I moved out of my place in Arizona yesterday.
1900 miles in 3 days. 1300 of them 19 hours yesterday.
It made me sad. Conflicted. I guess it was the physical manifestation of me giving up on the dream.
I will lie tomorrow like I lied yesterday. I'm better at it, perhaps -- I can talk about frat parties and dorm rooms. I can talk about all night study sessions and dumb roommates.
I can continue to lie.
Thanks, dad. You were successful in imprinting a little piece of your failed existence on me, after all.
--
Slutbag wrote me today. It was a mass email asking for advice on a volunteer program abroad where she'd get sponsored for her travel and lodging in exchange for her time.
Hmm, how about the Organization for the Survivors of Cheating Whores?
--
K, that's all. Life isn't really that bad. I'm just a little... irreverent. Perhaps.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Drunk drunk drunk. Drunk!
Yes, drunk. Some irishman offered me a pour of goldschlager and I took it. And he poured. And poured. And poured. I think I took on 8 shots at once. It was like a twenty second pour.
Ow.
And I'm drunk. And alone. Because you're honest when you're drunk, right, and honesty says that I love the people I trust so much more than they deserve and could give a fuck about everyone else... hot or not.
So. I miss Laura right now. Enough to go look at her myspace and note that I am nowhere to be found. That I am but her dirty little secret from three summers ago, a footnote in the great expanse of life, the google cache, and the universe.
I'm ok with that. But I still miss her.
Tear.
I miss Presh, too, even as I acknowledge that there's nothing to miss.
With either of them. They were nothing except some fanciful nightmare of dream trapped within my own head.
...says the hurting sensitivity of all that is Alfie to himself in hopes that he'll believe.
Ow.
And I'm drunk. And alone. Because you're honest when you're drunk, right, and honesty says that I love the people I trust so much more than they deserve and could give a fuck about everyone else... hot or not.
So. I miss Laura right now. Enough to go look at her myspace and note that I am nowhere to be found. That I am but her dirty little secret from three summers ago, a footnote in the great expanse of life, the google cache, and the universe.
I'm ok with that. But I still miss her.
Tear.
I miss Presh, too, even as I acknowledge that there's nothing to miss.
With either of them. They were nothing except some fanciful nightmare of dream trapped within my own head.
...says the hurting sensitivity of all that is Alfie to himself in hopes that he'll believe.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Negativity
Someone "told" me that a downer friend is no friend. That's bullshit. Fuck you. No warning, no comment, no constructive criticism. And you're supposed to be my friend.
Oops. Guess not. Guess I'm not good enough, or "up" enough, or positive enough.
Well, that's fucked up. You're NOT my friend. Maybe you never were. A friend pulls his buddy up.
A friend sticks around.
A friend announces when, how, and why if he needs to protect his boundaries. A friend who has sensitive boundaries shares them and asks his friend not to cross them. He doesn't just watch as they are crossed and then halts the friendship.
So, yeah, irreparable damage. I thought you were family. I thought you were around for a lifetime.
But, alas, you're... nothing but a girl. You leave for no reason. You leave when I actually need you. You leave when I believe you'll never ever leave, when the cynicism gives way to faith.
You leave. I come last, a footnote, a forgotten memory, a faint image, like a grainy vision or a distant shoreline in the fog.
You leave. And like all the other girls, I shall go on without you. I shall relish in my transactional relationships, whispering my negativity to the permanent record of the googlebot, alone with my superficial friends and the contracts they come with.
You will be added to the long list of people that left me for no reason. Who left me simply because I was me and shared all. Who promised and betrayed, who earned my trust and faith only to squander it, who, well, can suck a dick.
--
So, um, yeah. I miss my friend. But, frankly...
Fuck you all. Bitches.
--
PS This is for you, too, Ayla. Your paradise is never coming.
Oops. Guess not. Guess I'm not good enough, or "up" enough, or positive enough.
Well, that's fucked up. You're NOT my friend. Maybe you never were. A friend pulls his buddy up.
A friend sticks around.
A friend announces when, how, and why if he needs to protect his boundaries. A friend who has sensitive boundaries shares them and asks his friend not to cross them. He doesn't just watch as they are crossed and then halts the friendship.
