"Well at Least You Won't Be Bored"
When I broke the strange occurrences to the poet of the 12 hour span that had left me dizzy with joy, he stated matter of factly to me, �well at least you won�t be bored�� Which is about as an accurate summery as I could possibly come up with for the feast or famine spells I still can�t quite get used to.
The editor has dissipated into a whisp of nothingness, vanished without a trace so well in fact that I�m betting even David Caruso and his entire CSI crew would have problems finding her. No explanation, no backwards glance not a god damn whisper of regret. After a week of questioning my sanity, disposition and shouting all the questions I could fathom into the nothingness that never answers, I simply gave up and moseyed on down the road.
Yesterday struck like a sudden and swift firestorm, an RPG to the chest or what I think being blasted out of bed with a fire hose would feel like. It started with the website, the voyeur�s wet dream of pictures and people that can be filtered to search for hundreds of miles based on specific criteria and with a few clicks you can swim the ocean of people to your true hearts content. It started with one face, another writer I met sometime ago in a dank dive bar and then another face I recognized from college days long past and I even managed to stumble across what I believe to be a diarylander of all people before I finally stumbled back to my now finished Manicotti.
Shaking off the oddness that finding such souls splayed out at arms length on my glowing computer screen, I concentrated on the rest of my tasks for the evening. I desperately tried to avoid getting conned into an outing for the evening, but fate was against me. A friend (albeit not a good one) was in town to hang with my roommate during his last two weeks of freedom. He is being deployed to Korea, 2nd Infantry division or as he lovingly put it, �In another week I�ll be a part of the world�s largest manmade speed bump; DMZ here I come.� Besides the openly hostile, racial motivated and slightly uneducated remarks he made about his deployment first to the Peninsula and then to the �sandbox�, the guy is pretty much like most soldiers I�ve met; stupid and a fucking prick.
But I do respect him for doing something I wouldn�t or couldn�t do. And just because he�s a dickhead, doesn�t mean that the last possible time he could get to hang stateside for quite a while should be sent locked in a struggle with yours truly. I swallowed my pride, bought him a beer and before I knew it, I was whisked along for the ride. Lots of beer was drained, stories told and we even somehow managed to make plans to road trip up to Vegas thanksgiving weekend. And then the inevitable happened. The highways and byways suddenly became too mundane to hold our motley crew and something about more�sinful was in order.
I drove separately to the flesh house, not wanting to go, but not wanting to be a dick (and secretly REALLY wanting to go). I stood before the wooden doors, listened to the beats of music slipping out from between cracks and crevices and I smiled; oh, it had been a very long time indeed. I swaggered on in to my favorite place to peddle flesh in the great southwest (Vegas, does not count) and sucked in a deep breath of perfumed soaked, cigarette laced re-circulated air. And that�s when I saw her.
My stripper was here. A girl that on matter where our lives seem to take us always happens to somehow manage to work once every blue moon at whatever club I have adopted as my own. She has been a friend a very long time, and she is odd to say the least. A reunion of joyous occasions (and slightly naked) took place and I spent almost my entire night monopolizing her time as we caught up in the misadventures that were the past year of our lives. Emails were exchanged and promises from both of us that may be sincere or not were made before I made the high speed dash home and with cheeks flushed with joy, I collapsed into my overly soft bed and dreamt like I hadn�t dreamed in a very, very long time.
Today was not a good day, but my 12 hour rush managed to have one final burst of stellar relief before my workday even began. Dragging house, hung over and sleep deprived, I finally managed to slog to my local starbucks and was greeted with the smiling face of my Coffee goddess. It had been a couple of weeks since we had managed to be face to face in drive through java land and our normal overly friendly but short exchange of conversational pieces flew back and forth. Remember how I had mentioned a road trip to Vegas, dear reader; well guess who else is going to Vegas that weekend too? An offer to car pool has been extended and I might be able to have a conversation with the girl longer than 15 seconds or won�t involve both of us being dressed up in a costume.
I�m spent, exhausted, knocked down and drug out. With odd scheduling and too many late nights, the serenity and sanctity of my cave like living quarters are calling to me with a vengeance. And just because this 12 hour burst wasn�t quite enough to quench the thirst and fill the hole that my latest dating debacle has inspired; I�ve got the weird English teacher I met on the hook for Saturday.
Like the Poet said, I�m definitely not going to be bored and under the circumstances that is about all I can ask for, thank you very much.
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