What I Tell Myself

Why did she have to look so good? I spent days telling myself I didn’t want to be with her. She’s not your type. She’s too mainstream. She’s too thin. She’s not cute enough. She’s a friend and if you make anything more out of it, it will be a mistake. I told myself all these things as I trimmed my hair and searched for the perfect shirt to wear, as I tried to make myself look as good as possible. I’m not doing these things for her, I said, I’m doing them because it’s a wedding and I have to look nice.

But her name kept popping-up in my head. Each time it did, I hammered it down. And every time I did, it just popped-up again somewhere else. It was like the Whack-a-Mole game at the arcade. You know the one – a mole randomly pops it’s head out of one of many possible holes in ground and you have to smash it on the skull with a big, plastic hammer. The more times you actually make contact, the more points you earn. It’s a primitive and brutal game if you think about it, but so is the game of love. And sometimes, the only way I know how to deal with it is to beat it down. Bury it.

She’ll probably have a date, I told myself. Be prepared.
No problem. I can handle it. I don’t care about her. She means nothing to me. She’s just a friend.

This is what I told myself as I got ready for the wedding and walked down to the church.
Nothing’s going to happen.
This is what I told myself as I walked through the doors and took my seat.
Nothing can happen.
This is what I told myself as the organ music started and all the heads turned around to watch the procession.
You don’t want anything to happen.
This is what I told myself.

Then I saw her walking down the isle – her big, blue eyes sparkling and her perfect smile. The light blue dress, the slender shoulders, the soft, blonde hair. She lit-up the place and everything I had told myself disappeared. That façade that I spent so many weeks carefully constructing crumbled in an instant and I knew I wanted her.

Damn it.

I talked to her on and off during the reception. Apparently things went well. “Call me,” she said as I was saying good-bye. “You call me,” I replied with a little attitude. I feel like I’m always calling her. And a couple times she hasn’t even returned my call. If she likes me, I figure it’s her turn to call. But maybe she doesn’t see it that way. Maybe she doesn’t understand my attitude. Maybe she doesn’t understand that I want to be more than friends. Maybe she just wants to be friends and thinks I’m being weird. Then later in the conversation as we’re talking about the fact that we haven’t seen each other for a while, I say, “I miss you.” Shit, that was too much. “I miss hanging out with you,” would’ve been better, and probably more accurate. This is why I hate liking somebody – the 2nd-guessing, the lack of confidence, the not-quite-feeling-like-myself. This is why I’ve spent so much of my life single. This is why I tell myself I don’t want anybody or anything.

She’s going on a trip for several weeks and I tell myself that I won’t be waiting for her call when she gets back. But I know better. I’ll be waiting. And if she hasn’t called after a week, the whole why-hasn’t-she-called thing will hit me. Is it because she’s busy? Is it because she doesn’t like me? Does she think I’m a freak? The self-doubt. The self-abuse.

And if it gets beyond the second week, I’ll figure she’s not calling. Then my fragile, boy ego will really take a fall and the self-abuse will really start. I’m such a loser. It’s a wonder I’ve ever ended-up with a girl in my whole life. Nobody likes me. Nobody understands me. These are the things I’ll end-up telling myself. These are the wounds I’ll inflict. This is why I don’t want to like anybody. The vulnerability. The pain. The possibility of pain.

I'm not afraid of many things in this world, but women are at the top of my list. They have the power to crush me. They have crushed me and they go on crushing me. But what can I do about it? I could go hide away somewhere. Give-up girls forever. Become a monk or something. But what kind of life is that? Running from your fears. I know the best things in life require the greatest risks. So, I’ll go on falling for girls and getting crushed. And I’ll go on getting back on my feet again. I don’t know any other way.

Tags: girls, love, relationships

Emptiness

OK, I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t write about this stuff. I’ve had all these crazy, drunken adventures over the last couple months and I want to share them with the world. But I just can’t do it. I’m not in that place anymore. I’ve lost it. Now it seems I’m just going through the motions.

Drinking, smoking, hanging out at bars – yeah, yeah we’ve heard it all before. Where’s the inspiration? Where’s the truth? It’s gone dammit and it’s a crying shame, because there was something special and unique in each and every one of those moments, but I just can’t convey it anymore. I’m bored with it and so is my writing. Uninspired.

It’s not just in the writing, it’s in the act. I’ve been slowly realizing it over the last couple weeks and then this last weekend it hit me. I was sitting at a bar, smoking, drinking, talking to another tortured soul. I was half-heartedly listening to him, piping-in with my occasional comment to assure him I was there, but I wasn’t. Not really. I was off thinking of girls, thinking of being home reading, thinking of a thousand other things I’d rather be doing than being in that bar and listening to that guy go on and on about life. So, I’m done with it.

This isn’t some rash decision I’m making based on one bored evening. It’s something that’s been building-up for a while. Lately, when I wake-up I’ve been asking myself if there’s any reason to get out of bed. Not a bad question to ask, but when you start running out of answers, you know you’re in trouble. I need to find a reason.

