“i knew exactly what you wanted the second you looked at me.”

“really?…and what was that?”

“me…you wanted me.”

“your eyes give you away…all of you and your agenda…to the extent that you don’t have to say a word…and guess what?”

“what’s that babe?”

“i’m ‘gonna do everything i can to make sure you get exactly what you want from now on.”

“is that right?…so let’s start with you then…”

its rather amazing how perceptions can change in an instant…

i feel like it never fails…

like just when things get dull…or monotonous to the extent that i become…restless…a series of rather interesting events unfolds…

never fails…

someone walks out of my life…someone just as interesting…attractive…entertaining…kind…etc….crash lands…or…glides most effortlessly…right back in…

and it has to be me…i feel like my actions must have something to do with it because it keeps happening…however…it keeps happening under the most ridiculous…unrealistic circumstances…over which myself nor my actions have completely no control whatsoever…the intensity of the past few instances has been rather exhausting…

in fact…i wish there were some sicko bookie in vegas taking bets on how long my relationships will last…

i feel like the underdog…

i feel like no matter how i behave…or misbehave…for that matter…they’ll just keep coming and going and coming…

i wish people just walked around carrying red flags or wearing shirts that just put it out there: “immature”…”indesicive”…”insecure”…”insincere”…”afraid of committment”…”workaholic”…”alcoholic”…”3 inches hard”…”mormon”…”virgin”…”liar”…”cheater”…”jealous type”…”sexual deviant”…”all of the above”…

so that i could just steer clear…

i wish “knight in shining armour” was more literal…more apparent…than having to invest so much time and effort…

and i hate that i feel this way, because he really is fabulous…

but then again…aren’t they all???

i think of the few uncomplicated relationships i’ve had and i suppose the difference has been that we both have or had a mutual understanding of one very important concept:

it is what it is.

“how are you ‘gonna be at peace when you’re 10 seconds from crashing?”

“what are you talking about babe?”

“planes, helicopters, you know…”

“what???”

“nevermind…fuck you…”

so i’d beg my mom for whatever said gadget, because back then all my dad did was work/drink/eat/sleep…in fact i have no memories of him whatsoever until i was maybe 10 years old…so i’d beg my mom and depending on the circumstances, which included expenses or my behavior or how many a’s i got on my report card…she would either grant or deny my request…i was an “only” child…my mother, one of 5…my father one of 7!…i’d like to think, in fact, i’m rather sure that, because of their situations growing up, they both made a point not to “spoil” me…until they divorced, of course…then, and only then, i became a “daddy’s girl”…

i can’t reacall any specific instance, although i know there were many, in which i got what i’d asked for…however, i recall how my mother, who hated to be called “mother”, would respond if her answer was no…

she’d say “you can’t always get what you want…you can’t always get what you want…you can try sometimes…but you just might find…you get what you need.”

now i didn’t know who the stones were ’til i was at least 10 or 12…so naturally, i hated! hearing those words…

i wish i could recall the exact moment i realized my mom had been quoting me mick&keith…or later the exact moment i realized what mick&keith meant…

i think of the loop before it was finished…i think of all the backroads…i think of austin as i pass his ‘exit’…i think of him sitting there at his gate, smoking cigarettes, camels, waiting on me to show up inthemiddleofthenight…i think of how he was always the exception to my no smoking rule…i think of how i always say i’m going to the ‘land of lights’ but never do…i pass oaklawn and think of jay and feel like suffocating…i think of how i would do anything to see him again…i light a cigarette and think of all the shit i gave him for smoking…i think of listening to guns ‘n roses and watching soft-core porn…i think of how i always thought we’d end up together…i think of his mom telling me to sit down…i think of falling down…i think of the hilarious picture i took of allan sitting there all sunburnt and sweaty on his turftiger wearing his shortshorts to take my mind off him…but he’s always there…left over the bridge and…

