December 31, 2014

A trip shooting, and then Kate's birthday party (Portland, OR)

Since I'd made plans to take J.N.S. shooting the last time I saw her (and remembering A.B.'s words that my taking her out all the time to *do* things was how I won her heart), I actually did some research and found a place to shoot guns after six on a weekday.

I texted J.N.S. and invited her. This began a multi-day, endless back-and-forth of trying to talk her into meeting me to shoot guns. It was funner that it sounds.

For every time I said something like, "You should join me at x date and time," she'd counter with a description of some physical or emotional malady that would prevent her from going: the loud noises would hurt her ears, she had too much fun the last time she saw me and didn't want it to "go downhill", etc. I responded exclusively with non sequiturs or by changing the subject.

I can't win the war of negativity with this girl. It isn't going to happen. She's outrageous.

I'm specifically going to NOT try, too. I mustn't mention any kind of loneliness, terror, or anxiety to her. I think that would queer things. Every time I've alluded to anything similar, she's tensed up a a bit. Makes me think that this bloody "alpha" pose we (men) must maintain to be successful with women really is universal, even with the WEIRDEST girl I've ever met. (Which is not to say I don't like her—I do.)

SO... We drove to the shooting range. I'd suspected that it would be the place I dropped A.B. off when she took her concealed carry class (this was one of our last outings together) and was proven correct. I told J.N.S. I'd never been there before. The place was closed. They had holiday hours.

(Before arriving, I stopped and bought my first lighter in years. This strikes me at this moment as being very important for some reason.)

Since we weren't going to shoot, we someone decided to go to a New Seasons grocery store in Vancouver, Washington. I guess J.N.S. needed some vegetables to make split pea soup. So off we went.

We hilariously got lost several times en route, but eventually we ended up at the store in the suburbs. J.N.S. is difficult to shop with. She wanders rapidly from item to item, throws mushrooms on the floor, etc. I found it endearing, of course. (Will it seem that way six months from now?)

Eventually she had what she wanted. I bought a bottel of wine, a custard doughnut, and an apple. I ate both foods in the car and J.N.S. ate whatever hand foods she'd bought. Then I drove her home because I was meeting Kate and them at the Standard bar for Kate's birthday. J.N.S. said she was not feeling well and didn't want to go.

We kissed for a few moments outside her place. Her little, sharp tongue darted about. She has a distinctive pleasant smell. I think I accidentally passed a small bit of apple skin into her mouth from between my teeth. I don't worry about that sort of thing much anymore, I guess. Then I drove away.

I parked in the wrong place and had to walk six blocks in the cold to get to the Standard. Had, ha ha, my standard level of anxiety concerning running into A.B. (are those even her initials anymore?) but it was quickly excised upon arrival.

Here are the people who were there:

  • Me
  • Kate
  • Kate's new boyfriend, called Jeff
  • Dan Asay 
  • Christy
  • That girl Kate works with, the one with the dreadlocks
  • Pseudo-lesbian L.
  • Katie's colleague C., as well as C.'s husband whose name escapes me (he should go by "Lucky"—they are outrageously mismatched in my opinion)

We drank and sang in the restaurant for a few hours. Dr. Snake showed up just as we were leaving. Then we went to Chopsticks.

Nothing much memorable about the rest of the night, except I think I saw a hot chick from OKCupid what calls herself Northflow or FlowsNorth or Snow-something. I don't know. Cute girl: slender, with glasses.

My old OKCupid profile, preserved for posterity (Portland, OR)

[I might as well record what I remember of my classic OKCupid profile somewhere. This is the one that won the hearts of Erin Beck, A.B., and a host of less important women from around 2010 to 2014. Requiescat in pace, Totally_Daniel: you did your best with what you had to work with.]

My self-summary
I occupy a 1300 cubic centimeter universe enclosed in bone and meninges and bathed in vile fluid.

Stop asking! Here's a list of all the tattoo drawings on me in descending order by size:
  1. Silhouette of Africa (weiner)
  2. Osama Bin Ladin portrait labelled CHIEF ENFRORCER (stomach)
  3. Lars Ulrich's signature (bicep)
  4. [I forgot this one]
  5. [I forgot this one, too]
  6. "If you can read this, the bitch fell off" (lips)

What I’m doing with my life
I'm out here singing the Monster Mash at karaoke on Christmas Eve and barking Jingle Bells in a dog costume on Halloween.

The rest of my time goes to thinking bad about world travel, boutique food, being outside, social issues, and other things non-me people seem to care about or enjoy.

I’m really good at
Alienating this hoes, apparently:
[Here there were a bunch of quotations—with linked attributions!—from women who'd send me insulting or mean-spirited messages over the years.]