So, yeah, irreparable damage. I thought you were family. I thought you were around for a lifetime.
But, alas, you're... nothing but a girl. You leave for no reason. You leave when I actually need you. You leave when I believe you'll never ever leave, when the cynicism gives way to faith.
You leave. I come last, a footnote, a forgotten memory, a faint image, like a grainy vision or a distant shoreline in the fog.
You leave. And like all the other girls, I shall go on without you. I shall relish in my transactional relationships, whispering my negativity to the permanent record of the googlebot, alone with my superficial friends and the contracts they come with.
You will be added to the long list of people that left me for no reason. Who left me simply because I was me and shared all. Who promised and betrayed, who earned my trust and faith only to squander it, who, well, can suck a dick.
--
So, um, yeah. I miss my friend. But, frankly...
Fuck you all. Bitches.
--
PS This is for you, too, Ayla. Your paradise is never coming.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
sigh
"The thing is, it's NOT that bad for me. It's NOT that bad to have mediocre sex with some random chick and feel slightly conflicted about her nuzzling up to me afterwardss. It's NOT that bad to smell her hair, and, instead of feeling a sense of home and completeness, try to determine whether it's Biolage or not. It's NOT that bad.
Because, you see, unlike you, that's better than normal. That's better than I've had in quite some time... maybe ever. It's not a step down or backward to have a fake sense of intimacy with someone like it is for you. It's a step up."
(said to a friend of mine recently when he expressed confusion at my contemplation of having a one night stand on my birthday. I didn't, btw.)
--
I went to a party tonight. I saw an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time -- a friend of the roommate of the girl who invited me (also an old friend). We went full circle... I knew Carlos, who knew X, who knew Y, who knew Michele, who rooms with Danielle, who is my friend. Six degrees, full circle. Nice.
It was good to see him.
D is Texas' older sister, though, and I found myself staring her straight in the face when I went to the rest room. I was up there, along with a dozen other smiling faces I knew all to well. And I missed. Not her, really. I missed being there, feeling her, feeling me feel her. I guess I missed feeling.
I stared at her, and she wasn't the little girl I remembered. She wasn't the memory of a memory I have. Nor was there an emotional response.
Just missing what it felt like to miss, maybe.
--
I got invited out on a boat ride tomorrow night. Perfect spot to seduce some little girl... invite her out, have some drinks, hang out with rich people, imply that "all of this can be yours if only [you can hold on to me]", then take her home and fuck the shit out of her.
And I thought about who I could invite, and I thought about how a good night's sleep sounds so much better.
Then I thought about just posting a unicorn ad on craigslist. Like an ad for an employee, only for a girlfriend.
"Must be emotionally available, be able to load weights on a leg press machine, witty/intelligent/educated, and 25-30. Pick any two. Me? I fill out your Cosmo quizzes nicely and your mom will like me."
Somehow I think I'll get a few fat chicks replying on an ad like that and nothing more. Quoth the Quagmyre, "hey, fat chicks need love too!"
Sure. Just not on my watch.
--
So, yeah, I'm sad tonight.
--
Oh, hey, Presh wrote me back. "Loved your email. Thank you very much."
Uh huh. Sure. I pine over you for a decade and that's what I get? Heh. She processed for a week and wrote THAT on my friggin Myspace comment/wall. Sheesh.
('sok. I wasn't expecting much more than that.)
--
Falling asleep. My melancholy will have to wait.
Because, you see, unlike you, that's better than normal. That's better than I've had in quite some time... maybe ever. It's not a step down or backward to have a fake sense of intimacy with someone like it is for you. It's a step up."
(said to a friend of mine recently when he expressed confusion at my contemplation of having a one night stand on my birthday. I didn't, btw.)
--
I went to a party tonight. I saw an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time -- a friend of the roommate of the girl who invited me (also an old friend). We went full circle... I knew Carlos, who knew X, who knew Y, who knew Michele, who rooms with Danielle, who is my friend. Six degrees, full circle. Nice.
It was good to see him.
D is Texas' older sister, though, and I found myself staring her straight in the face when I went to the rest room. I was up there, along with a dozen other smiling faces I knew all to well. And I missed. Not her, really. I missed being there, feeling her, feeling me feel her. I guess I missed feeling.
