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Saturday, Apr. 03, 2004 / 1:31 p.m. ~She Was Never Knocked Out, Only Stunned By the Punches (the anger surfaces)~ Okay, this is really stupid, but I was totally swayed by the horoscopes. I had the one I'd paid for, the annual forecast, for me specifically, according to actual birth time even, the actual time I was pronounced a live human. I figured this would be fairly accurate. And I'd had a comparison done up between us, you know, his birthdate and my birthdate, and we were supposed to be HOT together, like amazing, like whoa and stuff. (do I sound like one of the kids yet?) And on that day, last Wednesday, I was to exude an 'aura of sex appeal and sensuality', and so I showered and dressed, and I think I even washed my hair, yeah, and damn if I didn't smell fantastic, and yes, I lost five pounds somehow, but this meant I had a beautiful flat belly and my low rise cords looked so damned good, I mean it, I was like totally fuckable, what with the back dimples he likes so much and everything, and maybe if he hadn't just jerked off, like he felt the need to tell me, before he'd showed up, he might have fucking jumped me right then and there. So, I leaned in and said, "I think we have tremendous sexual chemistry", thinking back on him pulling me down to that shaggy rug and the way we kissed more strongly, more passionately, our mouths were more entwined than they'd ever been, that last time, and the music that had been playing, and how I even wrote to him to tell him I bought it, I ordered the whole album from Amazon and they sent it to me and I was listening to it over and over again, and thinking of him, and his kisses and that night, and how yes, if I was honest, he did seem uncomfortable later, but I didn't blame it on me, I thought it was the drink, I thought it was him, and I thought in his humiliation with himself for not being able to 'perform' he associated that discomfort with me. "I think we have tremendous sexual chemistry", "Actually, I don't think we do...", and he went on... Yes, he elaborated. The one in November, the one ongoing, now THAT, THAT was tremendous sexual chemistry. With me? Eh. He could never get comfortable, he called himself 'square', and did this mean I am too wild, or too experienced, or too knowledgeable, or too varied, I mean it's not like I wanted to hang from the ceiling while he poked me in the ass with a stick or anything? The insults proceeded from there, oh yes they did. I had to get up and leave the bar at one point, considered running, jumping out a window at the very least, but I went back for more, like a boxer at the side of the rink, in his corner, to his 'corner', getting the pep talk from the invisible coach, someone squirting water in my mouth, dabbing at my wounds with a white towel. Round 1, the challenger wins! Round 2, she's back in, she's not down yet. Oh, was this when I looked in the next room and saw my date for the next night? And pointed him out only to see this one crane and crane his neck to try to get a look at who would ever go out with me on an actual date. This was when we found out that for him, for this one, I am not actual 'dating', nor 'girlfriend', and good god in heaven holy moly fagioli what the hell were you thinking, 'marriage' material. He kissed me on my cheek on his way out, could not stand to be there, didn't wait for me to go down for the count, saw the last punch left me standing, stunned, in sitting position, she's stunned, she can't move, he thinks this fight is over, the challenger has left the rink, people! His arms are raised over his head and he parades victoriously from the arena. But wait, she's not down, she didn't go down, we have a stalemate, no one won this match. And she goes home and writes, as she is wont to do, all the Why?s and the Just tell mes!, and the Please Responds!, and he does, oh how he does. Yeah, the challenger says I'm ready for more, woman, I will knock you down if it is the last thing I do, you are asking for it, baby, I will stick the knife in and twist it until you no longer resemble a human being. You are too old, you can't have my babies, and I won't rescue Chinese orphans (and she thinks, but I like Chinese orphans, I'd like to rescue some Iraqi orphans too, what, are you a xenophobe?), and you're a hippie at your core, I don't like hippies (damn, I NEVER should've worn that tie-dye the last time we had sex, what was I thinking?), and I am not THAT attracted to you, it's your voice (funny, you really liked the MP3s I recorded, said I sounded like a late-night DJ, funny that), or the way you move (was it because when you pulled me to you, and the music was playing, I didn't dance with you?, I wasn't sure we should go through with the 'booty call', I wasn't sure we should have sex at all, I wasn't sure, I didn't know if you wanted to dance, I was feeling you out, I had on a tie-dye and you hate hippies after all), it's just not there. It's just not there, I fucked you three times, but this time I jerked off first, because it's just not there. I had to release my builtup tension because I knew I'd want you, um, but it's just not there, do you hear me, JUST NOT THERE. Sure, I had sex with you, I'm an animal (we'll leave out the word 'human', we're still undecided about that one), how could I know you'd beg me to love you, you'd be so goddamned needy, like actually wanting to see me outside my fucking apartment? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I am too Catholic for you, you pagan half-Jew. You old ugly hag of a hippie half-Jew. No one wants you, you suck, you make me lose my erection, I can't keep it up when I'm inside of you you disgust me so thoroughly. And you are too skinny, you old skinny hag half-Jew hippie you, your tits are too fucking small, and when I said you smelled good that time, I lied, and when I wrote that I liked your hippie attitude, that was a lie too. And so I write this to you to tell you that you should just go ahead and slit both wrists with the sharp edge of one of the razors you never use to shave your hairy disgusting legs, because not only did I never want you the three times I had sex with you, not even the first time I invited you to my apartment and massaged you and told you I could not believe you are 42, and after eating your pussy all night long, tampon enclosed therein, slept with you close to me, my arm tight around you. Not even then did I want you, and certainly not later when I discovered what a fucking emotional hothead you are, and how disgusting you are, and how you have feelings that you express. How could I ever want to be with a woman who actually EXPRESSES HOW SHE FEELS? And how dare you tell me you love me, or that you want to love me, or that you are in love with me, because look at me, read the words I am writing to you now, I am a horrible excuse for a man, I suck and should die even more than you, and no priest can ever absolve me of the guilt I feel all through my persona, no one but my mommy should love me and my daddy obviously never did. His career mattered most, and he didn't want such a pansy-ass son, he wanted someone strong and manly and I never was, so I hated him, but wanted him to love me, and now you and other women say you love me and all I can do is look at other women and wonder why I can't have the pretty ones, the ones who would never even look at me, because it's easier to want the ones I can't have. And my mommy tells me I'll find a good Catholic girl, a virgin who can make me stay hard, one who sits with hands in lap and never speaks unless spoken to, a good 17 year old I can marry, so I have hope still. And I think I might be gay, but I don't know to deal with that anyway. (And, pansy-ass, whatever happened with the herpes anwyay? Do you still have it or what? I think the Challenger just went down!) Cost of the War in Iraq
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