Impersonating Cary Grant. Or saying the wrong thing to some more sensitive person. I'm really bad at summoning either outcome on demand, though.

The first things people usually notice about me
My backup dancers.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
I read more and more boring policy books the older I get, because I am a crank. But also Emily Dickinson (my celebrity crush), Kingsley Amis, Neal Stephenson, and a list of other randoms like you'd expect from an autodidactic college drop-out.

I'll put Silk's "Freak Me" on the stereo if I'm trying to get down with a girl, but mainly I like negative, claustrophobic music like Xiu Xiu, Brainbombs, and This Mortal Coil. Also teen pop from people like Zendaya or Taylor Swift. This isn't a joke or me trying to be cute; when it's done right, that stuff is transcendent.

I like idiotic comedies about people falling in love and teenagers working out their personal problems. Ideally both. Sixteen Candles is my kind of flick.

I'm into TV: Golden Girls, Roseanne... All that good shit. I've seen every episode of Roseanne approximately one thousand times (except the ninth season, which ain't no good).

I overturn rocks to reveal and consume insects, moist leaves, and decaying wood. Or I eat anything that comes wrapped in wax paper with a clown's face printed on it.

The six things I could never do without
1. Silence
2. This product: http://socalab.250x.com/hypno.html "WHY PAY TOO MUCH FOR YOUR HYPNOSIS SYSTEM?"
3. This record:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Controversy_(Willie_D_album)#mediaviewer/File:Willie_Dee_Controversy.jpg
4. Delight at my own wit
5. Pizza and other junk food
6. Argumentative women

I spend a lot of time thinking about
Myself.

On a typical Friday night I am
Digging up graves to steal gold watches and vintage shrouds, selling ketamine to grade schoolers, or looking at Urkel on my color TV. [Earlier iterations included "masturbating to pictures of local girls on OKCupid" and "ogling tweens at the mall".]

The most private thing I’m willing to admit
A few days after 9/11 I burned down what I believed at the time to be a mosque in Annandale, Virginia to retaliate.

You should message me if
...you like losing at Scrabble.
...you've mistaken me for your father and wish to scold me about whatever smelly little orthodoxy you champion.
...your profile doesn't include hideous jargon or neologisms: "genderqueer", "food justice", pan- or poly- anything, etc.

December 26, 2014

Soon after Christmas (apologies to Stina Nordenstam) (Portland, OR)

[Christmas night. In keeping with my tradition of emailing, calling, or texting B.H. whenever I get really drunk and am unsupervised, I sent the following text messages. I've left her replies intact because my heart—my sober heart, that is—is the size and density of a small lump of coal. I'd reproduce the whole thing (dig in the knife, Williams!) but I deleted most of it in a drunken fit before confessing my love. This was a great thing to wake up hungover to, by the way. I'd ask "What were you [was I?] thinking?", but of course I already know the answer.]

B.: I never really asked you about him [Chester] because it absolutely kills me to think about him.
I've always missed him so much.

Me: He's fine, B. There's some foreign phrase meaning a consequence of war. That's what he is.
But he's fine. Great, actual tub
Fuck. "Actually" was meant.
Anyway, I'm going to bed. I'll (probably) write you again (and again and again) when I'm properly and truly drunk (for reasons too banal to restate)

B.: Write me anytime.
Goodnight

Me: But he's fine. And you're in some idiotic portion of my nervous system, so enjoy whatever small satisfaction I hope that brings you.
Like a—
Ugh. I repeat myself.
Goodnight B. Serioisly.

B.: I'm not sure how to take what you just said.
Anyway, get some sleep.

Me: Goodnight
I shall. And ignore the sentimental stuff. If you believe we live numerous lives than its all irrelevant, isn't it?
Ugh. Ignore me. Booze. And Larkin poems.
Goodnight. F'reals.
AND A BIT OF UNNECESSARY EXPLANATION COURTESY OF YT: When a person catches the disease herpes, it (generally) causes an immediate flare-up, and then an indefinite period of torpor. The virus retreats to the base of the nerve—near the spine, I'm told—but survives in the system. Indefinitely. It periodically flares up during periods of stress or illness, traveling from the nerve afflicted to the spot of initial contraction.
LOVE is like that

December 20, 2014

"Nobody understands. Nobody even TRIES to understand." (Redding, CA)

Texted A.T. about Larkin. I'm in a hotel in Redding. Same Hilton Garden Inn [It wasn't a Hilton Garden Inn. It was something similar, though.] as last time. Fucking stuffed with pizza, metabolizing gallons of red wine.

