Friday, March 15, 2013

b u l l y

why do you bully me with your grammatically unsound sentences and misspelled words? i understand that it's a goddamn text message; i don't expect flowery prose, just something that lends to my argument when i'm convincing my friends and myself that you're indeed an enlightened and thoughtful fella, not a vacuous musician who clings onto cheap wit like they say.

if you've actually paused to put a little thought into this, you'd realize that this is a matter of life and death, not just some frivolous request. i'm a writer. you're dating a writer. language is my bread and butter. whether you're completely oblivious or just couldn't care less, let me remind you that i need more than your grungey good looks, something i'm sure you've become aware of in the past couple of weeks.  i've brought it to your attention, on several occasions, like a dunce, but that clearly went in one ear and out of your ass, since that's where you source your texts from after all. f for effort or n for no more fucks, as in no longer do i give any and no longer do you get any. at least not until you decide i'm worth a "you" in its entirety. until then, u r outta luck.

this obviously illuminates a bigger issue. i know i'm in denial. i know “this”, whatever this is or whatever you want it to be, will never work out. i will tire of the sex because physical stimulation isn’t enough. you lured me in with quips you learned from the movies and i ran with it, creating an illusion of what you would live up to. and you continue to tease me with glimpses of clever. maybe they're flukes. regardless, it’s undeniable that when you come around, i crave your warmth. yet being with you feels like treason against my integrity. i think back to the beginning when i warned you of my neuroses and wonder if you fully grasped what i meant. now you do.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013


"i'm sick and i'm irritable and i wish he weren't such an idiot. the thought of him annoys me yet i allow him to come back for more because i'm tired and selfish and want someone to care about me even though i can't return the "favor." FUCK. what pisses me off most is his total lack of cognizance. how could he possibly mistake my blunt bitchiness for anything else?! even if it could pass for lethargy, won't he realize that when you're with someone you're excited to be with, you perk right up? motherfuckin' duh."

...that was the last time i really thought about him. it ended just as quickly as it started. the fade away. how predictable of me. the more i'm dating the more easily i recognize what i don't want and how rare to come by the combination of qualities i'm looking for in a man is. my impatience has morphed into doubt and i'm disinterested. but my biggest problem is i project. i meet someone who piques my interest just a little bit and i jump the gun. i invent a storyline, a happily ever after, that no one could live up to. is it really so impossible to find intelligence, humor, and compassion all in one tall, dark, and handsome package?

i wallowed in this realization, lying horizontally on my bed, in the same position I collapsed in when I got home from work 30 minutes earlier, boots still fastened tightly on my feet. tuesday's down, but still 3 full days to conquer before the weekend. maybe i'd use this one to recover from the two months worth of havoc i wreaked on my body over the holiday season instead of adding to the damage. not likely. in fact, why wait until the weekend; i wanted to rage tonight. i dialed my buddy, a guy i'd met 6 months earlier who had become someone i partied with often. he'd been in the studio all day recording with his band, but luckily for me, he was off the hook for the remainder of the night. we decided on a cantina down the road and an hour and three cigarettes later, we were comfortably settled with two overzealous 36 oz. bowls of ice blended margaritas. we talked about the goings on in our lives and told each other inconsequential stories, glancing intermittently at the bloodied ufc contenders on the flat screens decorating the walls from corner to corner. i quickly finished my drink, impatient for the buzz to reach full-fledged drunk. we asked for the check soon after, both of us aware that the cantina had nothing else to offer us. i reached for my phone as i hopped in the car: 9:45. what the fuck. the night was premature. we headed back to mine and put on an obligatory movie then crawled into bed. we chatted through half of Lincoln and killed two bottles of wine before I threw on a different choice of background noise. Almost Famous was an easy pick. i'll blame the movie for inspiring our lust for something more effective than alcohol as I scoured my room for any 'leftover' goods I kept too safely in the hiding places I designated while intoxicated. all i could find was the vicodin prescribed to me after a very recent car accident that afforded me 30 pills and 15 stitches in my hand which was still draped in the dressing applied during my last visit to my old soviet doctor. Tonight there were only three left in the pill bottle. I knew I'd regret being so generous with them on the night of my birthday, but c'est la vie, we'd make due with what we had. i cleared my nightstand just as instinctively as he pulled out a credit card and a twenty dollar bill. i hastily crushed the pills up and cut the white pile into four lines. a moment of better judgment had me question the sanity of what we were about to get into, but he had no qualms and volunteered to go first. I could tell he regretted it immediately. He cursed the sting as he pinched his nose. i took that as a sign not to follow suit and scooped the powder into my unimpaired palm, emptying it in my mouth and chasing it down with water. he did the same with what was left. now fresh out of alcohol and drugs, he turned to the next best thing.