All Inclusive
My vice, my muse, my Achilles heeled all rolled into one; such is my curse and one I don�t really seem to mind anymore. I am beyond defending myself anymore, I have succumbed and left myself open for conquest for any that dare to try.
On top of this revelation about how the fairer part of our species effects my demeanor, the entire weekend was very Pacific Northwest in its appearance; it has been gray and cold for days. Everything is damp, the sky is cloaked in a perpetual cloud clover and rain has drizzled down for consecutive days making my outings lethargic and lackadaisical. Despite the muting effect this has had on the city, as everyone was chased in doors for days, the weekend was not without a highlight reel.
Friday was spent with the parental units and marked my first trip to a real life performance by an actual symphony. The place was packed full of old money; mink coats and gaudy diamonds surrounded me and even though I wore my Sunday best, I unnerved a number in attendance with my harsh stares and my ability to be politically correct while still subtly mocking the existence of these archaic examples of everything I hate about the world.
The model had accepted my invitation long ago and I was honored to have her on my arm. She wore stockings and a conservative dress, hair pulled back and a shawl covering what bits of flesh actually were exposed. She was cordial and polite, intelligent and thoughtful when speaking to my parents or anyone else that gravitated towards her. Her ability to be the center of attention without ever meaning to was once again on display. As she catered to a number of family units who requested she take pictures of them, my mother asked a number of crisp precise inquiries as to who she was and what she does. Once the information was given, she processed it for several moments and stated to me matter of factly and without firsthand knowledge that �her boyfriend did not deserve someone as magnificent as her� before her and my father took their leave. Even as we danced through conversations with total strangers and adapted their air of contentment, we still managed to have a little bit of fun. During a rousing chorus of sing-alongs, we loudly belted out �A Christmas Story� version of �Deck the Halls� and I must say we can �Fa Ra Ra� with the best of them.
Saturday I took an early dinner and a movie with the odd English teacher and she finally commented that I don�t talk very much. I slyly added that I normally do talk and often but that she was rather adapt and overwhelming me resulting in a submissive approach to our conversations. She was rather pleased with herself for being such a dominating force. �Closer� was the movie we viewed and it was a horrendous piece of artistic garbage that I think was supposed to be yet another view on how difficult love is. I refuse to comment too much on the flick but the characters were dull and undeveloped, the dialogue was ridiculous and the story itself lacked coherency. While I did thoroughly enjoy Natalie Portman as a dirty little whore (oh my did I), the fourth member of the main characters stole the show. Unfortunately for this movie there was very little worth stealing.
My initial idea to break this woman has unfurled rather rapidly for a lack of interest on my part. Regardless of my disposition, I still made a half-hearted attempt to con her into my living space and while she politely cited a need to retreat back to her normal stance of no human contact, the goodbye hug lasted longer than usual. I am neither encouraged nor discouraged and my utter indifference is of no consequence. As stated to friend and foe alike, at least I have something to play with; nothing more and nothing less.
I rebuffed a number of requests to journey out come the Saturday night life. The constant drizzle made it hard to find any form of motivation. As luck would have it, the lure of illicit narcotics dispensed in multiple forms all the while being surrounded by dancing hippies and groovily covered 60�s tunes was just enough to propel me forth. In addition to making up a new word, based specifically on our state of narcotic enlightenment (we were all �Vicadidians� for the night) I managed to have a fairly decent time watching all the hippies twirl and twist to music that was not necessarily being played on stage but obviously didn�t seem to bother any of them. It was at this point that I apparently and purely accidentally made a lasting impression on an extremely cute woman in her early 30�s. It is with a slight bit of amusement that I report she is well acquainted with the head cheerleader and someone that I wouldn�t have guessed would have taken any sort of interest in me. Yet I found myself crafting a drug induced and drunkenly enticed example of my verbal talents in response for her pre-emptive emailing to me. I have been pondering trying to coax her into my bed just so her and the head cheer leader could sit down one drunken evening and compare notes. Or even better for my libido, coax them both into my bed at the same time. Such is the mindset of a corrupted soul.
Sunday left me exhausted beyond words. In the bitter cold and constant drizzle of moisture, I helped my sister move all of her worldly possessions back home. This is not a good time for my tiny southwest family unit. I have found myself more often assuming the roll of Alpha male for my clan as my father is grudgingly and stubbornly starting to show his age. My mother is not so gracefully sliding towards her mid-50�s and senility that I am not adjusting well to. My sister has lost her mind and is being pushed into counseling for a yet to be determined mental malady(ies). The urge for me to unfurl my wings and flee my desert oasis has never been stronger. But with no place to go and no means by which to get me there, I will stay and stand strong. I�m wholly unprepared to be the Rock of Gibraltar for my family, but sometimes choices are not mine to make.
Battered and bruised, mentally tainted, physically exhausted I have never wanted the sun to break through the clouds so badly. My solar powered soul needs a recharge and mother nature certainly is being a bitch about cooperating on my behalf. I am longing for even an empty shell of a warm body to touch and to hold to a point of irrational selfishness that I have pondered inviting back any number of the flesh whores I booted from my bed many long weeks ago. Even discovering the reason behind my beloved�s inability to return the emotional deluge I offered did very little to placate my hollowness.
I grow increasingly weary of irony mocking me at every turn. I realize that simplicity would never suit my needs, nor nourish my soul, but some sort of constant sure would be a nice change of pace. Maybe if I had a clearance sale on my soul someone might take a mark downed version of the things I long to be and stash me away in a hall closet to use and abuse on a cold and rainy day.
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