So I went to my haunt last night, met a couple of friends and drank my weight in Shiner, as is the norm. When what to my wandering eye should appear, but a tall dark stranger with curly brown hair. Writing that reminded me of:
Hey little boy, whatcha got there?
kind sir it’s a mollusk I’ve found
did you find it in the sandy ground?
does it emulate the ocean’s sound?
yes I found it on the ground
emulating the ocean’s sound
bring forth the mollusk cast unto me
let’s be forever let forever be free
I don’t know why that popped in my head, but deal with it.Oh, wait, yes I do. It was the “wandering eye” bit. So…I was telling you about my night. I never talked to the guy, just admired and plotted to myself, like a lady. I leave the bar, and my friend sends me a txt that the bass player thought I was gorgeous. Since I didn’t pay attention to the band and really have no clue what a bass guitar looks like, nor would I refer to that knowledge if I did, I shrugged it off. Then this morning she sends me an email telling me his first name and that he plays there every Wednesday, and wished that he had said hello before I left. So I looked up the bands that played, found the one I figured it was and tracked him down like a…something that tracks. Howler monkey, whatever.
We’ve been emailing and texting since, so to all of you naysayers that find my hobby creepy, I had SUCCESS so pbbbbbbbbbbbbt.
(at least until it fails)
(don't relax just yet, Bertrand. You are always on my mind, so they say)
Ha. That was–six days ago. This is what happens with me. Guy sees me, guy likes me. Guy wants to see me again. And again. And then I have to face that I don’t want him, even though I probably ought to (because he’s nice and real and around and whatever…yawn), but realize for the 99th time I would abandon new guy for my old liebe in a second if the chance came, my darling, my sweet, sweet, imagination (RM) much more, ignore new guy and wrap myself around the inhibitor (RM) once again. New guy eventually gives up, or doesn’t, and becomes:
- annoying and persistent until I have to hurt him to make him go away
- self-righteous and rude and declares he wasn’t interested in me anyway
- or…he becomes obsessed and jealous and won’t leave without a loud, frightening, tiresome and sometimes painful and always embarrassing scene.
No matter what the ending entails, it always leaves me laughing (and sometimes bleeding a bit). Darling, I told you so.
I don’t date. I have no interest in dating, or getting to know you, or you getting to know me. I don’t want to fuck you, but I am still awful enough to let you try. I don’t really care if you think I am attractive, or smart, or interesting, or the possessor of a fantastic whatever. You will never win with me. My heart, so they say–belongs to another. The body slips sometimes, but the brains and the soul never ever ever let me forget. I get lonesome, and I get flirty, and I might get interested long enough to sniff around and see what you are, but I figure shit out pretty quick and then, then it’s gone.
You bored me, you crossed a line, I didn’t like your hair, anything. The rest of you are shit compared to the man I made in my own head, and I love that one. Sometimes he loves me, too. And that fascinates me. He fascinates me, and I don’t care to know the reason, ever, and that, chein…that fascinates me the most.