I stared at her, and she wasn't the little girl I remembered. She wasn't the memory of a memory I have. Nor was there an emotional response.
Just missing what it felt like to miss, maybe.
--
I got invited out on a boat ride tomorrow night. Perfect spot to seduce some little girl... invite her out, have some drinks, hang out with rich people, imply that "all of this can be yours if only [you can hold on to me]", then take her home and fuck the shit out of her.
And I thought about who I could invite, and I thought about how a good night's sleep sounds so much better.
Then I thought about just posting a unicorn ad on craigslist. Like an ad for an employee, only for a girlfriend.
"Must be emotionally available, be able to load weights on a leg press machine, witty/intelligent/educated, and 25-30. Pick any two. Me? I fill out your Cosmo quizzes nicely and your mom will like me."
Somehow I think I'll get a few fat chicks replying on an ad like that and nothing more. Quoth the Quagmyre, "hey, fat chicks need love too!"
Sure. Just not on my watch.
--
So, yeah, I'm sad tonight.
--
Oh, hey, Presh wrote me back. "Loved your email. Thank you very much."
Uh huh. Sure. I pine over you for a decade and that's what I get? Heh. She processed for a week and wrote THAT on my friggin Myspace comment/wall. Sheesh.
('sok. I wasn't expecting much more than that.)
--
Falling asleep. My melancholy will have to wait.
Friday, May 2, 2008
P.S.
If you happened to donate semen to my mother roughly 31 years and 9 months ago, I DON'T appreciate your call.
I deleted that message before the third word was spoken.
Frankly, if you would just hurry up and die, the world would be a better place, and four people I care deeply about would all be happier and healthier. I'm one one of them.
Go find your place with god. 'cause you ain't finding it here.
I deleted that message before the third word was spoken.
Frankly, if you would just hurry up and die, the world would be a better place, and four people I care deeply about would all be happier and healthier. I'm one one of them.
Go find your place with god. 'cause you ain't finding it here.
I sent it
"I've been wanting to tell you something for... oh I dunno. Over a decade?
(It's my birthday, you know, and I'm feeling sentimental. Go figure.)
You already know. I know you do. Just... I love you. Always have, and always will. Maybe not romantically, maybe not anything any more than at a distance, maybe only when songs from 1995 come on the radio, maybe only when I see popcorn ceilings and remember sanding yours with you and Amy, maybe just the random what-if and the little smile that comes up when I see a message from you on my birthday.
When you showed up in town last autumn, I didn't dare admit it, not to myself, let alone anyone else, but seeing you made me so very happy. I held my breath when you came in the room and (please don't tell) cried when you left.
Let's just say I wish I could have a coffee with you anytime I wanted. One day, a long time from now, I'd very much like it if the people we are now (and will become) could be friends again like we were then... taking time for granted, loving without knowing, knowing without feeling, not even realizing how innocent we were, nor how much life lie ahead, nor just how valuable those few short experiences were.
Until then, just know that someone, without contention, sans any selfishness or motive, loves you and wants you to be the very best person you can be -- happy, healthy, loved and in love, hopeful and content, joyous and awe-struck.
Promise.
May the world be your oyster and your soul be complete.
Always,
(alfie)"
(It's my birthday, you know, and I'm feeling sentimental. Go figure.)
You already know. I know you do. Just... I love you. Always have, and always will. Maybe not romantically, maybe not anything any more than at a distance, maybe only when songs from 1995 come on the radio, maybe only when I see popcorn ceilings and remember sanding yours with you and Amy, maybe just the random what-if and the little smile that comes up when I see a message from you on my birthday.
When you showed up in town last autumn, I didn't dare admit it, not to myself, let alone anyone else, but seeing you made me so very happy. I held my breath when you came in the room and (please don't tell) cried when you left.
Let's just say I wish I could have a coffee with you anytime I wanted. One day, a long time from now, I'd very much like it if the people we are now (and will become) could be friends again like we were then... taking time for granted, loving without knowing, knowing without feeling, not even realizing how innocent we were, nor how much life lie ahead, nor just how valuable those few short experiences were.
Until then, just know that someone, without contention, sans any selfishness or motive, loves you and wants you to be the very best person you can be -- happy, healthy, loved and in love, hopeful and content, joyous and awe-struck.
