Look at me, I am extroverted and happy

August 03, 2006 - 12:31 a.m.

Everything's coming up roses, bitches. I don't know why, but I'm having a lucky streak right now and I'm totally on top of my fuckin' game. I'm surrounded by awesome men, I've got friends and social events coming out of my ass, I'm finally starting to get some visible definition in my muscles, and I can’t stop touching myself. Literally, every aspect of my life is on the up and up. Praise Jeezus. Imagine how much worse things could be.

So, I’ve been on a few dates, had some smoochy-smoochy, some naked fun time with my magic bags, etc, etc. Even though this heat wave is killing off the people of middle America, I am sitting at my desk in a bikini with air conditioning blowing all around me. There are flies buzzing around tho, which kind of sucks.

Listen to this shit, hoo mama! So, I found some of the pilot’s friends at Myspace (from this point forward he’s going to be known as the Fag) and you know how you can just click through for eternity and find ten million people you know or have seen on the street or whatever. So I found some cute boys, and I wrote them, and they just happen to be in the Fag’s Vespa Scooter Club, and while they are not FRIENDS, they are acquaintances. And all of those boys were up on me like stink on shit, so I picked the one I liked the most and told him we should meet. And he got all upset-like and informed me that he is moving away in a week. Or to be more specific, he’s going on a long 7-week road trip, alone, on his scooter, and then he’s moving away after that. I was like, whatever, let’s meet anyway.

So he came over to my crib for a date and he brought food and a funky-ass documentary called something like “Looking for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus” - of course it’s about freaks in the South who love they some Jesus. So we watched this movie and ate and god strike me down if I didn’t feel like I was sitting next to Bambi himself. Yes, the baby deer Bambi. This boy was so beautiful, with the most innocent, darling face, wide inquisitive brown eyes, and long, doe lashes. So adorable I want to stuff him into my backpack and carry him with me for eternity. Oh, and his body….was ON FIRE. So fuckin smoking, and let me tell you I’ve seen a few nice bodies in my day. Just…god….help….me….carved from stone, his shit was TIGHT.

And in addition to those niceties, he was so sweet, he made me a mixed CD based off of the musical interests I had listed at my profile. And he also brought me a postcard and a magnet that he had made, since he’s a very talented graphic designer, that shit just comes natural.

We stayed up talking until 3am…and I had to get up in the morning for work and I wanted to DIE. The next day he wrote me a long love email saying how much he likes me, and how much he wanted to give me a body massage and smooch me but he didn’t want to come on too strong. I really liked him too, but mentally, there was a block, because I knew he was leaving so I didn’t for a moment take that shit seriously at all.

So we wrote back and forth and decided we wanted to see each other again, so he invited me to his going-away party Saturday night. I was quite nervous about this, because I knew it would be a “scooter party” and there was a chance that the FAG might be there, or at the very least, the Fag’s friends. So I grabbed a girlfriend, got all gussied up and went. And the bar was full of the Fag’s friends, and at first they looked at me curiously, because they knew that I don’t have a scooter, and I wasn’t there with the Fag either, so they were wondering what the fuck I was doing there. I was afraid I’d be snubbed because of their loyalty to the Fag, but next thing I know everyone’s being nice and the Fag’s BEST FRIEND sits down next to me and starts buying me drinks and giving me drags off his cigarettes! Hmmm, so much for loyalty! I told Bri, the Fag’s best friend, that I’m “not allowed” to talk to him or be friends with him or the Fag would be pissed. He scoffed all up in my face and said Fuck Him, I’m Your Friend, and Hey Would You Like Some Watermelon? Cuz that weirdo had a 20 pound watermelon with him for some reason.

And I was all: “Get that fucking watermelon away from me and pass the vodka and ten dollar American Spirit Filter Cigarettes.” And so he did. And we had a grand old time.

Meanwhile, my doe-eyed boy (whom I’ll call Hoss) was busy making the rounds and saying hello to all, so I sat with Bri and my girl Christina. Bri is all flirting with me and touching me and I couldn’t have been more pleased with the vulgar display of disrespect towards his best friend, the Fag. I was all: Hop On It, Mmmmkay. I think I can totally win him over; I have a way better personality and am much easier on the eyes than the Fag. And Bri always was my favorite, we always got along like old friends.

I commented to Bri that I think a scooter would really suit me, considering that I ride my goddamn bike everyday and freeze my ass off, and at least I would get to my destination faster on a scooter. But then I told him that the Fag’s head would explode if I got one, because he is the self-proclaimed King of the fucking scooter scene, and I would not be welcome in his kingdom. Bri said, “Fuck him! Get a scooter, get one! And join our scooter club!”

Thanks, Bri.

I kept staring at Hoss, wanting to go molest him in a corner, and at this point no one has quite figured out that I’m there to hook up with Hoss, because I’ve been laughing it up with Bri.

At some point, arm-wrestling matches started going on next to me and I was interested in joining, to see if I have any real power behind my guns or if it’s all just fluff. The following ensued:

Now, granted, the dude was drunk as a skunk. But I think he was really trying, cuz he was holding his breath all deep and had chipmunk cheeks and shit and actually became relieved when I beat him. One other thing: Apparently I have no arm-wrestling technique at all, and I’ve always just relied on blind, drunken rage to fuel my muscles. So I was wrestling this man, and we were at a stand still, with him at a slight advantage. We were going nowhere, but I also knew that I would not be able to get over him and win this thing so I’m getting really pissed that I’m about to lose. Humiliated, if you will.

