissed his cheek, but he was stiff.

I said, “It was real.”

He said, “Yeah, it really was.”

Then I left.

I bought a pack of cigarettes. I have been trying to stop binge smoking since the New Year. I just didn’t expect anything like that to unfold.

I don’t know what I expected.

Then Brad and I went back to Dog Beach and walked the peninsula. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. I don’t know what it is about that spot, it centers me. I feel content in a way I haven’t for a very long time.

As I watched him run with other dogs, kick sand up in the air, sniff around before bolting towards me with a smile, I started getting the texts from Alan.

Looking back on my phone, I see they are all gone. WTF!?

Did someone go in and delete them all?

Alan. Fuck.

Perhaps you don’t need to know the texts verbatim.

Text after text said that I used him.

I apologized for making him feel bad- and then I would get another text saying, “I don’t believe you. I think you just said that you cared because it was the right thing to say.”

Or

“No amount of liquor or pills can stop what you do to me.”

I must of recieved 30 texts tearing apart my character and intentions. They were so off base and so out of the realm of common sense, that it couldn’t hurt my feelings.

I said, “Even though all these text messages are mean-spirited, they still show me you care. Thank you for that. I really thought you didn’t.”

And

“I wanted to spend my birthday weekend with the people I was closest to, one of them was you.”

He wrote: “Life is better alone than with someone like you. All you know how to do is take and make other people miserable.”

So I wrote back, “Does that mean you are going to throw away the mug I gave you?”

He wrote, “No, but I have to put it away, out of sight. Its all I have to remember you by now.”

I wrote back, “Geez.”

How ridiculous were we going to be?

Nothing he could say could really hurt my feelings.

We didn’t know each other, not anymore. And his behavior after Danny died was unforgivable.

I swung back up to Costa Mesa and wrote Abe, “I am a shitty girl.”

He texted back, “Problems, huh?”

When I arrived, I told him that I upset Alan and he was texting me nasty messages that really made no sense.

Abe said, “Terrestrial beings . . . and their text messages”

My phone kept lighting up for a good three to four hours after I left Alan.

Perhaps I knew, leaving abruptly was the best way to turn the knife in the heart of a kid who was removed to foster care at an age when he was just learning to understand his identity. He has abandonment issues. Am I that evil? No, but I was that hurt.

Abe needed to pick up a new phone since his was lost or stolen. He wasn’t sure. We went together to a private seller off of Craigslist, since his paranoia already had him coming up with schemes about being high jacked from an apartment complex in a very nice area.

I was still in a dream from all the marijuana and ocean air. It was a warm day.

When we got back to Abe’s place, I gave him the stone heart I picked up for him.

He held it in his hand and I took out my red stone heart and pressed it up against his.

Abe smiled and asked me to kiss his stone. I did.

Then he said, “Thank you for getting me a gift on your birthday.”

I said, “I wanted to.”

He said, “Can I come by and see you this week?”

I said, “I don’t know . . . I have to think about things.”

He said, “You can look at my browsing history from now on.”

I said, “I don’t want to do that. If it isn’t Hailey you are looking for, it will be someone else. I want to be enough for one person, I don’t care how idealic that is. Maybe men always need the possibility of sexual variation. I just want to hold on to the dream for a little longer before giving up.”

He said, “Thats right, I am just an unemotional, pot smoking robot. I am lucky to even get sex.”

I laughed and said, “Its true.”

We had sex one more time before I left back to my shitty apartment in my shitty life as an underpaid nobody. I didn’t want to go, but I missed my pittie princesses.

Abe said, “I can’t tell if my balls or getting bigger or my legs are getting fat.”

One last thing I wanted to do was grab Thai food.

Abe and I went to Thai Spice and ordered some food- around 8pm he said I had to stop using the Princess excuse since it was now two days passed my birthday.

I said, “Well it was nice while it lasted.”

As I sat across from him, sweating over my curry, I watched his little mannerisms. The way he turns his body slightly to an angle when he sits down.

How he puts a forkful of food in his mouth, thinks about it and then starts chewing. Inevitably, he nods his head in satisfaction.

I needed water for my curry, and he asked me to stay seated so he could retrieve it for me.