As I told a good friend of mine the other day, I’m a wanderer, I wander from one thing to another, never really committing to anything. I’m always looking for the next big thing to keep me amused, the next distraction, the newest amusement, anything to fill the void. But I’m running out of vices and I’ve got no place left to go. Girlfriends, alcohol, sex, drugs, travel, even the great outdoors – they all lose their allure after awhile. And then what’s left? Me and my empty shell.

It’s time to face the emptiness head on, because I’m never going to find anything to fill it. It’s not in the bottle. It’s not in the bar. It’s not in that beautiful blonde across the street. No, it’s deep inside and it’s something I’ve got to deal with. Bring it on.


Tags: drinking, bars, smoking

Weekend Warriors II

This is a continuation from the previous post....

The Horsehead was hopping inside and out. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s not some swanky yuppie joint, but it’s not a dive bar either. It’s somewhere in the middle. The result is an interesting mix of musicians, drunks, hipsters, college students, and working class kids. Besides that, it has a big poster of Johnny Cash flicking everybody off from behind the bar. Nothing says cool like Johnny Cash and the middle finger. Now that summer was upon us, the patio outside was packed too.

Beth and I got a couple drinks and were sitting at one of the many picnic tables. It wasn’t before too long that a towering figure stood over us. It was Harry. I guess he had seen a friend of his and went to smoke some pot in a dark alley somewhere. Now he was ready for more alcohol. I on the other hand was ready for some pot. So, I rolled a spliff right there at the table. That’s another advantage of smoking spliffs – camouflage. If you’re cool about it, you can roll one just about anywhere – in front of the library, at the park, or right there on the patio of a crowded bar. Everyone assumes you’re rolling a cigarette. If you don’t mix it too strong, you can smoke it just about anywhere too. So, that’s what we did. Harry, Beth, and I smoking a spliff right there on the Horsehead patio among the festive crowd.

I looked around and listened. Talk and laughter filled the air, everybody was smiling and feeling good. Something special was going on, but I wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was because it was the first warm summer night of the year and everyone was excited to be out under the midnight sky. Maybe it was one of those rare nights where just the right mix of strangers come together and create a good vibe – no anger, no violence, just good fun. Or maybe it was just my drug induced imagination. Whatever it was, I was feeling fine.

Squatting at the end of the table Harry began to tell us about his theory of higher consciousness. “We’re getting smarter and smarter. Thoughts and the mind are the key. It’s just a matter of time before we’ll be like those aliens on Star Trek – where they don’t even need their bodies.”
“Yeah, but you can’t separate it,” I interrupted.
“What?”
“You can’t separate it. Everybody is always talking about logic, reason, and the mind as the way to higher consciousness, but you can’t separate them from feelings and the physical. It’s all of it. Everything’s connected and you can’t separate one from the other.”
“Hmmm,” he said as he rose-up and rounded the table.
“Yeah,” Beth added with a laugh, “you’re going to need to sit down for this.”
“Your thoughts are largely based on what you feel - what you see, taste and hear. Those are the foundation,” I continued.
“Yeah, but what you feel is based on what you think.”
“Right. It’s not one or the other. It’s all of it. The whole yin and yang thing. Everything’s connected.”
So we went on and on like that for a while – stoned warriors debating truth.

“Do you mind if we sit here,” a girl said from over my shoulder, “we just ordered nachos and we’ll share.” We would’ve let them sit there anyway, but the nachos were a nice touch. The girl that made the offer sat next to me, and her “big” girlfriend sat next to her. On the other side sat the boyfriends.

One of the boyfriends had a strong accent. “Where are you from?” I asked out of pure curiosity. “Oslo,” he answered with a squint in his eye, a crook in his jaw, and a fisted hand firmly planted on the table. He was gasoline and all he needed was a spark. No thanks. Not interested. There’s a million ways I can think of how to have a good time and wrestling around with some guy from Oslo isn’t one of them.

But a switch in Harry turned on, or off. I’m not sure which. He went from being this peaceful, fun-loving guy one moment, to just another drunk looking for a fight the next. He was making fun of the guy’s accent. “Oh no,” I thought, this situation is about to ignite. Somehow though, the girls and I were able to douse it before it started.

“Testosterone.” That’s how the girl next to me described Mr. Oslo. A surprising statement I thought. “Aren’t they with you?” I asked.
“No, they just latched onto us.”
Latched - this girl had creativity. And she was really cute. The night was starting to show some real promise…

Tags: drinking, bars

Weekend Warriors

The weekend started tame enough. Beth and I went to Friday night Trivia at a local bar. I wasn’t all too excited about it at first. First of all, it’s at this rip-off bar that charges $3.50 for a pint of domestic shit beer. Of course, if you don’t really care about the price, you can pay the $4.75 for a pint of micro brew. No thanks. Give me a cheap dive bar with $1.00 pints of Oly and PBR. Secondly Beth’s dad is the one that runs Trivia and I haven’t seen him since Beth and I broke-up years ago. Part of me wanted to see him, but part of me didn’t want to deal with the uneasy situation. It’s not that I don’t like him. Actually I think he’s pretty cool. He had the balls and imagination to come-up with his own way to make a living, he likes to drink, and he’s just a really down to earth guy. It’s safe to say I feel more akin to Beth’s dad than with anyone else in her family. But I hadn’t seen him for a while. And there was the whole break-up thing between Beth and I. How did he feel about that?

