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Journal sm62704's Journal: Not again.... 11

Go ahead, take my nerd license. No, I didn't get laid, take my license away because I'm a fucking moron. Or a fuckless moron.

I'll explain. It's Tami's fault. No, it's my own damned fault because I'm a moron.

The alien was at his shit again, and Tami decided she had enough. She took the rent money and drank every penny of it, and got them evicted. Her landlord gave them a five day notice, and she found another apartment accross the street from her old one.

After giving them the five day notice the landlord harrassed her daily. meanwhile she found out about her husband's five girlfriends, and after (she says) she hadn't had sex in weeks she caught him jacking off. He then told her she was "like a sister".

"He's going to be going back to Peru", she says, because she's reversing her petition to get him the green card.

Last weekend, or was it the weekend before last? Maybe it was a month ago? Anyway, Amy, Tami and I were at my house drinking. I mean, if I'm with them, I'm drinking, as they're both hopeless alcoholics. Amy was there after work, waiting for her boyfriend to take her home. Tami was there because that's where the booze was.

The phone rang, and I let Amy answer it. It was "Brian", and he was in a bad way. She told him we'd go pick him up at Farley's.

Amy was worried. Our junkie friend was talking suicide.

Now, most people look down on heroin addicts, and to tell the truth I did too, until I met Brian. Brian is about the nicest guy you would ever want to meet, and as he probably knows every drug dealer in town he gets some killer pot.

Not long after I met Brian I was down, real down. I'd had a date lined up with a lady on a Saturday night, and stupidly let Amy borrow my date money "untl I see my boyfriend and I'll get it back for you". She then bailed with him, leaving me with no money until the banks opened on Monday. Brian was there that night.

The next day he called, and bought me beer at Farley's, and loaned me a few bucks. The next day he called to make sure I was ok and refused to let me pay him back. And he called the next day, as well.

Now he was talking suicide. I left Amy at my house while Tami and I went to fetch Brian, who wanted to drink. Good timing, as Amy and Tami were there.

"I overdosed last night," he said. "God damn it why did they have to bring me back?"

He's been on methadone and hadn't done any heroin in a week or so. He didn't say so, but I got the impression he was trying to quit. He'd just lost his job at a credit collection agency; there was some federal test he'd flunked. Not a drug test, this was a written test.

"It was fucking wierd," he said. "I did the shot and went to sleep. Next thing I knew they were all over me. I said "What the fuck? Are you queer? Get the fuck away from me!'"

"'Dude,' they said, "you stopped breathing! You were dead!'"

This had pissed off and saddened Brian terribly. "Why in the hell did you bring me back?" he'd asked them. "I didn't want to wake up!"

We got Brian back to my house, stopping for whiskey on the way home. We convinced him that he was still needed here, that suicide was damned selfish. He has kids, he has friends. He thought he was worthless, we convinced him he wasn't.

This last Friday Tami called. "Can I stay at your place a few days?" she asked. It wouldn't be the first time. She then told me about her alien husband's latest bimbo. Tami had found a number and called it. "How are you doing, night owl?" the bimbo had said sweetly.

"This is Night Owl's wife, bitch!" Tami had exclaimed.

She told me she was on the waiting list for the battered woman's shelter. I'd planned on hitting the bars looking for sex, which I haven't had all year. But I decided to let her go along, since she was obviously in a bad way.

Brian called, and the three of us drank Friday night, first at Farley's, then we went to the bar next door to Floyd's barbershop; that crazy Debbie chick had turned me on to that place, and it turned out that one of my regular waitresses from when I went to Top Cat's for lunch every day was working there.

The only place to park was in the mud. My shoes look like I've been plowing a field.

The place was packed, so we drank a beer apiece and left. I went out the back for the car, making sure my muddy feet didn't touch the carpet, backed it into the street and got out to wash my shoes of in a puddle; we'd had thirteen inches of snow, and it was nice out and the snow melted as it rained some more.

As I was washing my shoes off in the puddle an SUV careened around the corner and almost took my door off.

We went down to the Brooklyn. Both bars are on fifteenth street, in "the hood" as they say in Springfield. The Brooklyn's the bar Linda turned me on to. She was supposed to have gotten out of prison that day, so I called "Ralph". He said he's just got back from getting her. I said I'd call the next day, and he said they'd probably be at the parole officer's place all day. I still haven't talked to Linda.

I'd answered her letter, and it came back six days before she was released. Seems they won't deliver mail to prisoners unless there's a name on it.

But anyway, I digress, of course. The Brooklyn wasn't just Linda's bar, that's where Bighead always had me picking her up.

While we were there Brian saw a whore he knew. She walked in the front door and out the back, and Brian followed her. He was probably asking her for drugs, I imagine, because one of the effects of heroin is to take away sexual desire. Brian wouldn't have been interested in a supermodel.

Ironically, as Brian was following the whore out the door, Tami told me how "hot" she thought he was. She was the third woman to tell me that. Yeah, ladies, boost my ego some by telling the unfuckable nerd how hot you think some needle junkie is.

He came back in and I told him I wanted to meet her; I need a new whore as I haven't been laid in like forever.