Everything he did, down to the way he held his fork made me want to just marry him, be with him, live with him, give him babies, do anything to make it work.

Now, I know and you know I can’t do that. He doesn’t feel the same way. And calling myself a Princess wouldn’t change that.

***
My birthday weekend was nice in lots of respects, I was relaxed, I had a good time, but I was spending time with two men I once loved, maybe still do and they were both utterly miserable.

I did that. I was responsible for that.

As I was driving home, I still got texts from Alan:

Alan: “Forget about me. Forget you ever met me.”

When I got home, I emailed him:

” . . . you just seemed to not want me there at all . . . so I left. I don’t understand this rage of emotion you are having.
I am hoping after time passes, you can look at this again and tell me about your feelings, to my face.

I really do feel a lot of wonderful things for you. I enjoyed your company the last two nights. I love the real you. All your fascinating ideas about world and perception. You laugh at my jokes . . . sometimes. And are really cute, generous, kind . . . I only have positive feelings towards you and I hope you feel them from up here.

I am always here, even if I don’t appear on your chat list.

You make me sad.”

Then, I pinged him: “I know you realize you are acting out of abandonment issues. And why do I even CARE to hang around when you threaten to hurt my feelings? WHY DO I CARE ALAN? For the same reason I want to cuddle with the dog at work who spins around when ever she gets nervous because someone beat her over the head a long time ago. I can’t save you. I want but I know you would just hurt me whenever you felt something again.

I want to fix you and care about you. In the end, it will bite me in the ass, and thats what I have to keep telling myself. I will still be here when you get yourself sorted. :-(”

Poor Tallulah. She is so cute and no one can get near her without her pissing herself.

I asked a Doggie Daycare manager about her and she said with authority, “The psychic says she was hit over the head from behind and it just went black after that. That’s all we really know.”

Do you really have to pay a doggie psychic to figure that part out?

He wrote: “I don’t believe a word of your email. I want to let you go without
causing you any more pain. Therefore I cannot say what I want to say.
I never will. Just don’t contact me again.”

I wrote: “You can’t hurt my feelings. Your lack of mental stability discredits you.”

He wrote:

“This is what I did not want to send. I backspaced it over and over
again. But after your last little snippet, fuck you, here’s the
truth. Respond if you want, you are blocked through chat and phone so
I don’t screw up and let you visit ever again.

You can’t just go away, you want to give me shit because I want to end
this without having this stupid argument. You really can’t get it
when I tell you there’s no fucking point in saying anything as long as
you’re gone from my life. Why stretch it out? Oh right, because you
want more.

These last weeks, at first I thought you really wanted to see me..
that we had a chance of actually creating some sort of friendship
again. Something that might last, like I hoped we would. It took a
few days of interacting with you to realize something I should have
known.

I know you got a brazilian (I didn’t, just a bikini) or whatever while you were gone.

I know you wanted to do E and we probably would have had some really great
fun sex. In all honestly, having you in my apartment on E is right at
the top of my fantasy list. But, fantasy and reality are different
and the reality of having you on drugs in my apartment would have been
horrible. If it wasn’t you, I would have done it. But you hurt me
too much and too often to ever trust you around me when I’m on drugs.
And what’s worse, you really don’t have any idea do you?

You care only about what you can get from me, and nothing else. You
want a future with me, but only if I change to be who you want. You
want to visit, but only on your terms. To hell with me, right? I’ve
only been working for months without a break. No reason to worry
about whether I need to relax too.

I tried to talk to you about what happened to me while we weren’t
talking. I don’t think I even got started before you started giving
me shit about it, actually getting upset with me for talking about it.
You had your friends and even sort of your family to talk to. I
was alone, except for you of course, who is quite honestly worse than
being alone. But still, it’s my fault. I should have gotten over
everything all by myself so I could support you right?

That is sort of how things go with people who try to get close to you.
You take whatever you can from them, then when they start to resist
or need you, you treat them like they are somehow your enemy. Spite,
distrust, and cruel jokes are not the way to go with me. I do enough
damage to myself to let you pile on more.

The only people you support or care about are people you look down on.
Dora is like another dog for you. Just another stupid creature
that needs you. If she actually had a brain of her own and didn’t
pretend to need you, you wouldn’t give a shit about her either.

