That Thing with the One Chick’s Face
8 AugShe is extremely hot. But when I am most assured of the fact that she’s attracted to me she starts to look like a goofy fat-faced fourteen year old boy, and when I think she’ s blowing me off, then I remember how preposterously hot she is. Everybody’s like that. There’s some self-sabotaging subconscious glitch that distorts your perception. Some fucking mechanism, a brutally efficient one, whose purpose is to make sure you’re never happy. That if somebody likes you you can never find them attractive, but if they don’t give a fuck about you they’re painfully beautiful. This is not news to anybody, my saying this. But Jesus– it’s fucking perverse.
Sunday Call with Mom
5 AugHave to call my mother. Haven’t spoken to her in three weeks. This puts a lot of pressure on the conversation. No doubt she has done things in the past three weeks, and I will hear about those things. It will now take three times as long to hear about all the things. Meals she has prepared; Amnesty International meetings she went to. Things pertaining to yoga, her yoga instructor. Her yoga instructor’s husband. He is a musician. He plays in a band; perhaps my mother will have gone to see the band perform, typically at an Italian restaurant. I will hear about the quality of the show.
Then I will be expected to say things. My things should also, logically, take three times as long as normal to say because of the lacuna in our communication. But I don’t talk about work. I hate talking about work; I am ashamed of how menial and unrewarding my job is, plus, bringing it up in any detail makes the humiliation and trauma fresh to me, and I don’t want her to hear this in my voice. I don’t want my mother to know that my life is mostly horrible. I also can’t talk to her about the thing that makes me the most happy, which is having unprotected sex with women much younger than me, right after I meet them. I can’t tell her how I’m extremely good at this and I’m pleased that I have become so practiced at it. That I had feared that as my age advanced and my hair turned gray and yet I still didn’t have any success or money, that the type of woman I am attracted to, which is ones that are over fifteen years younger than me– I had feared that I would lose my access to these women, that they would see me as a gross boring old pervert. But in fact it is easier when you are thirty six years old to have unprotected sex very fast with nineteen year olds than it has been at any other time. It is unbelievably easy, like a joke, and I can see this going on for ten more years, and their bodies are so beautiful, their pussies just lightly musky and fresh-tasting; I love when I’m fucking them to pretend that I’m going to ejaculate inside them and my copious seed will find purchase in their fertile and healthy young wombs and they will be pregnant and their lives will be ruined; this gives me so much happiness and pleasure. I cannot tell my mother about this. She likes to hear about the cat though. Continue reading
Hey Olivia
2 AugYou know how it is– you go on a couple dates with someone and they go really well, but then you tell her you’re going to write her a bunch of letters while she’s in NY and you don’t, and then she comes back and she happens to be at the same party unbeknownst to you but you’re all hammered and it seems like a good idea to make out with a kind of weird leathery Russian chick on the dance floor, and this original person whom you actually like sees you and then you read about it on her twitter, and are flattered to be called a “fake boyfriend” but somewhat aghast that she witnessed you making out with and actually fingerbanging said leathery Eastern Bloc type who was possibly like 45 years old, but then you have a decent text exchange months later so it seems like everything is cool, and then you run into her at the Echo Park Von’s over by the eggs and she is in some kind of emotional distress that may or may not be amplified by bumping into you at the grocery store. It could have gone either way. But it went well. Continue reading
Weekend Journal 7-29-12
29 Jul
Yeah, Astrid boned a dude on the porch at a party. Then I went in the can with her while she was taking a piss and she stuck her finger in her pussy and pulled out a fingerful of jizz and tried to smear it on me.
We were watching an episode of MAMA’S FAMILY where the Harper household receives a series of obscene phone calls, which Thelma “Mama” Harper pronounces “OHB-seen.” I wanted to add voice over of the call saying stuff like “I’m gonna cut your pussy open with a box cutter and then shit in it and give you a shit baby” but MAMA’S FAMILY is shot with a stagey acting style that does not allow for realistic length pauses in phone scenes. In other words, Ken Berry or Vicki Lawrence or whoever will pick up the phone and say “hello,” then almost instantaneously begin reacting with revulsion to the imaginary voice on line, e.g. “you want to WHAT? With ICE CUBES?”
We were at a party, a going away party for my 22 year old friends; a small place but there are always 22 year old girls there. Astrid, I want you to know that I have had sex with the blonde girl who was into reading Tarot cards. I am disappointed that I was not able to discreetly convey that to you in situ. Usually when we are together near an attractive woman I have fucked I’m able to work it into conversation the way someone who went to Harvard works that into conversation. And you are appropriately impressed. She insists that I have a large penis; the sex was in fact painful for her and caused vaginal bleeding. I do not have a large penis. Her concept of penis size is completely out of left field. Continue reading
Junkie Ex Fiancee Part 2
26 JulShe was my first girlfriend. I got engaged to my first girlfriend. She wasn’t very attractive. Almost a midget, she was like– I’m sorry, not a midget… not a generic little person either– she was almost a dwarf. She was 4′ 11″ and had to some degree the slighly out of proportion head and limbs of someone with true dwarfism, or achondroplasia. Like Warwick Davis or Weeman from Jackass.
Her fingers were stumpy, like little baby carrots, and her feet were preternaturally broad and short like hobbit-feet. In fact overall she was almost gnomelike in appearance… homonculoid… she got fat, too, once she started doing a lot of smack…
Continue reading
Junkie Ex Fiancee
25 JulThe first time she told me she was pregnant she was just making it up. Chicks do that, I guess, just to fuck with you. But the second time I saw the little blue pee-stick in the trash and I knew the shitstorm was coming. In no way did being pregnant slow down her vodka and opiate-consuming needs– on the contrary, the stress of the situation made her want to take more. We would be fucking, she on top of me on a little– you know those fucking chair-mattress things, in our friends’ guest bedroom, and suddenly some combination of pills and hormones would kick in and she’d start mumbling and crying, talking about how much she loved me and needed me, and if I ever went away she’d kill herself. Then she’d get a wild look in her eye, piss herself (on my cock,) and pass out on top of me. When she passed out suddenly it was like a corpse– there was no way you were getting her up again. She would piss the bed every night– we were staying with a bunch of friends (even though we both had perfectly viable apartments,) and she would kind of moan and burble and it would spout out of her while she slept. You couldn’t wake her up. Every night I would have to just roll over the corpse, rip the sheets out from under her and drag them down to the basement laundry as the urine on my pajamas cooled against my skin.
Here’s to You Baby, Have a Beautiful Day
23 JulI heard you were fucking some cop from Orange County, and you went out to stay in his condo on some river in Arizona, and you took Faye with you, and that she fucked him while you were there. And now you’re pissed at her. I heard you fucked Donny, the lord of the douchebags, and he went around telling everybody you had big floppy taco tits. I heard you fucked Steve Norwood, the hunchback albino, and that he went around telling everybody you had a loose pussy. I heard right after you dated me you got back together with your ex, the worst screenwriter in Hollywood– you were always waxing Proustian about how he was evil and abusive. But you got back together with him. And then you complained about him again. I heard you fucked like hundreds and hundreds of guys. I know you didn’t make me wear a condom so you probably didn’t make them either. You probably have herpes.
But I would still get back together with you.
New Book