Suddenly from the crowd, a guy yelled, “Use your shoulder! Use your shoulder!” And I was like, Huh? DUH! WTF, idiot, all these years I’ve been using my pussy-ass girly WRISTS and lower arms to wrestle! The weakest part of my whole body, I’m holding this guy with my wrist, that is not even two inches across. So hello there, shoulder, I knew you’d come in handy some day, other than giving me something to rub on as I fall into a lonely fitful sleep every night. So I flexed my shoulder, and the power rippled down my arm and I threw that bitch over like nothing.

Fucking HOOT! That bar exploded into an uproar and then I was really surrounded by boys, and Hoss was standing there filming the whole thing and grinning from ear to ear. Good times forilla, free drinks for me, and people in line to feel my leg muscles.

I pulled Hoss outside and gave him a going away gift that I had made him. I made a leaf the same size and shape of my tattoo out of gold fabric, and on it I wrote, “Hoss - live deliberately, live deeply, and suck out all the marrow of life.” This is a reference to Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden”, which is one of my favorite pieces of literature, and which we had discussed on our first date, and he had likened his upcoming road trip with Thoreau’s retreat. Then I took the leaf and I soaked it in Aveda’s “Madagascar” oil, which I was burning the first night he came over and he commented on the scent many times. The brown oil blurred the lettering and gave the leaf a nice aged quality and it was perfect. I washed and rinsed it but it still smelled good, and then I rolled it into a tiny ball and tied it with string and placed into a tiny box the size of a gumball. He LOVED it. And who the fuck wouldn’t? I totally have not lost my knack. Still got it! He said he plans to take it with him on his trip, to remember me by.

When the bar closed, Hoss asked if he could come home with me, and I was like, Fudge Yes. Right away I started falling asleep/passing out on my couch and he was stone-cold sober (non-drinker) so he started giving me a full body massage. I knew I wasn’t going to have sex with this guy, because he is leaving, and it would totally piss me off to only get it once. He didn’t try anyway. But he did rub my feet, and god have mercy on any person who looks directly at my hooves, much less massages them. YUCK. He said they were cute (must be blind) and seemed to be having a good ol’ time with my crooked-ass busted up cloppers with Lee Press-On Toenails.

I fell asleep so he said, “Do you want to go to bed? Do you want me to leave?” And I grabbed his hand and said, “Yeah, you come to bed with me.” And I led him to my room and he stood there all awkward and shy. So I literally pulled him onto my bed and turned out the lights and said, “Um, I’m going to sleep in my underwear, because I obviously can’t sleep in a skirt, so you’re welcome to do the same.” So I stripped down to just my thong, and he his boxers and we snuggled. Then he gave me a real, thorough full body massage, going every where but my birth canal. I drifted in and out of sleep, and eventually the sun came up so we went to sleep. Every time I woke up or moved around, he immediately woke up and reached over and laid his hand really gently on me, to soothe me back to sleep. Or he’d shimmy over and press his lips into my back or my shoulder. What an angel!

When I woke up in the morning, he was right by my side, staring at me, hands just a-waiting to get back to business. So more massaging, even better this time, and then he seriously kissed every inch of my body. I’ve witnessed so many dudes that try this tactic, pretending to be all patient and selfless and romantic, and they’re a bunch of self-serving assholes. The whole time they’re doing it, they’re picturing their dick in your mouth as a reward. You can just sense that it’s rushed, lips skimming up the legs, passing all sorts of crucial areas. But not this one. Not my Hoss Angel. He kissed every centimeter, pausing each time and really pressing his lips into my skin, and dragged that shit out for an hour, the whole time verbally showering me with compliments, spoken very softly. We stayed in bed for 2 or 3 hours, until I eventually got up because I was already 4 hours late to plans with a girlfriend.

When I walked him out, he kissed my hand over and over and told me I’m beautiful and awesome, and then followed up later with several emails in more specific detail.

And hey, guess what? He decided not to move away and stay here with me forever! Not. He’s fucking gone, honey. G-O-N-E. Buh-bye. Never saw him again, probably never will.

He’s a beautiful, gorgeous angel, and under different circumstances maybe I would have totally fallen for him.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a bitter 30 year-old hag, it’s that: There are others just like him. There are a lot of men just as good as him. And while I’m really happy that I had those experiences with him those TWO dates, I also know that shit is never as perfect as it appears. And a story that good still has the potential of turning into the fiery furnace that is hell.

So if you ever drink some poison and you feel like throwing up, I encourage you to visit my archives here, starting in January of 2005, when I met the pilot, and had months worth of stories just as good as that. And then, in my honor, you can go puke up your Cheerios when you get to that part where he turns into a fucking soulless monster and all of my dreams are destroyed and all of those memories feel like drinking bile. When you get to the point where you deeply regret ever traveling the world, riding on motorcycles, flying airplanes, sailing boats, and hanging out in a mansion, you know things have gotten bad. It almost makes me want to never be happy again, so there won’t be such a sharp contrast if things turn straight to shit.

But for now I have my Angel Hoss, and a whole line of other men in the Fag’s scooter club, with whom I can seek the revenge I so need, dating them and letting the rumors gently float back to that impotent ass, until he fucking explodes and calls me a Classless Monster all over again. But by then I’ll be best friends with all of his friends, having lunch with his mom, walking his neighbor’s dog, and carrying the baby of someone who owns a scooter. I might be as transparent as a pane of glass, but at least I admit it.

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The Fast, Days 1-6
January 28, 2007