Your last two visits have been terrible for me. I’ve worked my ass
off to show you a good time and you treated me like shit. I thought
maybe you’d be better during your birthday weekend, maybe you were
just too nervous to behave like a decent person the previous week.
Instead, I get another weekend of being told what’s wrong with me and
what I should have done. That is exactly why I hated being with you
before we broke up.

I do not want you to come back. I don’t want to get blown by you. I
don’t want to fuck you. I don’t want to talk to you. I do not want
you to be any part of my life.

That’s what I figured out Saturday. I realized that I did not matter
to you, not really, and you only said I did because you felt like it
was the right thing to say. I realized that you’re not worth begging
for. Not if all I’m going to get out of it is more misery.

I even thought about reading your blog to figure out what the hell you
could be thinking, but I really don’t want to know how else you’ve
twisted my words. If it’s anything like your interpretation of the
Douglas Adams quote left here, you probably misquoted or misunderstood
everything I ever said to you. Maybe that’s why you showed up here
the talking to me the way you did. Maybe you convinced yourself that
you didn’t do anything wrong.

Maybe you’re so stuck up on me not wanting to see you when your
roommate died that you forget that I wanted you to be gone from my
life before that. We broke up, we stopped talking, and I promised
myself I’d never let you do this to me again. THEN your life went to
shit and you somehow blamed me, even though you drove me off long
before that.

I am just afraid that I’m not smart enough to keep from letting you
back into my life again. That would be an even worse mistake than
letting you show up here this weekend was.

I can forgive you easily enough because I no longer think you’re smart
enough to know what you are doing or saying most of the time, but I
know you’re not my friend.

I do not have a friend in you. Friends give back. Friends
understand. Friends forgive. You do none of those things.
I’m not angry at you, like this email would suggest. I am angry at
myself for forgetting everything I said above and letting you back in
my life. I should have known it would hurt. And I should have known
you are not worth it. Yet I did it anyway.”

I wrote: “My feelings still aren’t hurt.

I asked to talk about it in person but you chose to hide behind your computer and phone.

I do have bad patterns, its true. But I always try to do the right thing.

I am sorry you felt neglected and criticized. Though I think largely you have a filter on, clouded with pot, paranoia and insecurity.

I can never forgive you for abandoning me when Bobby died. Though, I recognize you were incapable of helping me.

That’s where our friendship took a hard blow.

It is what it is.

I always believed it was a bad idea to get physical, but I suggested the x to improve your mood. Not to fuck. I have someone else for that.

I want you to be happy and find peace, though I fear its a long road for you.

I carry nothing but hope and light for you. You are special, in many wonderful ways. I hope you see that and dwell more on those ideas.

Love”

And then I wrote:

“I would also like to add, I never had my parents help me and I had very few friends after Bobby died and I lost almost everything. VERY FEW.

An ex-boyfriend came back to help me put some weight back on and get my head together. That was a blessing. I fought through a lot of shit late last year, and it was no party.

You don’t know how to have a conversation, if you did you might find out you aren’t surrounded by assholes afterall.

Everyone is trying their hardest, and most of the time it’s not good enough.

And if I used you for something, I don’t know what the FUCK that could be since I don’t have anything!

I felt bad for leaving when you asked to have a cup of coffee or even pay for my park ticket. I later realized that was a window for us to maybe have a conversation about what was bothering you. But deep down inside, we both know it would just give you more time to make me uncomfortable for a longer period of time because I didn’t give you what you wanted, and I don’t even know what that is.

I do love you, Alan. Please take care of yourself.

I can’t allow myself to keep trying to solve this enigma.

I hope you can figure it out in some kind of sober reality.”

. . . Happy Birthday to me.

Later I emailed him this pic and said, “Reminds me of our conversation”

He emailed me back this song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dh3bleXWaCk

Maggot Brain by Funkadelic

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How to Fall In Love . . . for Dummies: The 2nd Date

I was driving to San Diego on 2 hours sleep from the night before. In general, I do think I am Wonder Woman, but on this particular night . . . I was not. I was nodding off at the wheel and occasionally veering into the lane next to me.

I did make it to San Diego in 2 hours with a full bladder and worries that Alan wouldn’t really like me based on our earlier FB exchange re: my spotting vagina.