Promise.
May the world be your oyster and your soul be complete.
Always,
(alfie)"
Monday, April 7, 2008
Definitely, Maybe
I just ended a four-month relationship today.
Well, it wasn't technically a "relationship", because no titles were exchanged and I cut ties the week I started to feel that I wanted more. But I haven't slept with anyone else since running into her in December. And I have only been on one actual "date" since then, too.
With someone else, I mean.
Tonight I saw a great flick -- "Definitely, Maybe", with Ryan Reynolds. It was a chick flick for guys. Good thing I'm a gay man that likes vagina. And, you know, dislikes sleeping with dudes.
So, yeah, I enjoyed it thoroughly. It made me angry and sad, spawned laughter and tension, and pretty much all around hit me where it hurt. The dad thing, the girl thing, the cheating thing... it was all in there in one big Alfie-emo package. I highly recommend it to all you other sensitive new age guy (gay) vagina-lovers out there. It'll make you cry.
And, of course, it had the happy ending we all knew it would, even as we feigned disbelief in those final moments, even when it seemed like it might follow the troubled road of real life, that the girl would look at the boy and it would feel awkward rather than amazing, bittersweet instead of fairy-talish... Right before she jumped into his arms and they lived happily ever after.
And I looked over at the girl with me, my eyes all swollen with tears I was choking back, and I didn't feel anything towards her. And the "yeah, I don't know what's up with us... still figuring it out" sentiment that I've been noticing for the past month suddenly became, "nope, not so much."
Because you really want to watch a movie like that -- with a girl -- and think to yourself "maybe". If you get a "definitely" in front, that's of course a plus, but that maybe is key. No maybes for Alfie today, I'm afraid.
So. I have to admit that I'm thinking seriously about not dating at all for awhile. There really is not point except for sex, right? And since I haven't had great sex since... Thanksgiving. Sigh. It obviously isn't critical.
Simone was great. Smart, athletic, and... completely unavailable. She never missed me. Which is great if you're just dating to date, or go through the motions, or want slightly-attached sex once every week or so.
But I want more. If it's unattached sex, then it has to be really great sex, goddamn it.
Oh, yeah, and if I'm gonna date a chick "for real", then I want to be appreciated, missed, and wanted. Not needed, mind you -- if she needs me around to feel whole, that's fucked up. But shit. If I'm investing this much time in something, it better be either amazingly fun (you want to do what?) or have potential for meaning.
If it's not either of those, I'd rather be hanging out with the guys or billing. Fun or productive, dammit. That's really all I have the patience for.
--
All of that being said, I wonder if I have an April (movie reference). Presh? Humph. Maybe I should (ahem) tell her. You know, about loving her since that church-sanctioned slow dance when we were sixteen. Or whenever that was.
--
S. said she related to one of the uncool chicks in the flick. She identified with her for choosing work over a man. Her man, who just so happened (in the flick) to have 2 carats in his pocket just as she put him in last place.
Last place. That was my line today. She said that we should hang out. I recall acting surprised. "Why would you think I didn't want to hang out?" she asked.
Oh, nothing in particular. I've just kinda noticed that I'm in last place these days.
"Last place? Oh, well, sorry. I've been busy. Besides, it's not like you called ME back yesterday."
And I didn't. But a guy has to retake his power back, and after being flaked on, I really didn't care what she was doing on Saturday night. I was busy watching the UNC game and drinking beer. Far more productive AND fun. Psssh.
I was mad at her. I was mad because I felt -- feel -- that I deserve better.
--
So the movie started, more or less, with the dude's first love telling him she cheated on him just as he's getting down on one knee. I ran to the restroom during her "explanation". Kinda made me mad. Angry.
Interestingly, I was almost confused when the second girl chose work over him. I remember wondering why he so quickly and categorically axed her from his life. But maybe that's my own insanity coming out... because, really, I made the same call just a few hours ago in real life. I want to be close to the top of the list. I'll play teeter-totter with work, sure, but when it comes right down to it, I deserve to be at the top of a rather short list. I'll even work for it, but it has to be possible. And I don't think it is for S.