His cash ran low, my cash ran low, and I dropped him off at home, then dropped Tami off and went home to bed.

Saturday morning as I was drinking my coffee the phone rang. It was Brian, who had some really really good pot he wanted to smoke with me. I told him I had to go see my daughter in Chatham and would call him. When I got off the phone Tami called, wantng to ask me "out" that night. "Out" in this case was in; she wanted to rent a movie and bring it over. I said "sure" and told her I was going to the bank and then to Chatham. She said she had some extra groceries my daughter might want, since she was going to be in the battered woman's shelter, so I told her she could go along.

We saw my daughter, and I took Tami home. I called Brian, who was just getting in the shower and would call back. So I went to Farley's for a beer.

The place was full of women, who all started leaving as soon as I got my second beer. Unfuckable.

Yes, my unfuckableness has given me a bad case of the blues.

Brian called, and I picked him up, got a twelve pack, and we drank it at my house. And smoked that excellent killer weed. I was zombified, and took him home about six and went home to bed myself.

Yesterday Tami called, wanting help "moving some stuff". Brian surprised her by showing up right before I got there, so he helped move her stuff.

To my place. Now I have the posessions of four homeless people in my basement, including my old friend Danny's and Amy's, who really isn't homeless now as she's staying at her boyfriend's. And my old girlfriend Robyn's. Robyn is dying of chirrosis.

So I have a new unemployed roommate for a while. I got rid of one albatross only to gain another.

Like I said, I'm a moron. Well hell, maybe this one will at least clean up the house...


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Not again....

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  • What would a reliable hooker cost in the Springfield area? It seems like for all you're spending at the bars, you could easily settle this drought.

    I man's got needs, you know.
    • Re: (Score:3, Informative)

      by sm62704 ( 957197 )
      They're cheap, twenty bucks and up (there's one who charges me $20 that gets up to $200 from guys with more dollars and less sense) but untrustworthy. It's hard to find a good one. "Bighead" was probably the worst lay I've had in my life.

      I know a few good ones, but they're hard to find, it's a matter of luck. They'll see you in the bars and ask if you "want some company" or call if they think of you.

      I don't want to pick one up off the street, because in the first place that's how I got involved with Bighead
      • Re: (Score:3, Informative)

        They're cheap, twenty bucks and up (there's one who charges me $20 that gets up to $200 from guys with more dollars and less sense) but untrustworthy. It's hard to find a good one. "Bighead" was probably the worst lay I've had in my life.

        That's why I said "reliable". A $20 hooker is not going to be reliable, and as you've noticed, you may have difficulties performing with a woman of that quality.

        In my part of the country, you can get a reliable, good-looking, vetted (definitely not a cop) hooker (incall) who will provide excellent service for about $150. Way outside of the $20 price range for sure, but worth every penny, in my opinion.

        To be clear, I've never used one. But if I wanted to, I'd know where to go.

        if I propositioned a hooker on the street she'd probably wind up being a cop on a prostitution sting

        The general rule there is t

        • Re: (Score:3, Informative)

          by sm62704 ( 957197 )
          A hooker in her early to mid 20s would be too young for me, she'd look like a child and I'd feel like a pederast.
        • I live right downtown in Toronto, about a block-and-a-half from Jilly's the strip joint stippers who can't dance anyplace else work. So one evening I go downstairs and out to go next door to get some milk. I am smoking, so I stand on the street for a minute, lo and behold this gorgeous blonde, almost 6', in her mid 20's walks along, slows down as she gets to me and asks "Are you looking for company?". I boggle, shake me head and say "No, just getting some milk", and off she goes. I almost wish I had said so
          • by sm62704 ( 957197 )
            We don't get hookers here, or crackheads for that matter. Ah well.

            I used to think the same thing about Springfield, and even blaghed [] about it. There had been a series in the local paper about "the prostitution problem" and I complained that Springfield's only prostitution problem was that it was virtually hooker-free.

            It isn't, they're just invisible unless you know what they look like. And there must be a lot of crackheads, because all the drug dealers I get pot from try to sell me crack, especially if they
  • For fuck sake, will you please get fucked!!! Have you actually got laid since the last time I hoped you got fucked?

    Dood, I don't want to sound mean, but seriously by reading your journal from time to time, I think you are letting one too many losers hang around you. Piss heads and junkies do nothing to help your self-esteem because usually they are selfish cunts, all good intentions but realistically Class A Fukwits.

    Just think of a race car trying to tow a boat in a race, it ain't gonna win eh?

    If "frie

    • Re: (Score:3, Informative)

      by sm62704 ( 957197 )
      One other thing, being a geek or nerd has nothing to do with getting laid

      True, but it's a running gag that works well at slashdot. And I have a subscription at the YMCA, they have all sorts of stuff; freeweights, Nautilis, a swimming pool, indoor track, it's very well equipped.

      And I think you might like the journal I just did. Both Amy and Tami are gone now, and Linda's out of prison. And I think she's cleaning up her act, I hope so.

      As to the ex, she knows what I think of her. But actually I've even forgive

The trouble with the rat-race is that even if you win, you're still a rat. -- Lily Tomlin