 

Dear Prudence by the Beatles came on the car radio, that damn song was haunting me.

♫ ♪ Look around, round, round round round, round round ♫ ♪

 

When I showed up, we didn’t embrace or kiss. He just helped me with my bags, I ran up to use his bathroom and we parked my car. I returned to his long studio apartment and kinda just stared at him. What was I doing? I don’t know him.

Then he kissed me and my head felt light.

We sat down as he started up his volcano, which is a vaporizer that loads marijuana smoke into a large plastic bag you can suck from without having to worry about losing smoke through the nozzle or mouthpiece. It’s fairly intense. It made me stupid, which bothered me since with Alan you have to be on your toes. I don’t strive to be stupid by getting high, I strive to relax my mind so I can use it.

 

I grabbed some water from the kitchen and spilled it on the floor. I didn’t want him to see it, but since I took my contacts out, and couldn’t see paper towels rather only a pair of nice hand towels hanging from the oven door, I decided to use my bare foot to mop it up.

He walked back and said, “Uh oh, spilled water.” He mopped it up with the paper towels that were less than a foot from me on the counter.

I said, “Sorry, I used my foot to clean it up.”

He said, “Yeah, feet aren’t good for mopping up water.”

I said, “Well, if you want the play by play, I couldn’t see without my contacts and didn’t want to use your nice towels, so I thought I would try to clean it up without you knowing using my bare feet.”

He said, “That’s ok.”

Then I spilled water again, on the exact same spot.

He looked down and crumpled his brow in a lopsided grin. He said, “Do we need to get you a slurpie cup?”

I laughed my dork laugh and got down on my hands and knees to wipe it up.

 

When I sat down on the couch, he started talking about psychology studies from his Undergrad. He said, “We would ask subjects on Day 1, ‘Were you ever in the hospital?’ Then on day 2, we would ask all of them, even the ones that were never in the hospital, ‘Tell me about the time you were in the hospital.’ All of them had a story of some sort about being in the hospital. That’s how hard wired people are to lie, they would rather make up a story than contradict themselves.”

Now, I didn’t know how we got on this subject, but my first thought was, “Why the fuck is he telling me this?” Now, I was pretty stoned, so I am sure there was a reason why we went on the subject, but I think people will give you clues about themselves to give you a fighting chance before they fuck you over. Too cynical?

Then we moved on to how he was going to sue his current landlord, and added his name to a Revenge List. Now, Alan seems to have a lot of potential as a lawyer, and pretty much all my exes hate me so . . . yeah, I was scared.

I said, “Um . . . what happens if and when I piss you off? I am a little worried.”

He said, “Oh no, don’t worry. I never use my evil doings against the people I care about.”

I said, “You might not care about me after I upset you.”

Alan looked down and started arranging things, he said, “Noooo, don’t worry. Never against the people I care about.”

Then he gave me a box of Captain Crunch cereal. I smiled and said, “This is better than flowers.” I suddenly remembered I wanted to bring him a single rose but forgot in the madness of the week.

He said, “I saw it and just thought I would pick it up for you.”

I blushed.

Alan, “AND . . . I got you this.”

He handed me a bullet in a small baggie.

Alan continued, “I grabbed it from the autopsy I went to for class. I thought you would like it.”

I said, “Thank you. Did this . . . um . . . kill a person?” Cause, I don’t want that.

He said, “No, it was shot into the wall. I asked and made sure it didn’t hurt anybody first.”

Unusual, but I kind of dig it.

I said, “Thank you, I will find something cool to do with it.”

The bullet was barely being held together in one piece. The tip was clumsily hanging off the edge of the casing. I tucked it in the front pocket of my suitcase.

A song came on and I asked him who sang it.

He said, “I sent it to you on GChat.”

I said, “Oh, I will Shazam it.”

He said, “Reality and Fantasy.”

 

♫ ♪ The wall between reality and fantasy,

Is sometimes so small, and not so tall ♫ ♪

 

Then another version of Dear Prudence came on, this time by Dana Fuchs.

