please stop tickling me

In which we laugh and laugh and laugh. And love. And drink.

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Location: Portland, Oregon

Otium cum Dignitatae

Friday, September 30, 2005

Like a Faucet

The Demon Sa'kul, as I've said, has sex as his only vice. My housemate is one of those fortunate men who, in the wise words of Master Tom Waits, 'gets more ass than a toilet seat'.
Thing is, he's also a child of the modern age, and (unlike grampa here) has more than one blog. He also tells everyone about them. This nice lady he brought back here the other night (she seemed nice-I turned around from the computer, said, 'nice t' meetcha', and went back to it) seemed to enjoy his company. I just got over the whole bloggin' thing, turned up the latest downloaded episode of "Deadwood" real loud, and gave them an hour and a half, or so.
By the time I was over that, and ready for bed, they were just laying around in there, giggling. I figured that I'd be able to sleep, as light a sleeper as I am. I was correct.
Now, Sa'Kul's problem is, he tends toward complete honesty in all things. He had both told this lady that he had a blog, and also had posted something in it that mentioned her by name.
Now, as you all know, I don't do that, and with good reason. I promised recently that I'd be relating the dtails of my on-line dating experiences, but I can't. I told a few too many of them about it, and there are those amongst them who I still have blogs that I read
(I'm looking at you here, DaffOdil).
So I told him that whereas I strive toward honesty in all things, there still remains the need to be quiet in some things, and let's not necessarily refer to our sex partners by their names, if they do not consent to be so named. She was pretty pissed, sounds like, despite the fact that she merited very few lines indeed in that posting (or was that why?).
So it is worth noting that I have been seeing this lady, of late. She bears an unfortunate resemblence physically to the mother of my children, but that's hardly her fault.
She's a bit less of a libertine than I am, or indeed, most of my friends. Nonetheless, she likes the fact that I am Blunt, and Honest. We're gonna refer to here as MacBeth, okay?
She spent her entire twenties (nineteen to twenty-nine) with the same guy. She has some sort of trust issues, which I understand, and some body-shame based issues (which I don't understand, as she is gorgeous) .
Truth is, I am in my usual conundrum: the sane-seeming lady, who might bore the socks off of me, and might find me to be a total liability, for which I could forgive her. I am. I drink too damn much, I am an under-employed stagehand largely living off of sales of stock from his family business, and she is one of those people who Mean Well who take on three jobs, almost entirely Non-Profit.
Like I said, I usually don't use their names. I also rarely tell them about this (or the other) blog I have, since it is still my diary, and either for people I entirely trust, or complete strangers, who I really don't care about.
She could be the real thing, but in my experience of the last year or so, I can tell you: the good ones look at me and say, "No fucking way...", and the crazy ones just stick around, endlessly.
I can't tell which one she is.
There is also this other one who I've been flirting with on line, of late. She recently moved here from Georgia, and might need the perspective of one who has lived here 95% of his life, and has the rural as well as urban perspective. She is the one that seems to be the one that lives like me, and might understand me. She might understand why I spend as much time as I do arguing online with a bunch of people on the other side of the country who I shall never meet, as I am deeply committed to speaking frankly to those Who Are Not As I Am. She might just understand that civilization continues due to the effort of those who step outside their Bubble.
And man what a bubble I live in, though that is a topic for another day.
MacBeth though, she intrigues me. She is what I think I should be trying to impress. Mind you, I can only be what I am, and anything else is lies. Lies are not a great basis for a long term relationship. She'd hate me, I think, if she knew me for what I really am.
Or not. Hard to say. She had a bad headache this morning. So I went downstairs to get her some coffee, and when I came back up, made it clear that she could lay there all day, if she felt like it, making my bed smell better. She had gutters on the house she owns to fix, as it happens, and I understand that one, too.
Then I got a call about a gig tomorrow. But I'm not gonna do that.
It's raining here. The Tulsa Kid's dad called him up today, and they were talking about his sister's wedding, next week (in Tulsa). Seems there's some shit about that, as all weddings have.

That's a longer story than I'm willing to tell here, even though it's a pretty funny story. The main point is that his dad lives in Oklahoma, and asked, "So what, do you get a hundred days of rain there, or what?"
He responded by saying, "Yeah, between October first and December thirty-first." There's a reason we're so green.
The real point is that last weekend, I drove out about two hours from here, where the green part of the state turns to the brown part, and I wanted to see the amber glow of late autumn, and shoot pool with the people I do not normally shoot pool with.
I didn't get to shoot pool with rednecks, but I did get to see the amber glow, before the endless gray cieling began. It was beautiful, and I shall always love it. I drove behind a cattle truck for about ten more minutes than I should have, because I wanted to smell the shit; the only smell more dear to me than printer's ink.
The rain is a truly spiritual thing here, you must understand. If it eases your tears down your face, you are blessed.
The lady and I are going to go out and experience the wonder that Woody Guthrie wrote of tomorrow. She says she's a small town girl at heart, and being a small town boy, I feel that one.
I used to be in a band called Rustic. We did a song called "She runs hot and cold, like a faucet".
It was an instrumental.

Labels:

9 Comments:

Blogger Melanie Alamo said...

Hail to the WHAT? Bring back J. Michael Curley.
That's two of my least favorites giving the GOP secret sign, the " Christian Right Wing Salute ", to supporters.
Find out how you can buy & sell anything, like things related to music on interest free credit and pay back whenever you want! Exchange FREE ads on any topic, like music!

7:29 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Amazing. That was posted while I was cleaning up the hyperlink problems with DaffOdils's blog.

7:37 PM  
Blogger Erudite Redneck said...

Re, "I drove behind a cattle truck for about ten more minutes than I should have, because I wanted to smell the shit; the only smell more dear to me than printer's ink."

I coulda wrote that myself.

--ER

2:39 PM  
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10:23 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

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10:49 PM  
Blogger kiki said...

Oh, I miss Oregon rain. It's so gentle, and yet there were times when it seemed to be all that was holding me together. But then, I missed Oklahoma thunderstorms even while reveling in the green western Oregon winter.

12:11 PM  
Blogger Jacq said...

More ass than a toilet seat, huh? Ew. I'll pass on that one.

Does the lady give more turns than a doorknob? Just wondering...

2:26 PM  
Blogger Elle Marie said...

Grey skies make me feel depressed. Someone once suggested that I should move to Alaska and make a new start for myself, and when I thought about it, I realized two things:
1. This person should never give advice to anyone, ever again.
2. If I did in fact move to Alaska, they would find me floating in a bay with a bottle of vodka clenched in my fist and one of those ultra-violet light visors strapped to my head in the vain attempt to overcome the ugly weather.
Alaska indeed.

4:07 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Yeah, I've never heard anything all that wonderful about AK that wasn't cancelled out by the violence, bugs and fetal alcohol syndrome of epidemic proportions.

5:11 PM  

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