A sort of life

Bimbos make me want to pretend to be a better man

RICHMOND, Va. — Really? A weekend is what I just wasted. Really. I remember when weekends were precious. When they were something used to escape the pressures of the week. When they were the only refuge from the guilt of not doing my homework, or ignoring my friends. Those are the things that made weekends special.

Now is different. I waste weekends now in the same way I wasted opportunities with the pretty girls in high school. Sure, there weren’t many opportunities, but believe me when I say that the few I had were wasted. I’m telling you stories.

Here’s the story: Friday night I got a call from a friend in distress. He was roped into going to Sticky Rice with his girlfriend and her purportedly attractive workmate. He did not want to be their third wheel. He apparently was just standing around, hands in his pockets while the girls talked about work and all the other bullshit girls to talk about when they’re out with a third wheel. He was bored so he gave me a call. I’m a glutton for pain, so I decided to join them. It was a nice night out so I decided to walk.

The temperate weather his was the only redeeming character of the night, let me tell you.

So I rock up to the place. There are already people spilling out onto the street waiting for a table. I duck in and I see my friend standing alone by the bar. His baggage, the girls, occupy a pair of stools. I see him crane his neck attempting to find a reason to join the discourse. I can’t see his face, but I can see it wasn’t going well.

So I make my entrance. “Hey. How you doing? My name is Mike. Is this the beautiful girl I’ve been hearing so much about? Yadda, yadda.” Two minutes of this one sided deal and the two girls go back to whatever it was they were talking about before. I turn to my friend: “So this is it? This is what I came down here for?” He gives me a knowing look, but didn’t say anything. This is what going places with his girlfriend is like. Quid pro quo. He can go out, but he has to drag baggage along with him. No checked baggage. Carry on only.

The girl she brought along might have been attractive in her younger days. Which is saying something considering she wasn’t older than 25. And she was loud. I find the louder the girl, the less attractive the girl. It’s a compensation thing. An over compensation thing. I put loud girls in the same category as girls that belch. This girl did both. So I excused myself and went outside for a smoke.

I stood on the street corner, me and Camel, and watched the cars go by. Watching the couples sitting on the sidewalk. I smoked two and started to feel lonely with all the couples out there so I went back in for another run at this chick. If one drinks enough sauce, one learns to let annoyances slide unnoticed into the night.

But one, this one, could not drink enough for that girl. I put in few more minutes of face time for the sake of my friend and then got the hell out.

Saturday was only marginally better. I alternated between Graham Greene, This Old House Hour, microwavable food, and Internet pornography [NSFW]. Cycles man, cycles. A little reading. A little television. Build up my strength. Skin flick. Back to the book. This ends Saturday.

Sunday I woke up late. Now before we go further let me explain my position on watching movies on broadcast television: Just don’t do it. There’s nothing I hate more than movies cut and modified to fit around commercials. So what did I do Sunday? I watched movies cut and modified to fit around commercials. One after another after another after another. The worst movies I’ve ever seen in my life. They were screwball teen comedies made in 1964-1967. Carefree and clueless. Surfer movies. How to Stuff a Wild Bikini followed by Beach Blanket Bingo followed by Ski Party. Over nine hours of beach bunnies and ski bunnies and not one tit. A lot of bikinis, even in the ski movie, which is why I kept watching, but there was no payoff. Nothing. Innuendo. That’s it. We’re done.

I did find it unnerving to be turned on by Annette Funicello, the leading bunny who was born during World War II. I mean, she was smoking, but I kept thinking about my grandfather fighting in the Pacific when this chick was born. My dad wasn’t even ten years old when this motion picture was made. I was turned on and skeezed out at the same time.

Late in the day it started snowing. There’s probably about 3 or 4 inches out there now. I haven’t been in the snow for quite a while. It’s something I missed frankly, though I didn’t know I missed it. I’ve always said that the human body needs to freeze and thaw at least once a year to keep its systems tuned right. The cardiovascular. The gastrointestinal tract. The freeze-thaw is something my body did without for a number of years a couple of times in my life. It fucked me up. I now think, that in addition to the freeze the body needs a little snow. A good snow. The kind that soaks you to your bones. The kind that’s outside right now. The kind I’m going to go smoke in after this.

So that’s what’s up.

“Bimbos make me want to pretend to be a better man” is from Volume One: Frank’s Wild Years (1983–2009). Written between 2003 and 2009, Volume One was this author’s attempt to find meaning from life as a young twenty-something. While this endeavor would ultimately fail, what remains is a comical tale of loneliness and debauchery.

Teaching me to lick a little bit kinder

Teaching me to lick a little bit kinder

A pillar candle illuminates a darkened room during a home brew beer tasting session at the home of Lindsay Naylor-Jasper in McLean, Va. on June 6, 2005.

I put in few more minutes of face time for the sake of my friend and then got the hell out.