I wonder, actually, if it's possible for anyone. Anyone who has been burned, at least. Which is, you know, pretty much everyone old enough to hold a decent conversation. Maybe I should go back to AZ. Heh.
--
So how's this?
Hey there,
I hope this finds you well. It's hard to believe that your visit was six months ago -- it seems so much more recent than that.
I'm not writing just to say hello, I'm afraid. There's something I need to confess.
I've thought of you often over the years -- always fondly, always wondering where you were and how you were doing, hoping you were happy or at least enjoying yourself. There's several songs that remind me of you, in fact, and I remember you every single time I hear them. Someday I'll have to tell you which ones they are.
The things is... (gulp) When you came, I saw that you were happy. I saw you, a woman I barely knew, but whom within there was a girl I adored, and I saw that there was little to hide and much to share. I wish that we'd had more time to catch up.
When I think of you, I wish you happiness more than anything else. It comes before what you're doing. It comes before where you are. And it definitely comes before the "what if" questions that sometimes wander through my head.
Because, you see, those "what ifs" are my confession. I must preface it, of course, with the realization that I hardly know the person you are today, that you hardly know me, that you're a half-world away, that you love someone else, and all the rest of it. This isn't some sort of call to action nor some nostalgia for remnants of younger days.
So here it is. I've never thought of you as "the one that got away" or "damn, we shoulda...". I nevertheless have loved you since we were 16. Or you were 15 and I was 17. Or whatever the heck it was. Since slow-dancing in Delia's living room. Since those one or two times I turned up at Sunday meeting and you were there. Since Capitola with Heidi and Kendra. Since sanding your ceiling 'til 4am and painting clouds n' rainbows. And no, of course I didn't know at the time. How could I have? I didn't realize it, actually, until I saw you last fall. But I did. And I do wonder what might have resulted if either of us had made different decisions.
That's all I have to say about that. I hope you remain happy and healthy wherever you are, enjoying a full and beautiful life. I have no expectations. The mature cynic in me, in fact, thinks it foolish to even bring it up. I suppose I "just wanted you to know".
Disclaimers aside, if you ever find yourself feeling like you don't belong, feeling lost or alone, feeling without a god, country, or home, please, please show up on my doorstep.
--
Pssh. I'm not gonna send that shit. Phuck that.
Well, it wasn't technically a "relationship", because no titles were exchanged and I cut ties the week I started to feel that I wanted more. But I haven't slept with anyone else since running into her in December. And I have only been on one actual "date" since then, too.
With someone else, I mean.
Tonight I saw a great flick -- "Definitely, Maybe", with Ryan Reynolds. It was a chick flick for guys. Good thing I'm a gay man that likes vagina. And, you know, dislikes sleeping with dudes.
So, yeah, I enjoyed it thoroughly. It made me angry and sad, spawned laughter and tension, and pretty much all around hit me where it hurt. The dad thing, the girl thing, the cheating thing... it was all in there in one big Alfie-emo package. I highly recommend it to all you other sensitive new age guy (gay) vagina-lovers out there. It'll make you cry.
And, of course, it had the happy ending we all knew it would, even as we feigned disbelief in those final moments, even when it seemed like it might follow the troubled road of real life, that the girl would look at the boy and it would feel awkward rather than amazing, bittersweet instead of fairy-talish... Right before she jumped into his arms and they lived happily ever after.
And I looked over at the girl with me, my eyes all swollen with tears I was choking back, and I didn't feel anything towards her. And the "yeah, I don't know what's up with us... still figuring it out" sentiment that I've been noticing for the past month suddenly became, "nope, not so much."
Because you really want to watch a movie like that -- with a girl -- and think to yourself "maybe". If you get a "definitely" in front, that's of course a plus, but that maybe is key. No maybes for Alfie today, I'm afraid.
So. I have to admit that I'm thinking seriously about not dating at all for awhile. There really is not point except for sex, right? And since I haven't had great sex since... Thanksgiving. Sigh. It obviously isn't critical.
Simone was great. Smart, athletic, and... completely unavailable. She never missed me. Which is great if you're just dating to date, or go through the motions, or want slightly-attached sex once every week or so.
But I want more. If it's unattached sex, then it has to be really great sex, goddamn it.