hicksville usa…off with the seatbelt…something i got from jon foreverago…when he was a resident actually…i remember how happy we were…how easy it all was…how laying there, fifteen or sixteen, tangled in the green blanket, made us feel like we could do anything…i remember the first time he kissed me…i remember crying my eyes out at a fucking ahs band concert because of it…i think of all the shennanigans in the pasture…the spiders on haybales…the hours upon hours of good music…the goddamn mccormick vodka…

i wonder what gary’s up to…i think of him telling the same stories overandover and his “don’t think bad of me”…

i park in my spot and walk towards his house…i manage to make it without having to stumble through some treacherous weeds for once…up the stairs…i knock…i think of how i haven’t always had to knock…i think of when cliff lived there…i think of drinking wine or margaritas or just tequlia back when i thought it was cool to drink quervo like water…playing paperboy and zelda and talking shit to digital ghosts…i think of jeff on top of the world…

being the excellent host he is, he offers me a beer…we watch some rather amazing tv…little hercules…mythbusters shooting fish in a barrel and proving elephants are in fact afraid of mice…vampires getting off on cannibalism…he makes a comment about making a nice bloody bbq sauce…i wonder if he’s serious…

i miss jeff so i send him some rather x-rated, erection-inducing texts…he says he may come…

we play a rather kickass game of extreme pingpong and i realize how good i got in the month or two we were…

i make him a token pingpongpaddle that reads, ‘fuck’ on one side and ‘u’ on the other…he loves it…

i realize we have such a good time together…i realize he is still my wingman even after all the fuckedup shit that went down…i realize he is still in love with me…and i get why…

he tries to kiss me…i wish he were jeff…

speaking of…i realize i have to smoke my entire pack of cigarettes before jeff arrives…not realizing once i’ve had a few beers i won’t care at all…so we toss cigarettes at eachother trying to catch them in our mouth…

we chainsmoke this way ’til he gets there around one…thirty…ish…

no kiss…i realize he doesn’t miss me…he immediately tears into his whataburger and begins the “get the fuck outta athens” speech between bites of thick ‘n hearty…for some reason this disgusts me…i leave the room…

i wake up on the couch…with clint…confused, i stumble into the room that was his…i curl up next to him and feel better already…we wake up…its thanksgiving day…we have a rather quiet holiday fuck on the floor…

i think about how this was “their” room and feel sick to my stomach…he gets up to put his jeans on and looks down at me laying there…

“geez…i came sooo much…i haven’t had sex in a couple days…since the last time we did actually…i haven’t even jacked off…”, he said, like he was bragging or something.

“liar”, i interrupted.

“seriously! i haven’t…i don’t know what’s wrong with me…”, he said.

“well judging by the puddle on my stomach i suppose i believe you…too busy to jack off…poor thing…”, i teased.

“so you want a towel or something?”, he offered.

“no i’m ‘gonna keep it today”, i said as i rubbed it allover my tits.

“really?”, he asked making a rather disturbed face.

he threw me my panties and we got dressed. he kissed me once and we went in the living room where clint was waking up on the couch.

i sat in one recliner…he in the other…we debated going to breakfast over a joint…he wanted pancakes…once we got high we decided to go our separate ways…do the family thing…the eating thing…the football thing…

later as i sat down to the annual collins thanksgiving feast i laughed out loud when i thought of the idea of me sitting there in between charlie and my bitchy stepsister with his cum still allover me…

perhaps if she had cum allover her she wouldn’t be so bitchy…

i “make” water and go get in bed with him…

he grabs me…pulls me closer…

we go back to sleep…steal a few more hours from the day…

i get stoned and wonder…

how did all these kids from oakland find each other?…how do they all make such good music?…will i ever be so lucky?…find someone who speaks the same language?…eye language…my language…

and i think he’s growing on me…him and all his procrastinations…his 2 more minutes…his wake ‘n bake…his pillowtalk…it works i suppose…i sense myself not giving a shit and i’m pleased…

