Stream of Consciousness

“And I’ll come running just to do it again…”

You are the last drink I never should have drunk
You are the body hidden in the trunk
You are the habit I can’t seem to kick
You are my secrets on the front page every week
You are the car I never should have bought

You are the train I never should have caught
You are the cut that makes me hide my face
You are the party that makes me feel my age

Like a car crash I can see but I can’t avoid
Like a plane I’ve been I never should board.
Like a film that’s so bad but I’ve gotta stay til the end.
Let me tell you now,

It’s lucky for you that we’re friends.

I wasn’t sure which song should start this post, or which title I should go with. Lucky for you all, I decided on both songs (but because WordPress gets all screwy when I place a song in mid-post, I’ll start with Pulp’s “Like a Friend,” and end with the Taylor Swift cover (that’s right, Taylor Swift).

Shall we get started?

The Swinging Door

“I never apologized to her,” I tell Miranda as we drive down to I can’t remember where. A feeling that’s bothered me for years now out in the open. I never much spoke about, though I alluded to it since.

“And it bothers you that she’s forgiven you without needing to?” Or something to the matter.

Friday, Miranda kidnaps me. We visit with Monica. With Joe and Erika. We talk about a history. My history. A sliver of hers. It’s a long time coming, actually. We talked Jeanna. We talked Shaun. 2008. The person who’s currently residing in my mind. We talked about stupid things, too. And even in pain, I felt transported to the days when it was just her and me.

“It’s a swinging door,” I confessed. The reason that letting Jeanna go is difficult for me. And a swinging door opens from both sides. A Hank and Karen relationship. No matter where I stand, no matter how much I’ve distance myself from loving her in the past. She has the power to open that door, and I go running back to it over again.

My moving on is against the rules, in more ways that one. This hallway isn’t unfamiliar to me, and if that door opens again, I’ll hurt someone who I care about (hypothetically) like I have done in the past.

Dress up like hipsters

Exhibit A: Meester Binx was feeling 22
Exhibit A: Meester Binx was feeling 22

We caught up with Meester Binx (Joe) and his wife, Erika, at some Chinese cat restaurant in McAllen. Binx made for my hat, popped out the lens of his 3D glasses, and made a face (which we all snapped a picture of, I’m sure). The owners turned on their karaoke machine, and offered us a take at it. “Only if it’s a duet,” I said. “And only if it’s Nancy Sinatra’s “Somethin’ Stupid.” Of course, I selected Meester Binx as my partner. Alas, nothing happened. We paid – Binx paid – and we ventured off to his home in Pharr where we sat around watching No Country for Old Men while the women folk spoke women folk stuff. Finding it a tad humorous that my “going out” included lounging around, watching a movie, I texted Angela (earlier, I told her about canceling my plans with Miranda due to my pain. When I told her my plans about going out – drinking coffee at Starbucks or Barnes & Noble – she opined that it was hanging out. She defined going out as watching movies with friends, to which I stated that’s my version of staying in) because I knew she’d enjoy the irony of it. Binx attempted to steal her number from me by reading over my shoulder. I punched him for that. Later, I chased him around the house with an aluminum baseball bat. Don’t ask about the transition.

On the way home, we concluded our discussion about Jeanna. About the girl. About the superficial things that would irk me if a relationship were possible. She suggested that I throw my hat into the ring, because a failed relationship isn’t a bad thing. Hypothetically speaking, I think I’m ready to move on. Realistic speaking, I’m not ready to even think about a new relationship. But I think it’s time I locked that door.

Books · Doldrums

Technology Killed the Bathroom Proposition

Unbeknownst to this man, Craigslist no longer allows the manufacture of personal boysenberry jam

I might be the only one here who feels this way, but I miss the good ol’ days when you read “Tiffany sucks real good,” or the every simple “For a good blow job, call Ray 555-0269″ on restroom stalls and/or walls. Scribbled in lipstick or a Sharpie.

The first of these Internet scribblings happened around the same time I saw (not really) someone eating hot cakes while taking a dump. I was attending college at the University of Texas, Pan American when I saw the fellatio offer with the contact web address – it was a Myspace page. Soon, I found addresses to Facebook pages, Livejournals and, finally, Craigslist listings.

Because I’m a sucker (no pun intended) for the old school way of doing things, I was tempted to write a proposition of my own – “For some awesome head, call [Meester Binx’s Number redacted],” just to see how many people would call – and if Meester Binx would tell me that it was happening. Of course, I didn’t do it because I knew he wouldn’t be too happy with me if I had. Mostly because I’m usually the prime suspect when it comes to shit like this.