Oh, yeah, and if I'm gonna date a chick "for real", then I want to be appreciated, missed, and wanted. Not needed, mind you -- if she needs me around to feel whole, that's fucked up. But shit. If I'm investing this much time in something, it better be either amazingly fun (you want to do what?) or have potential for meaning.
If it's not either of those, I'd rather be hanging out with the guys or billing. Fun or productive, dammit. That's really all I have the patience for.
--
All of that being said, I wonder if I have an April (movie reference). Presh? Humph. Maybe I should (ahem) tell her. You know, about loving her since that church-sanctioned slow dance when we were sixteen. Or whenever that was.
--
S. said she related to one of the uncool chicks in the flick. She identified with her for choosing work over a man. Her man, who just so happened (in the flick) to have 2 carats in his pocket just as she put him in last place.
Last place. That was my line today. She said that we should hang out. I recall acting surprised. "Why would you think I didn't want to hang out?" she asked.
Oh, nothing in particular. I've just kinda noticed that I'm in last place these days.
"Last place? Oh, well, sorry. I've been busy. Besides, it's not like you called ME back yesterday."
And I didn't. But a guy has to retake his power back, and after being flaked on, I really didn't care what she was doing on Saturday night. I was busy watching the UNC game and drinking beer. Far more productive AND fun. Psssh.
I was mad at her. I was mad because I felt -- feel -- that I deserve better.
--
So the movie started, more or less, with the dude's first love telling him she cheated on him just as he's getting down on one knee. I ran to the restroom during her "explanation". Kinda made me mad. Angry.
Interestingly, I was almost confused when the second girl chose work over him. I remember wondering why he so quickly and categorically axed her from his life. But maybe that's my own insanity coming out... because, really, I made the same call just a few hours ago in real life. I want to be close to the top of the list. I'll play teeter-totter with work, sure, but when it comes right down to it, I deserve to be at the top of a rather short list. I'll even work for it, but it has to be possible. And I don't think it is for S.
I wonder, actually, if it's possible for anyone. Anyone who has been burned, at least. Which is, you know, pretty much everyone old enough to hold a decent conversation. Maybe I should go back to AZ. Heh.
--
So how's this?
Hey there,
I hope this finds you well. It's hard to believe that your visit was six months ago -- it seems so much more recent than that.
I'm not writing just to say hello, I'm afraid. There's something I need to confess.
I've thought of you often over the years -- always fondly, always wondering where you were and how you were doing, hoping you were happy or at least enjoying yourself. There's several songs that remind me of you, in fact, and I remember you every single time I hear them. Someday I'll have to tell you which ones they are.
The things is... (gulp) When you came, I saw that you were happy. I saw you, a woman I barely knew, but whom within there was a girl I adored, and I saw that there was little to hide and much to share. I wish that we'd had more time to catch up.
When I think of you, I wish you happiness more than anything else. It comes before what you're doing. It comes before where you are. And it definitely comes before the "what if" questions that sometimes wander through my head.
Because, you see, those "what ifs" are my confession. I must preface it, of course, with the realization that I hardly know the person you are today, that you hardly know me, that you're a half-world away, that you love someone else, and all the rest of it. This isn't some sort of call to action nor some nostalgia for remnants of younger days.
So here it is. I've never thought of you as "the one that got away" or "damn, we shoulda...". I nevertheless have loved you since we were 16. Or you were 15 and I was 17. Or whatever the heck it was. Since slow-dancing in Delia's living room. Since those one or two times I turned up at Sunday meeting and you were there. Since Capitola with Heidi and Kendra. Since sanding your ceiling 'til 4am and painting clouds n' rainbows. And no, of course I didn't know at the time. How could I have? I didn't realize it, actually, until I saw you last fall. But I did. And I do wonder what might have resulted if either of us had made different decisions.
That's all I have to say about that. I hope you remain happy and healthy wherever you are, enjoying a full and beautiful life. I have no expectations. The mature cynic in me, in fact, thinks it foolish to even bring it up. I suppose I "just wanted you to know".
Disclaimers aside, if you ever find yourself feeling like you don't belong, feeling lost or alone, feeling without a god, country, or home, please, please show up on my doorstep.
--
Pssh. I'm not gonna send that shit. Phuck that.
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