“you were so fucked up you should’ve killed a family”, he said…”i can’t believe you were driving around like that…i mean you couldn’t even walk through the door!”…i told him the story of the mothersagainstdrunkdriving victim impact panel i was required to attend on behalf of my dui…which was reduced, of course, to “reckless driving” on behalf of my attorney…for some reason i couldn’t help but laugh…why was a baby burning to death in a car cracking me the fuck up at eleven in the morning…

i think of yesterday and how much i appreciate the fact that he calls me out every chance he gets…knows me better than probably anyone…talks filthy to me on the phone…kisses me when i walk in the door…says things like, “i can’t do it”…then does it better than he ever has…goodkid…

i think of the term “sex goddess” and laugh…i think of the kind of girl i’d be if he were right…if every man i met wanted to just fuck me into oblivion…i’d be president…i’d be hillary fucking clinton…or maybe i’d be me…i think of the herspaceholiday song…

“…it’s not like i’m a slut or that i really like to fuck i just want every boy i see to walk away with part of me until there’s nothing left to hold until there’s nothing left to hate…i appreciate your help but even you can’t save me from myself…”

i think of vegas and brighteyes and how bad i wanted him…

“…i want a lover i don’t hafta love… i want a girl who’s too sad to give a fuck…where’s the kid with the chemicals?…i thought he said to meet me here but i’m not sure…i got the money if you got the time…you said it feels good i said i’ll give it a try…bad actors, with bad habits…some sad singers, they just play tragic…i want a lover i don’t hafta love…i want a boy who’s so drunk he doesn’t talk…where’s the kid with the chemicals?…i got a hunger and i can’t seem to get full…i need some meaning i can memorize…the kind i have always seems to slip my mind…but you, but you…you write such pretty words…”

music.sweetmusic.

“…i just thought you were better than other guys and you’re just the same…i just thought at least we could be friends and you’re making even that impossible”

“omg…don’t give me that…i’m not like most dudes”

“then don’t treat me like every other guy does…prove me wrong…’cause i really never thought you were ’til just recently…and it’s rather disappointing”

“well you know why all guys treat you the same is because of how you treat them”

“and how is that?”

“you’re like an o.c. chick…you’re like straight outta the hills or something…walking around with your eighthundreddollar purse…baby-ing and boo-ing everyone you meet…touching them…you don’t even know them…and it’s not even you it’s this front you put on…it’s like you’re completely down to earth but you don’t want anyone to know it…so basically every guy you meet can’t help but think of you as this sex goddess”, he said it like a doctor gives a diagnosis, most matter-of-factly. 

“you’ve GOT to be kidding me!…that doesn’t even make any sense…no one gives a fuck about an eighthundreddollarpurse”, i protested.

 
i think of the other day, me sitting there, watching him runaround this fucking circus of a place he calls work, touching me, for some reason, everytime he walked by…“did you put on perfume or something?”, he asked, with that same ‘ol ’i'm ‘gonna get to the bottom of this’ ridiculous ass grin he has.

“yeah…lotion actually…your mom gave it to me.”, i replied, in my ‘i’ll put him in his place’ tone i have.

we both laughed.

i think of him on the phone trying to break me off some sort of knowledge…“i can see the look on your face right now”, i said.

so she…

traded some yoga instructor a date for a class…bikram…hot…

made a few very new, very gay boyfriends…

was shot with roman candles by a headless pinata…

smoked a few rather expensive german cigarettes while drinking rather inexpensive domestic champagne…

realized term, “domestic champagne” is blasphemous!…

talked shit to the photog ambassador of said champagne regarding toilets and toiletries…

took rather premature shots of some very mature tequila that sleeps in a velvet-lined lock box…

passed out wearing nothing but blankets on his balcony in an attempt at yet another expensive german cigarette…

slept with the “gay” florist who adores her…woke up and wondered, “is he still gay?”…

had a couple sips of a malted beverage that unfortunately was not strawberry…

finally made it to cartier-schmartier’s humble abode…was terrified by his kitchen…and his obsession of her feet and how soft she is…left when he asked if he could touch it…

finally, wholeheartedly embraced the idea of shopping at walmart…

took a pregnancy test…

told the truth…

neglected the “whole” truth…

proved him wrong…

defied logic…

and…

came to the realization that her ego is in fact “in-check” for the time being, however his is not…also realized it is no longer her job to worry about his ego…

in no particular order…

“you’ve got to be kidding me…i mean…wha?…why???”