Despite its title, this book is not an actual instructional manual

Yesterday, Monica and I went book hunting. I already set my mind on not spending too much. This quickly failed when I purchased Every Zombie Eats Somebody Sometime: A Book of Zombie Love Songs at Barnes and Noble (North 10th). From Books ‘n’ Things, I purchased the Elmore Leonard novel, Pronto. From The Book Stop, I grabbed FLCL vol. 1, Grace Slick‘s Somebody to Love? and James Patterson‘s Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas – which was purchased for my mother. We had lunch at China Cafe, which was surprisingly good. We ended our day at Barnes and Noble (Ware). There aren’t enough book stores in the area, I tell you what. Of course, there was Georgia’s Thrift Store – which appeared to be under new management and was closed until the third, despite what the contradicting sign in the window suggested. I wonder if Mike’s book store will still be found within the walls of the store. I certainly hope so. Otherwise, that’s another store that will vanish. 

Doldrums

“Is my name on the list?”

 

Frances Fuller

 

It started as your typical shyness, but it grew into something else. My mother isn’t a misanthrope, she’s just shy. Her mother pushed her into socializing, but it never clicked. I’m on the other spectrum. The reason I shy away from people is because I’m easily disappointed by them. Case in point, a local poet writes a book. It gets published. I’ve heard of him through the grape vine. Creative writing professors praise him. Those within my poet circle speak highly of him. By chance, I meet him. We chat a bit. He’s not exactly what I expected. Rather than a down-to-earth sort of fellow, he’s egotistical. Arrogant. He built an entire life of poetry by steal the styles of others. In short, he’s a vampire – sucking off the talents of other writers. He’s poison. A dream snatcher, he built an image of himself based on the ideas of others without the collaboration. Because of my knowledge of his actions, I cannot face my friends anymore. Each time I see them, I want to call him out – have him admit to the public  the fraud he is.

It started early on. I was the shy boy in class. I was okay speaking to my peers, showed no problems making friends. I influenced actions in others. But with adults, I always stammered. I grew past that too, until I hit junior high and things started to change.Then, I just began to feel like the outsider. I developed crushes on both boys and girls. I had my dark fantasies when I thought of just pounding in the face of my tormentors. I had a horrible time feeling empathy for others. Never understood what was going through the minds of others – why was it so important to be popular, to be liked? I hid myself in the world I created for myself. A world where the events of books were more pleasant than the world that devoured me daily. Those I called my friends were just accessories that I needed in order to feel somewhat connected. And I continued that way into high school. I didn’t particularly like my friends. The outcast within the outcasts. I enjoyed their company more because they didn’t want to fit in and mimicking their rituals was easier than any other social clique.

And those I did have feelings for wound up hurting, abandoning or downright disappointing me in the end. Girlfriends and crushes were had. Nothing I quite understood. When I actually got down to know the person, their words fell short of my expectations. It’s not that I’m a douche bag or an asshole – though I very much am – it’s that I expected that click of balance. None of them ever made me care enough.

My mother never knew the things I thought, and maybe it was for the best. But on the way to X-mas present opening at my brother’s house, I admitted that sometimes I wondered if I worried her growing up. Unlike my brothers, I was the only son who didn’t like being around people. I chose to be home rather than hanging out with my friends after school. The parties I went to were few and far between and even then, I’d spend an hour or so there before I called her for a ride home. Even now, as an adult, I only talk to Jyg and her, Binx, Erika and Monica every now and then – and mostly just on the Internet.

And it seems that’s how I feel connected with people these days – online. At least the chance for them to disappoint me isn’t high. I forgot where I was going with this post.

Books

Wake up. Sleep. Wake up.

 

Life Summed Up

 

I gotta say, I hope my days with [redacted] are numbered. I dropped off a resume a company close to my house Wednesday. My brother works the Weslaco location and he let me know that the Edinburg one was looking for someone. Awesome, I need a job. I got the phone call this morning and did a quick little interview and scheduled a face-to-face Monday morning.

At least I have something to look forward to this weekend. I’m spending most it – I should say all of it – with Meester Binx, working the [redacted] table at various HEBs. Tomorrow we’re working the Weslaco location, Saturday we’ll be over at Mission and Sunday it’s back to San Juan – home of the MVEC cock block. I swear, if I don’t make at least one sign-up this week, I’m going to kill something small. But Monday’s my golden ticket, and hopefully my window to a real job, something I really need right now.

