Monday, May 17, 2010


I strolled up the pavement past several nice cars. I walked in and saw my buddies. I lithely strolled by an ex-girlfriend of mine and sat down by the pool. Small fuckin' world. I don't get to see my buddy often due to an ongoing separation/divorce/custody battle. Good intentions line the path to hell. I should have been elsewhere. I should have been with my girl. I inherited something from my stepfather....I try to do to much. I try to please too many people. I balance too many things on my lap.

It is a small world. The ex glanced my way as I spoke with my other friends in attendance.

I cracked open a beer. The ex decided to leave though we ended on semi-pleasant terms years ago, but then she's ******, so they takes that kinda shit personal I 'spose. Her mother and brother were there, but the boy was too young to remember me. The mother I could tell did recall my visage (she used to lightly flirt with me and compliment me) but said nothing. I opted not to have the backstory known to those in attendance.

A **** girl with fake tits that were the first pair I've ever seen that weren't nauseating was encouraging everyone to have shots. It was some strange Columbian booze. Probably the equivalent of Aristocrat based on the taste. Patron followed. The girl with the fake tits looks remarkable considering the number of kids she's had and her age. There are American chicks 18 years old that look worse than her. A lot of them.
I'd met her through the ex @ the party, and through the ***** girl from last summer that longtime readers may recall. The one that got me booted by the gay roommates.

Another ***** girl flirted with my buddies. A **** girl was wrapped up with my other friend. I chatted with a ***** man and his Columbian friend. They spoke of **** and other places they'd been in South America. I had somewhere to be. I was waiting on the guys to pack up and drive as I wasn't in shape to do so. I waited.

Another shot. Another beer. BBQ. Another shot.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I played with one of the kids. He told me about school and a girl in his class. He asked me about my tattoos then about fighting. He said I seemed sad. He asked if I could come to his class and meet his friends. I wondered if/when I'll be able to settle into a life such as this: house, pool, dog, kid(s), wife......there are quiet moments of peace, however fleeting, that calm my restless spirit with a look, a touch, a scent, a flicker of time.....

His mom said I was good with kids, asked if I had any of my own.
"No. I don't."
"You will. In time."
"I don't know if that's the case."
"You'll calm down with time. You are still young, yet. You have a thoughtful face. How old are you?"
"Yes. You can feel it already. I can see it in your face. The same things are not the same things to you they were once."
"You are young. You are a man. Men make mistakes."

Fade to black.

I woke up in my car. I drove home. I tried to sleep. My phone was busted.
I literally climbed up the side of the building with relative ease and rapped on my girl's window b/c my phone was busted and I didn't want to wake her roommates. I came inside and we slept then enjoyed a wonderful rest of the weekend.
It's life: bumps, bruises, smiles, tears, and all.

-With Greatest Affection


  1. Blackouts are a vice you can afford at 21 . . .

    I've grown to hate that amnesiac feeling, though it is much more infrequent. Consequence of being a fighter - you come back to battle the same foe over and over, no matter how stacked the odds are.

  2. yeah. i woke up...and i was like....really? really? here we are again. wow. i reaaaaally fucked up this time.