As I write this, there's a hooker mopping my kitchen floor.
It's been such a peaceful week! No crazy women driving me crazy, no roommates, no drama, just me and my books, beer, and my daughter's cats. Sweet solitude!
I was bored out of my mind and lonely as hell.
Monday night the phone rang around eight. It was Danny, calling from Farley's, drunk on his ass. "Come get me and I'll get you high!" Ok, I haven't had any reefer in a while so I went and got him. Of course, he didn't have any but needed somebody to help him cop. What the hell, I copped for him and we smoked the bong and drank some beer, and I took him home.
If you have a drunk and rowdy friend, feed him some reefer and he'll calm right down. I took him home about ten, and went home myself and crashed.
Tuesday night was equally peaceful. A single phone call, from Kelly. Sweet sweet Kelly with the voice that makes the angels themselves jealous. If she ever gets a 900 phone number and opens a sex chat line she'll become wealthy beyond Bill Gates' dreams. Damn but I'd love to get intimate with her.
She's very physically attractive, too. Not as drop-dead georgeous as the ten years younger than her Amy, but pretty damned good looking. The contrast is, Amy has a voice that's been abused by whiskey and cigarettes, and sounds like Homer Simpson's sisters. Or is that Marge's sisters? Not to be confused with Homer's brother's wife.
She asked me to take her out! Not Gail Simpson, I don't even know her. I mean Kelly. So I have a hot date tomorrow with the good looking ladylike Kelly and her beautiful sexy voice, and I'm thinking "wow! I have a date with Kelly, whose getting divorced, and there are no roommates or crazy women here! WooHoo! Maybe I'll finally get lucky!"
Yesterday I wasted a bunch of time at slashdot, and discovered that if you have excellent karma you can only post fifty comments in a day, including the thirty replies to comments waiting in the "slashdot message center" you invariably get when most of your comments are rated three to five (+3, interesting. +5 funny). So I could only respond to half of them.
I submitted a journal predicting the doom of civilization as we know it (civilization as my grandfather knew it was also doomed, and died sometime around my birth) to the front page, where it will languish in the firehose for a couple of days and get utterly dejectingly rejected. I submitted Group Plans to Bring Martian Sample to Earth which was at the top of the front page this morning. First one I've submitted in quite some time that wasn't rejected, but hell, with my women problems, "rejected" is my middle name. Like I mentioned in my last diary-type journal Asses, asses, all fall down (my hand is still sore from my slip on the ice), just when I was five minutes from doing it with Crazy Debbie, Amy, who was on the couch sleeping, started snoring. "Debbie remarks that I'm a player, that I have all these girlfriends" as I wrote in that blagh, and all of a sudden I was undesireable. Rejection! Rejection! Rejection! Nudge nudge know what I mean? Know what imeem [parody error 654, out of bounds]
But at least you guys love me, you posted the IMARS thing.
Right before lunch Amy calls, she's going to be there at lunch. I went to lunch, no Amy. Damn, I wanted my spare keys back, as she's been home maybe three times in the last month, all at the exactly right time to keep me from getting laid. She calls again after lunch and says she'll be there after I get off work. I get offf work, no Amy. So I decided to go to Farley's for a beer, and Amy's friend Shawna was there. She hadn't seen Amy since the three of us had drank at the Firehouse last weekend. Shawna says she's going to call me.
Yeah. Right. Ok. Not only that but I'm going to find a winning lottery ticket on the ground, too. And a Nigerian princess is going to make me rich. And a beautiful twenty five year old Russian girl is going to fly to Springfield and marry me.
I leave to go home, stop by the gas station for beer, and the phone rings as I'm walking out of the store. It's "Julia" (not her real name), the hooker with the boyfriend that doesn't know she's a prostitute. Uh, I think maybe he might know now, because she's very distraught; her boyfriend who she's been living with for two or three years threw her out and won't even speak to her. And of course she's too distraught to have sex with me.
Three weeks ago when she had a boyfriend she was willing to have sex for the fifty bucks I was too cheap to spend but now that she doesn't have a boyfriend she won't. Not even for rent; she wants to crash at my house for a few days... and I have that date with Kelly tomorrow. Shit, Kelly will probably stand me up anyway. The ones that don't reject me outright stand me up.
I need a good woman to keep me away from all these bad ones, but I finally have women figured out. The good girls are only attracted to the bad boys so they can rehabilitate them, while the bad girls are attracted to the nice guys they can use and abuse.
Right before the alarm clock went off this morning Amy showed up. She wants me to take her to the hospital after work if she's not feeling any better because she lost her Zoloft a few days ago so she's suicidal now. But after talking with the hooker and me for a while as I'm drinking my coffee, and after listening to me whine about never getting laid and how I'm surely going to be cockblocked again tomorrow night, assuming Kelly doesn't stand me up, she gets cheered up a bit.
Probably because she's going to have another chance to cockblock me again. Women are evil, and men are stupid. And I'm the dumbest man on the planet.