“no…you fucked someone else…you hafta have it all the time and if i’m not givin’ it to you all the time…someone must be…”, he said most matter-of-factly.

“what?!?…you can’t be serious!…you were just talking about it earlier today…”, i argued.

“i know, i know…and i’m sorry”…he groaned, like i was such a chore to talk to…”i just started thinking about it and…just can’t do it…guess now’s the part where you’re supposed to get all mad…but you don’t have to…”, he said shaking his head.

“no…it’s fine.”, i said nodding, trying to manage a smile…”and good for the ego.”, i added.

“yours or mine?”

“mine of course.”

not half an hour later he ripped my pants off and fucked me in the floor.

needless to say there was no date.

“later, babe…”, i called from his kitchen as i slid open the glass door and started to leave.

“what? that’s it?…come here…”, he said half asleep.

“what?”, i asked as i made the few steps into the living room.

“so it’s over?”, he asked, shrugging…i nodded…”it’s not over.”, he said.

“k…”

“come here…come shake my hand…gimme some daps…something…gimme a kiss!”…he insisted.

“what the fuck for?”, i protested.

“just give me a kiss.”, he negotiated.

“no.”, i said firmly.

“give me a kiss!!!”, he was relentless.

i sat down and kissed him. it was the most awkward kiss. i got right back up.

“that was a terrible kiss”, i said as i headed back toward the kitchen…”later babe!”…”later.”…and i was gone…

it felt ok. i mean i was relieved to not be stuck sitting there next to him. it was so obvious that the way we were just weeks ago and the way we were at that very moment were two completely different states. obvious that we’d somehow drifted so far apart at this point there was no going back to all that silly intensity and excitement. obvious that all we had now was the sex. and it finally felt like a mutual thing. like neither of us cared enough anymore to feel bad about it.

harry and i always had effortlessly fabulous sex…to which we both attribute the whole relationship thing…it happened accidentally and unfortunately before i was legally divorced…whoops!…he called me personally to let me know his secretary had just finished putting little arrow flags next to the places i’d sign my divorce agreement, a concept with which he seemed much too excited…so we met for cocktails to celebrate him winning me custody of two very prized possessions: Boss, our bulldog, and our lofty downtown apartment complete with doorman, garage parking, and trey’s pingpong table, which was actually the site of our first sexual encounter…i also ended up signing my divorce decree on that very table the next morning…

in my drunken stupor, i’d forgotten trey was coming to get the last of his clothes…having just moved out, he still had a key, of course, with which he let himself in just in time to hear harry and i rolling around underneath his pingpong table…realizing we’d left a trail of clothes we’d later learn started in the elevator and ended in the kitchen downstairs, i covered up with the curtains we’d ripped down the night before and harry, being rather resourceful, grabbed a paddle…

“what the fuck?!? really charlotte!?! i mean this is just…and to think the whole way over here i was trying to find the words to win you back…and with someone i know nonetheless!!!”…and to harry, “you bastard!, if you were wearing a stitch of clothing i’d beat the shit out of you right now!”…trey was never a violent person, but the paddle harry grabbed was trey’s, embossed with his initials and the initials of his fraternity…a bachelor-party gift from a long lost roomate who served as trey’s best man in our wedding…he was shaking now and i knew he wasn’t kidding by the look on his face…”well if i was wearing a stitch of clothing i’d beat the shit out of you for even implying you’d be capable of beating the shit out of me!”…classic harry comeback by the way, little man syndrome in full effect…