So, I wasn’t really sure I wanted to go to Trivia. But Beth wanted to go and I couldn’t think of anything better to do. So, we went.

Trivia is this thing where you go to the bar and sit at a table with all your friends. You’re a team and you’re competing against all the other teams. Beth’s dad, otherwise known as Mr. Bill, goes around asking all these trivia questions, and you write the answers on little pieces of paper. Of course, you have to scribble your team name at the bottom so Mr. Bill’s assistant can keep score. Names like Mr. Bill’s Illegitimate Children or We’re with Dick (an obvious reference to someone named Dick at the table) are good. Our team name was Sober but not for Long.

So, the more trivia questions you get right, the more points you get, and eventually the more raffle tickets you’ll get. Then at the end, Mr. Bill raffles off T-shirts, gift-certificates, and beer coupons. It’s good wholesome entertainment.

So there we were drinking beer, racking our brains for answers to questions like “What was the name of the English document that laid the foundation for the U.S. Constitution?” and having a good time. Then this jolly big kid with broad shoulders and a boyish smile comes-up, pint of beer in hand. “Do you guys mind if I join your team?”
“No, have a seat. We could use the help.”

And so we met Harry. He was a college graduate that would rather work in a pizza shop than sit around some stuffy office, and by the looks of it, he was living up to our team name. I figured he was a good fit. Things were going along. Trivia questions being answered, beer being drank, lives being told. Harry grew-up in Virginia, but his dad lived here in Eugene. So, he spent his summers here. He looked like your typical early-twenties type – clean-cut with the baseball cap and sports shirt - but he was into smoking pot, taking shrooms, and other craziness. Most of all, he was into having a good time.

Harry had a life line. Actually, he had several of them. Sometimes, when we couldn’t answer a question, he would call up one of his buddies on his cell phone for the answer. “What’s the name of the horse in Black Beauty?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know. Let’s see if someone else here knows.” So his friend, in the midst of a graduation party, or at another bar, or some other far off place on a festive Friday night, would go around asking all the party-goers about Black Beauty. I envisioned it – the question coming to our team by way of Beth’s dad, then sent up into the ethereal world by Harry and his cell phone, then coming out at some other obscure place, and finally branching out from there in a crazy pattern – call it a fractal, a web, whatever, but it was alive and growing. Our team was huge.

The game went on …

“What’s country extends further south? S. Korea or Japan?”
Beer.
“Which Miami Heat player had the best selling jersey for 2005?”
Beer.
“What percentage of women think it’s more important for the man to orgasm than themselves?”
More beer.

Eventually, I changed the team name to Sober No More, and then simply Beth is Drunk. We were hooting and hollering when the points for our team were announced. They weren’t the highest or the lowest, but we didn’t need any big reason to make noise. We were full of drunken energy and hearing our name was all the excuse we needed to release it. The other teams looked at us and smiled approvingly.

Beth’s dad came over with his after-work whiskey and water. They didn’t have any good whiskey, and what they did have was overpriced and stale. This place sucks. He asked what I had been up to over the last few years. I was surprised Beth hadn’t told him about any of my travels. You mean the world doesn’t revolve around me? We were all going to do a shot of tequila, but they were $7 each. Fuck that. Time to go.

I invited Beth’s dad for a drink at the bar across the street, but he had a long drive home ahead of him and an early morning with a house full of relatives. Harry had disappeared somewhere – his girlfriend, a party, another bar, who knew. Once again, it was down to Beth and I and the night was young…

Continued in the next post

Tags: drinking, trivia

I Don't Know

People look to me and say
Is the end near, when is the final day?
What's the future of mankind?
How do I know, I got left behind

Everyone goes through changes
Looking to find the truth
Don't look at me for answers
Don't ask me
I don't know

How am I supposed to know
Hidden meanings that will never show
Fools and prophets from the past
Life's a stage and we're all in the cast

You gotta believe in someone
Asking me who is right
Asking me who to follow
Don't ask me
I don't know

Nobody ever told me
I found out for myself
You gotta believe in foolish miracles
It's not how you play the game
It's if you win or lose
You can choose, don't confuse, win or lose
It's up to you
Go, go, go

People look to me and say
Is the end near, when is the final day?
What's the future of mankind?
How do I know, I got left behind, now I'm lost

Everyone goes through changes
Looking to find the truth
Don't look at me for answers
Don't ask me
I don't know

Tags: lyrics, ozzy