Journal mcgrew's Journal: I should have gotten laid 8
I don't know why I didn't. Women were falling all over me all weekend and I still didn't get any.
Friday when I got off work I went by Farley's, the sleazy bar next door to the gay bar, across the street from the train station. I wanted some eggs.
Since they raised the beer price I hardly ever go there, but they sometimes have big brown farm eggs for a buck fifty a dozen. They grocery store sells the smaller white salmonella-laden eggs for two bucks.
If you wonder why eggnog has traditionally been popular during the Christmas season, it's because people have traditionally drank heavily during late December and early January. The yolks of chicken eggs contain an emzyme that cures hangovers.
There are caveats, however. Of course. It won't help the headache caused by the dehydration drinking causes; water (or gatorade) fixes that. It won't help the monoxide poisoning you got from smoking four packs of cigarettes in six hours. And heating, cooking, and pasteurizing destroys the emzyme.
To make eggnog, you take three egg yolks, a couple spoonfulls of sugar, and milk. Most folks also put nutmeg in it, too. Stir it and drink it, your hangover (excluding monoxide poisoning and dehydration) will be gone in an hour.
Of course, if you're a US resident in a few hours you'll wish you just had a hangover, because one in three commercial chicken eggs is contaminated by the salmonella bacteria. You'll be sick as a dog, with it coming out both ends. You may be shitting blood.
If you have your own hens, you're safe. The eggnog you get in a carton won't help your hangover, it's been pastuerized and the emzyme destroyed. You used to be able to eat rare chicken and hamburger, and eat eggs over easy and sunny side up, and make your own eggnog. No longer; these days the government allows food companies to sell poisoned food.
Corporation one, customer zero.
A skanky looking blonde sat down next to me with stars in her eyes and started chatting me up. She said Pattyann was her name, and I introduced myself. She had the loose skin of someone who was once fat but lost a lot of weight quickly, and not by exersizing. My guess was she was thirty five or forty, but she looked sixty. I was polite, even though I was pretty sure the woman was a crackhead.
They didn't have any eggs, so I drank a single beer and left. As I was going out, Pattyann, who was waiting to get in the ladies room, begged me not to leave!
She may have been a skanky looking crackhead but it still gave me an ego boost.
I went home and got my scary mask and gloves and went to Felbers. Amy and Connor were to meet me there.
I scared the hell out of Debbie, the owner, and John, her brother in law.
I met another woman named Charlene. Or maybe it's Sharlene, like Charlie's real name is spelled? Anyway, this woman was really good looking. Great figure, except a little too muscular for my tastes, and a very pretty face. I had fun talking to her.
Connor and Amy came by, and as he's diabetic he doesn't drink, and had a Pepsi. No, I don't understand it either. I ran out of money, went home and crashed on the couch.
Saturday morning Brian called from rehab. He was out on a pass, did I want to do some drinking with him? Then Tami called asking what I was up to, and I invited her and Linda along. We all went to the Blue Grouch, where pitchers are only $3.50 on Saturdays, but I left after the first one - the girls were ignoring me and were all over Brian, who's going to prison in a few months.
I don't get it. Here I am, with a job, a car, a house, and they're all over the junkie who's going to go to prison.
I'll never understand women.
I went to Felber's. Angie's boyfriend was there and threatened to kick my ass.
Yeah, like I really want to raise his nine kids.
Kathy was there and berated me for hiring hookers. WTF, she ain't my girlfriend and shows no indication of wanting to be. I guess she 'd talked to Charlene, because Charlene no longer seemed interested in me either, damn it. As I was a little inebriated I didn't defend myself, but if Kathy knew what women have been like in my life she might be a little less judgemental.
I've never had a faithful woman. Never. Not one. Not my wife, not any girlfriend. If I can't have a faithful woman, why not hire a woman who can't break my heart?
Or maybe not; women hate hookers. Even hookers hate other hookers.
Yesterday I went and voted, and as I pulled into a parking space a black man cursed me. I wonder how much the Republicans paid him to curse at white people? Those Republicans must have really been desperate. Or maybe the black guy was just a racist asshole, who knows?