I said, “This song is following me, I wonder what it means. Songs get trapped in my mind and just spin around and around. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

 

♫ ♪ The clouds will be a daisy chain,

So let me see you smile again ♫ ♪

 

He said, “That’s how I feel about Reality and Fantasy. Its been in my mind since I came up to visit you.”

 

♫ ♪ I’ve looked into your eyes,

And it should make me feel so bright and satisfied,

The only thing I’ve learned,

Is just to fall and fall and fall . . .♫ ♪

 

I didn’t make the connection of what a romantic and potentially harmful association this was to me and our love affair. Fantasies don’t make mistakes or spill water on the floor or spot during sex.

I said, “I wonder why music becomes such an obsession.”

Alan, “A connection to the fourth dimension. It’s a measure of time moving forward we can understand, since time is so abstract. That’s the theory I have developed anyway, other people have written books about it but I don’t have time to read them.”

Damn, he is impressive.

We decided to go to bed since I was stupid and stoned, not to mention completely out of it from sleep deprivation.

We went to his bed and made love all night. In my mind, I couldn’t tell what was a dream and what was real, (♫ ♪ Reality and Fantasy ♫ ♪) but I don’t remember actually falling asleep or dreaming. I only remember rolling over and making love again and again.

*Sidenote:  He was using some kind of warming lubricant. That stuff turned my vagina into the Fourth of July.

When we woke up, it was almost noon, I think.

I said, “Was it me, or did we have sex all night long?”

Alan said, “I worked it out in my mind and think we did it every hour and a half with about 20-40 minutes in between.”

I said, “That was surreal.”

He smiled and put his arm around me. The boy is so skinny, I felt unsure about laying all my weight on him.

He said, “There is a Farmer’s Market down the street. I thought we could go down and get you some breakfast.”

We showered and walked down. Alan is very fair; it appears as though he hasn’t been in the sun . . . well, ever. He mentioned he didn’t like waiting in lines in the heat, and after mid-terms, I could tell he was struggling to be chipper and social. Then a man decided to cross in front of us, 6-inches from the booth where we were waiting for my vegan tamale, as opposed to walking behind us where everyone else was crossing, and he stepped on Alan.

Alan said, “Oh, well, excuse me.” With sweat beading over his mirrored sunglasses, I saw a flash of what is driving him to be the lawyer. The runaway foster kid who was waiting to collect heads stared at the large, middle-aged man with a cool, calculating irritation. I grabbed his arm and rubbed it. He melted and smiled at me.

Under the fury of the little guy who pays his way to go to school with rich kids, and assumes everyone is out for himself and gets stepped on my large men who want to make a point . . . there is a boy. I see him.

We went back to what he called “The Cave”, his shaded, cool studio apartment and ate food as graphics synched with music on his wide-screen TV.

 

We napped and made love. Really that is all I came there to do.

In the middle I said, “Ooh, cramp in my leg. Hold on.” I adjusted and executed a different sexual position.

After we were done he said, “I didn’t know anyone could do what you just did.”

I said, “I call it The Barbie, because when I made my Barbies have sex, they could never spread their legs.”

He said, “I’m pretty sure that’s how you would rape a man.”

Silence. I assumed all this time he wasn’t orgasming since he never pulled out.

I said, “You haven’t been cumming inside of me, have you?”

Alan said, “Um, well yeah. Last night . . .”

Me, “With the condom.”

Alan, ” . . . yeah. And a few more times after that. And just now.”

Me, “ALAN! God!”

Alan, “You said you started the pill!”

Me, “I just started, it takes a month to take effect. Shit.”

Alan, “I don’t know these things. (silence)  Well, if there was ever anyone I would want to accidentally impregnate, it would be you.” And he kissed my head.

Silence.

Me, “Sorry, I was just jumping ahead to me being pregnant and you being annoyed.”

 

Before we knew it, the sun set and a new night was ahead of us. We went to a burger joint where they served vegan burgers. I wasn’t talking a lot on this visit. Everything I said was measured. Instead of being the entertainment, as I usually am, I just faded quietly into the background.

Dear Prudence by Siouxsie and the Banshees came on.

I said, “Why is this song everywhere?”

♫ ♪ Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day ♫ ♪

With burger in my mouth I said, “This is it! This is the version that started it.”

 

We went home and then we dropped X.

He makes his own.