“boys!boys!” i said…”shut up charlotte…heartless cunt”…”hey man, don’t talk about your wife like that”, harry said…i remember thinking it was sweet that he was defending my honour in some form or fashion, but looking back i realize that was a rather strange thing to say at that particular moment…

“speaking of, do you have the finalized agreement?”, trey asked in a rather formal tone, considering i was standing there wearing the curtains his mother had made for us…”oh yeah…”, i grabbed the folder and offered it to trey…”well then…”, he said as he made a rather funny face and turned towards the stairs…i shot harry a jaw-dropped omg look as he mouthed, “did you sign them?”…i didn’t quite understand what he was trying to say and i couldn’t help but giggle at him standing there sort of waving one hand in the air like an idiot and the other still with the paddle…”charlotte! did you sign the papers?!?”, he sort of whisper-shouted…

“no evidently she didn’t”, trey answered for me as he appeared again at the stairs…”fuck, i’m sorry”, i apologized as i opened the folder on the table, took a deep breath, and signed next to harry’s little red and green arrows…

evidently, the sight proved to be rather overwhelming for trey, “well take care of her man…someone has to”, he added most condescendingly as he took the folder from me, quickly and most awkwardly grabbed his paddle from harry and stormed downstairs…

harry and i exchanged looks of relief…which turned into smiles and giggles…which turned into me biting my lip and dropping the curtains…which turned into my fifth orgasm of the morning…

as we laid there, still under the pingpong table, wrapped in curtains, my head on his chest he joked, “you know technically…since trey insisted on paying for the divorce, this whole thing was his fault…i mean the drinks we had last night…aka our first date…business expense!…i’m having my accountant add it to his bill!”…”oh honey, that’s horrible!…you shouldn’t say such things”…”well thats what he gets for calling my little goddess a heartless cunt!”, he said in half baby-talk as he squeezed me and kissed my forehead…”i suppose i am a heartless cunt…”, i said as i listened to his heartbeat and wondered where this could go…

and so it all began…in a manner quite fucked up and about as far as we could stray from the classic dinner and a movie…our relationship progressed in a similar manner, which i can only refer to as the speed of light…looking back, perhaps that can be attributed to beginning under the circumstances i’ve just described…and perhaps that very reason is why it ended so abruptly…

i sized him up in a second…before he could manage to spout out another slurred word in my direction…

i saw right through him long before he realized the pair of $765 glasses resting most uncomfortably on his crooked ass nose…were broken…missing a lens…the left one…

in fact, only moments before, i watched the janitor sweep it up like a cigarette butt…in one abrupt motion…a rather anxious look came over her as she spied it in the corner…a slight mischieveous grin crept onto her brown wrinkled face upon hearing it clink into her dustpan…she closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the service elevator bounced to a stop…

an elevator hotel guests only have the pleasure of riding after being 86*ed from the uber-pretentious nightclub on the 32nd floor…

he started to speak…something in his head made him think it was ok to talk to me so early in the morning…to talk to me at all…

and they must call them incredible hulks for a reason, i thought, cause this kid was green…sweating out 6 hours of hennessey…bitching at concierge for charging him $357 for a room in which he can’t recall sleeping…

“done!” he rambled on…

“baby, what’s your name?…just tell me your name…i’ll make you mine…i’ll give you anything you want…i mean it i’m done…”

“oh fuck off”, i replied sharply.

“baby…”, he protested, then commenced to guessing my name.

“ok ok!…me too…i’m done!!”, i groaned, completely annoyed.

“you’re fuckin’ something real special…this is ‘gonna work out real nice baby…they told me about girls in texas but i didn’t believe ‘em ’til just now”, he said.

“no…i’m done as in thanks but no thanks…done as in not the least bit interested…in your muscles or your beamer or your two hotels or your nemian marcus card. now run along and get yourself a nasty cup of coffee…”