I’ve also been thinking about applying to other places, Barnes and Noble comes to mind. I really like books and I think working in a bookstore would cheer me up a bit. Not to mention, I’ll also know when new books are coming out. There’s also something of a discount, but that’s just a bonus. I’d love the job regardless.

Man, job hunting is less fun than book hunting but at least the outcome of the former doesn’t deplete my bank account like the latter does. After purchasing that new oven, I have a less than stellar balance at the moment. And the more I need to eat, the less I have in the end. I still owe people some money – people whose number I don’t have anymore so if you’re reading this (and I doubt you are) you should really consider calling me (but hopefully after I get a new job that actually pays me).

Yeah, that’s right [redacted] doesn’t pay me like most jobs would. They’re pay plan is solely based on something that’s out of our power. But whatever. I chose it because I thought I could handle it. And I can, for the most part. I just want something that’s a little more reliable and less problematic. A solid job. However, looking forward toward next Summer, I wonder how I’m going to manage the Roadrunners if I’m hired as  Clubhouse Manager again. I liked the job, but the hours won’t fit in with any work schedule. If I get my six minions, then I can manage it. If I don’t, then I haven’t a clue what the hell I’m going to do.

But all this comes back to one essential thing. Sleep. These last few nights I’ve been having a hard time finding that zone where I just slip into my dreams. And because this weekend means another sleepover at Meester Binx’s house, I’m afraid that I’m going to wind up killing someone. Like Meester Binx. I’m too pretty to go to prison. During the summer, all I did was sleep. I even slept at work (which was the only perk of the job, besides meeting a childhood hero – though he did turn out to be a complete and utter asshole). And it’s come to the point that even reading myself to sleep – yes, I know how that sounds – doesn’t work. My eyes are too tired to read, but my mind won’t shut off.

Speaking of reading, I picked up The Sinner by Tess Gerritsen – this is actually the second time I picked it up, but another book got in the way (possibly Hank Moody‘s God Hates Us All). I’m also reading – yes, reading – Bound by Ink, a tattoo magazine. Why a tattoo magazine? I don’t know, I just got the feeling that some of my characters need a little ink because I know I’m not going mark my skin.

Writing & Writers

“Though it comes as no surprise”

 

via: Squoctobird

 

Meester Binx hinted that I might be afraid of seeing Miranda the other day. He suggested we should solicit her neighborhood – we were doing a door-to-door mission for [redacted] – and I shrugged, hinting that maybe we should focus on my neighborhood (big mistake, by the way). It’s not so much that I’m afraid of seeing Miranda, it’s that my mind is too occupied with other things that I really don’t want her – our – (former) friendship to take center stage, as it so often does. Besides, I have more on my mind lately.

I’ve been dwelling on the past a lot lately. But it’s okay, according to Scientific American Mind, it’s good for me to do so. And while it’s not to my liking, I’m focusing a lot of that what ifs. I started writing something I’m calling “Life Alternate” in which I view different scenarios of my past and where I’d be had I just taken the leap. From relationships that ended badly to those that never blossomed to undo decisions to taking those missed opportunities. I suppose it’s closure. Or maybe it’s masochism that drives me. Either way, I’m hoping that the project gets me writing again.

I also started penning a short story the other day. I don’t want to get into details, but it’s making me happy that I’m writing something again. Something that’s actually challenging me to write. Something I plan on editing and hoping to send off to some magazine. Hopefully. As for “Life Alternate,” I don’t know if it’ll become anything important to me. I don’t know a lot of things, really. I’m too tired to continue to write. I’ll talk about [redacted] some more tomorrow. I have nothing to really add to my current situation with the green company. However, the banal existence that has become my life in my days of working for [redacted] has sparked some inspiration. I like writing about banal situations. Banal, I love that word. And not because it’s anal with a b in front of it. That’s just silly.

Doldrums

Maybe if I offered cannabis

 

via: Jauwtheliar

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, who’s your current electric provider?” I’m not cut out for [redacted] but I don’t like quitting so soon (for those who know me, you probably think I’m lying and you’d be right, but shut up).

Friday had Binx and me over at Weslaco. We both got two each, but Saturday brought me the gift of a call back. Three in one weekend isn’t impressive. Here’s hoping they pass. I stayed over at Casa de Binx Friday night because we were scheduled together. Supervisor calls and asks if we can stay longer than scheduled and work an event that started at 10am. We stayed there until five with nothing to show for it. Depressing, needless to say. Two of the top sellers didn’t leave with anything, either. The event was dead.

Today was bad. I’m thinking San Juan is a lost cause. I made even less than Saturday. Here’s hoping to a better Tuesday. Maybe come up with some better ideas to switch/sign-up people.