I said, “Sex is already so intense with you, I am kind of scared.”

He said, “I know, I am scared too.” And he handed me the pill.

I chased it with water, and about a half an hour later Alan was throwing up in the bathroom.

Now, when you just take on a lover, there is some debate about when you should enter the bathroom of which he pukes. I decided to give him his privacy when he yakked and enter with a glass of water during silences.

Alan, “I just can’t do drugs while I am in law school. My stomach is far too acidic from the stress.

I said, “Drink some water, stay hydrated.”

Alan, “I just want to puke everything out before putting anything in.”

Me, “Well, it will get the stomach acid off your vocal chords, which is important.”

He took a sip.

Then, sweaty and high, he crawled into my lap like a little boy and I held him. It was the most vulnerable I’d seen him and I really liked it. I kissed his wet hair and wiped it off his forehead.

Alan, “I really like that you are taking care of me.”

Me, “I just gave you some water.”

Alan, “That’s more than anyone has ever done for me.”

I held him closer and said, “Let me tell you a happy memory from my childhood.”

Silence.

Me, “I can’t think of one.”

Alan, “Sometimes when there is pressure to remember something, you can’t. Tell me about your first dog.”

I smiled, “I was 10 and I did a sit down protest in the living room. My grandfather knew someone giving up a dog, that was Chelsea. My grandfather was nice. He was the only one in my family I liked and he wasn’t even blood related.”

He smiled and put his hand on my knee.

I continued, “When I was 14, I came home late from school and my father dragged me into the house by my hair and told my mother to take me into the bathroom and check to see if I was still a virgin.”

His smile faded, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

I shrugged.Then I shook my head. Why did I have to tell him that?

Then he shared a childhood memory with me, equally perplexing and cruel. He chuckled a little, but I stared at him wondering why parents are so careless with young people. We remember everything.

I said, “I am falling in love with you.”   I swung my whole upper torso over the edge of the couch.

Alan, “I am falling for you, too.”

I said, “And I have to leave in 2 days.”

Alan, “Don’t think about that right now.”

 

***

Holding me, I leaned into his sweat.

Alan, “I would like to have one of my own, someday, but mostly I would like to take in some foster kids. Do things that way.”

I was worried he wasn’t interested in having kids. I followed his dark pupils back and forth. Tick tock.

Me, “That sounds great.”

 

***

Alan in the bathroom, “Well its official. I look like a 12 year-old 31 year-old.”

I smiled, “You look very young.”

 

***

Alan, “You are everything I have been praying for all this time. You are the fantasy, the perfect girl.”

Me, “Don’t say that.”

 

***

We talked and he said, “I think this trip is more about getting to know you than about sex, which isn’t what I expected but I like it.”

Then I tried on different clothes and modeled them in his bed for him.

He said, “You are so pretty, I don’t know what to do with you.”

I was getting lost in him. It felt good. Sometimes I don’t want to be me. It’s exhausting.

Am I me when performing for friends? Kind of. I guess I am. With Alan, I am who I was before I learned to make fun of myself . . . a quiet, tomboy who put on a little make-up and wore pretty clothes.

The next day we woke up, ate cereal and watched Jackass 3. I hadn’t seen any of them and was pleasantly surprised.  Also, it was the first time Alan smiled a real smile, not a forced grin. I stared at him so I could remember what it looked like, and I felt jealous that I hadn’t created it.

We napped, sometimes together, sometimes at different times. He tried working on my computer and doing his homework. I played Scrabble in my underwear all day.

The next morning, Monday, we were making love in doggie style when somehow I pulled his arm to chest muscle. Don’t ask me how from THAT position.

He was having trouble breathing and moved to the living room where he pressed his hand against his chest.

Alan, “It really hurts. I thought I was having a heart attack. My first thought was I should go to the hospital.”

I listened to him, massaged him, didn’t say anything out of total guilt.

Alan, “I have to take a muscle relaxer. Do you want one?”

I didn’t answer. I don’t know, do I?

He gave it to me and I dutifully swallowed it.

I looked inside the pill jar and saw a medley of different pills, different colors and sizes.

Me, “Where did you get all of these?”