Nobody understands. Nobody even TRIES to understand.

Masturbated.
Got a cold sore going.
Insomnia.
Watching TV in bed.

[NOTE: IT WASN'T A FUCKING COLD SORE!]

December 18, 2014

I'm in Oakland right now (Oakland, CA)

I'm in Oakland right now. In bathtub at Hilton Garden Inn specifically. The water is too fucking hot.

Went to Boise last weekend. Saw P. and majorly blew it. I drove six hours to get there, but I'd cheaped out on the hotel and paid for it with Club Carlson points, so the hotel I stayed in was in Meridian, Idaho, not Boise. P. backed out of meeting me there, so I picked her up at home.

I expected her house to be nicer. She's been bragging about how good Osterberg's job is [Osterberg is the father of P.'s child] and how her grandparents took care of her, so I was expecting someplace nicer than my house. It wasn't, just a smaller three bedroom ranch house. So point for Daniel.

We went to three bars and a relatively expensive Italian restaurant. I dropped, like, a bill fifty on this chick. TWO Idaho guys—baseball caps, fatness, and all—hit on her at the last one. I, for my part, tried to talk about all the serious shit I be thinking about: death, children, love, family... She wasn't having it. Just talked about Jason, her friend who suicided.

Cold walk through Idaho with her, hand in hand. I was too anxious about disease to kiss her mouth. I was crippled with anxiety, actually. Worried about A.T.'s kisses and mouth sores I don't actually have. So basically I blew it with P.. I wish I could be more sanguine about it, but she's so beautiful—ugh.

Took her home. No surprises. A few minutes of kissing, tongues and all (I was apparently feeling less anxious at that point) and her saying she would like to come to Portland. I'm not holding my breath.

Back at my hotel I messaged back and forth with S.I. over a hundred times. Made plans to see her the next day. Woke up in cold sweat—AGAIN! When will this fucking end?!?—early in the morning, halfheartedly read Retard Vampire in the tub, and then drove home and went to practice. Twelve hours of driving for a few minutes of kissing. But of course I did not pursue sex whatsoever due to unwarranted and baseless fears. Gee.

Six or seven drinks before and after practice. Recriminations the following morning: "YOU have a serious problem and is it getting worse, Daniel?" Made it through work okay. Had to provide good example for Josh.

Monday went like:

8:00 pm: B-Side bar. Bought beer. Bet Betty'd bail. Betty bailed. Big bummer.

8:30 pm: Snake's place. Another beer. Worse stuff too. Spent forty bucks on "medicine" for Dad during his upcoming visit. Watched Conan the Barbarian. Gotta love that wheel of pain!

10:00 pm: Lucky House. Red wine in front of me. Reading about juggalos and killer bees. Invited S.I. over and miraculously she came. At last call.

10:30 pm: S.I.'s real name is J.N.S. She looks and dresses like an existentialist. We immediately were attracted to each other. Don't remember what we talked about EXCEPT my first words when she arrived: "THESE BEES are killing people!" While shoving a picture of killer bees in her face. Huh. She ordered rye, drank HALF a highball glass's worth and said she was drunk. I killed it for her and she drove us to Biddy's.

Midnight: We were gonna play darts but other people were. So we drank beer. Each had one, me maybe two. Ugh. Somehow we decided to go back to my house.

2:45 am: J.N.S. split. Apparently good terms. Much necking, and of course I stripped immediately. She laughed at my tattoos and I had a blast about *that*. I wonder how often she dates? My memory paints her as weird and hilarious, but who knows? Why do I drink and get fucked up so much?

December 11, 2014

Sensory bliss this evening (Portland, OR)

Sensory bliss this evening. Big windstorm knocked out power to half the neighborhood. I went running in it, crazy wind bathing me and shiny wet leaves reflecting car headlights and "Seekers who are Lovers" playing on my headphones.

I'm going to tell P. about this later when I go to lucky house. I'm supposed to see her this weekend, on Saturday. Gonna be fun, I hope. I can't tell if she's interested in a relationship or just likes the attention.

I gotta date with this chick named Betty on Monday. Not sure if we're supposed to be gabbing back and forth until then. I don't wanna—not that she doesn't seem cool, she does—but just because I'm busy and getting close to being girled out.

Am going to see A.T. tomorrow. Not sure if I want to fuck her again. Probably shouldn't, but then again I'm only human. Will definitely not do it without a condom next time.

S.I. from OKCupid and I are now corresponding regularly. Weird. Wonder if she wants to play pool. Jew, though. Harold Covington would have a fit. She's pretty intelligent, so all evidence I've seen suggests, at least. I'd definitely like to meet her.

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