While voting I ran across Rich, an old friend I haven't seen in years. Rich is batshit insane, he has schitzophrenia and hears voices; or at least, he did before they put him on heavy drugs.
He's an election judge now.
I saw Terri; I haven't seen her for a while.
Speaking of old friends and old women, I ran across the Angel's mother, Chris, at the gas station when I went there with Tami to buy whiskey. Chris lives with some guy twenty years younger than her who hates my guts - they were together when I got together with her. He got barred from Glorias once when I ran across Chris, and he walked in as we were making out at the bar.
My daughter hates Chris. Chris certainly didn't make a very good impression, that's for sure. She says she stopped drinking over a year ago and her liver's healing. I might call her up today and invite her to my house for dinner and a movie. Now that she's stopped drinking maybe she can stay awake through one!
She's not that attractive, not that shapely, and even though she's five or six years younger than me you'd swear she was ten years older.
But damn it, I'm horny. I'd even have sex with that woman from Farley's.
Women don't understand themselves (Score:2)
I don't get it. Here I am, with a job, a car, a house, and they're all over the junkie who's going to go to prison.
I'll never understand women.
Women don't understand themselves, either. When you ask them, they say they want a guy who is nice, honest, trustworthy, stable; but yet they always go for the bad boys. You see these same women whining that their men don't treat 'em well, but they're the ones who picked the wrong guy over and over again.
The truth is, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, a guy with a job, a car, a house... isn't that a little boring?
Guys do it, too. Which girl do you find more attractive? The one who you sit down
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I don't know, I've been hanging around hooksrs and drunken women and I'd trade all of them for ONE good faithful woman who could keep me out of trouble.
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I don't know, I've been hanging around hooksrs and drunken women and I'd trade all of them for ONE good faithful woman who could keep me out of trouble.
And you propose that she is right there waiting for you in one of the dive bars you frequent?
I don't know what "ONE good faithful woman who could keep me out of trouble" even means. I'm married. My wife is, to my knowledge, faithful.
But keep me out of trouble? I've stayed out of trouble so far, but it's truly exhausting. She sure as hell does not keep me out of trouble--I do. And a lot of times I worry that I will fail.
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I don't know where to look and have given up. I do have a friend who met his wife of over 30 years through a bar, although indirectly - he met his crazy sister in law in the bar, who introduced him to his wife.
But hell, if I had a good, faithful woman she'd be with me when I went to a bar, which would keep me out of trouble, and it wouldn't be that often probably.
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Its certainly possible to meet viable women at dive bars frequented by former/current crackheads, alcoholics, whores, and mentally unstable individuals -but odds are good that youre mostly going to meet crackheads, alcoholics, whores, and mentally unstable individuals. in locations like that, those seem to be the people most drawn to you, which sucks because youre not in the same ruts as they are.
go elsewhere to look for women! scope out a few churches for some nice ladi
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The only real dive I go to is Farley's, and I only go there for the eggs, and seldom then anymore. I mostly go to JW's, Felber's, or the Blue Grouch. They're neighborhood bars. JW's is the closest to my house, and is next door to the most expensive restaraunt in town. Felber's is in the ghetto but is kind of a redneck bar, most of the guys there are construction workers. Mike mostly keeps the crackheads out of there, although I've seen a few crackwhores get fourty ounce beers to go. He's barred Crazy Debbie
I gotta say (Score:2)
No matter how much of this is the chronicle of your actual occurrences, and how much is what used to be described as romance in the archaic, you are a fantastic and engaging 'spare' writer.
Many non-pros write to be admired. Hell, so do many pros.
How interesting and pleasing to have found a quiet Bukowski of the web, emerging in the shadow of a slashdot decadence.
Please continue.
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Wow, thanks! I haven't had such praise since the K5 days when somebody compared me favorably to Hunter S. Thompson. Actually I just discovered Bukowski through your comment, and reading one essay of his it seems that he's far better than Thompson.
emerging in the shadow of a slashdot decadence
That's some poetic prose itself!