Alan, “I swapped with a heroin addict who needed real pills to get him clean. (he held up the pill jar) This was the stuff the clinic gave him. He did X all the time, and took a pill that was cut with over 75% heroin. After that, he couldn’t get high anymore on just the X, that’s how it started.”

Me, “Oh.”

Alan, “That’s why I make my own X. Pure MDMA.”

Me, “They call them Mollys.”

The pill plunged into my stomach like a swan dive. My body slithered into nothingness.

Alan fell asleep, and I messed around a little on the internet, showered, ate, then fell asleep with him.

I woke up and gave him a blow job.

Alan, “I really love how you take care of me.”

Me, “I didn’t really do much. I should have done more.”

Alan, “No, you let me complain about the pain, stayed calm, massaged me, and now you gave me a blow job so I wouldn’t have to move. No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

Who has this kid been dating?! Oh yeah . . . Jaq. What a bitch.

The greatest difference between Abe and Alan is Abe never thought twice about being taken care of. It never crossed his mind that he was lucky. To Alan, it was everything he was waiting for.

He continued, “You are really calming for me. I love being around you.”

No one would describe me as calming, except for Kent and Trent . . . and Alan, I guess. Maybe all the dope I have been smoking has altered me.  When I came home from college, my parents would feed me PM cold medicine so I would sleep through half of my visit. I am/can be very hyper. I am always on like a performer. Not with Alan. With Alan I am just a girl.

We went to the grocery store, and he asked I pick out food so he knew what to buy me next time.

The sun was setting and I would be leaving soon. I stopped talking and wouldn’t look at my phone.

 

We got home and he mentioned how he walked on foot from Florida to New Orleans when he was 15-16, during his Jack Kerouac phase. I said, “Really?”

He seriously thought about it then said, “Yeah, I did.”

I asked, “How did you make money, to feed yourself?”

He said, “Waffle Houses. I loved Waffle Houses. They paid cash every Friday. Which is pretty amazing to think about considering where I am right now. ”

I said, “It is amazing.”

Ok, I know I am being redundant, but yes, we made love again. Afterward, he asked, “When do you think you will be done with the whole acting thing? What is your end goal?”

I said, “I don’t know. Until I feel done with it. Sometimes I see things through and know when I have had enough. When I am done, I will know I am done. And I will do something else.”

Alan, “My end goal is $2 Million in liquid assets.”

Wow. Ok.

Alan, “Which actually isn’t that much.”

Me, “I know, especially considering all the foster kids . . . and the animal sanctuary.” I looked up and smiled.

He nodded very seriously.

We gave in to the night and fell asleep.

The alarm went off at 4am on Tuesday and I gathered my things. I couldn’t look at Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Wilson wouldn’t look at me.

Alan, “I know this is sad, but I have an easy weekend over the Fourth of July so I think I will come up. So we will see each other soon.”

Me, “But don’t you have to move that weekend?” He is moving from his evil landlord apartment to an apartment next to the Farmer’s Market half a mile away.

Alan, “I will just pack things up and have moving men do all the work.”

 

I kissed his neck, and then we walked Mr. Wilson.

It was dark out, and the taxi drivers were parking on the street to go home and sleep for the day.

Alan said, “Come on Wilson, is that spot good enough? No? Ok … ”

I said, “I love making love to you.”

Alan, “I love doing everything with you, even waiting for poop.”

I said, “Its funny, I have had no desire to smoke a cigarette when I am around you. I don’t smoke a lot, but I do socially.”

Alan, “With the volcano my lungs suffer, like I am a smoker. But it doesn’t taste like burnt asshole.”

I laughed. I could smell the detergent on the collar of his shirt.

We went up to drop off Wilson and I sat down.

He said, “If everything happens the way I want it to, and plan for it to, I will live in LA by December 2012. If not, the latest Spring 2013.”

I crunched my hat over my head and said, “I will be 35 then. Will you still want me?”

He leaned in and said, “Don’t worry about that.”

He walked me to my car and said very quickly, “This is sad, there is no way around the sad, so call me anytime, text me, and I will see you next weekend.”

I smiled and felt a brush of wet lips across my face.

I drove back, trying to summon the thrill of freedom and independence.  It was there, burning in the embers of our weekend.  However, nothing beats falling in love, does it?

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