A sort of life

Find inspiration for your home bar

WASHINGTON — There were exactly three times in my life where I met a woman and muttered to myself: “Uh oh. This chick is going to be trouble.”

The first one I met while attending a play. A friend of mine decided he wanted to do the acting thing, and so he joined a local theater troupe. And so there I was in the audience, and sitting in front of me was this woman I knew instantly was going to be a no-good situation. I was twenty. She was thirty and dating a guy that worked in my Dad’s office. And I laughed, muttering “Trouble.”

Flash forward some months later and there we were fooling around in her ex-boyfriend’s Jaguar. They later got married. Had a kid or two. I don’t know. What I pieced together years later was that he didn’t really treat her well. She wanted to make the guy jealous. So when they broke up she found me. The son of his boss makes for a nice “fuck you!”. Her point made, and after a few apologies and promising that I was a terrible lay1, they got back together. And that was that.

The second one I married. I saw her walking into my boss’s office and, again, laughed, and muttered “Trouble.” Turned out she was his wife. Oh boy!

I didn’t talk to her for a few years. I’m not a bad guy. I’m not going to make a move on a married woman. Even if her husband was a piece of shit. I guess she finally got tired of it, they separated, and we found ourselves in a situation. She made the move. Every ounce of my being knew that this was not going to end well for me. I wasn’t wrong. It just didn’t fail the way one might think it would.

I think the boss knew. He knew. He must of known. My sister posted pictures of her and I together on Facebook. A coworker found them and started asking questions. He knew! He didn’t saying anything. He was such a piece of shit that he probably thought he could use this knowledge for leverage at a later time. He was that kind of calculated. The type that doesn’t have normal feelings about people.

So move forward four years and we were married in what must have been the most bizarre wedding I’ve ever been to. And a year later we were separated. And then divorced. The in-between matters, but I’m not going to dive into it here. Maybe another time. Maybe another place. The point is that I knew she was trouble. And it did not end well.

The third story is a work in progress. And at this point we just don’t know. It took me a while to notice her. Again I laughed. Again I muttered. Again she’s encumbered2. And here’s how it’s going to go:

Time will pass. Much time. And she’s going to have to be the one to make a move. And if she does3, we’ll hopefully figure out a better ending. What do they say? “Past performance is not a predictor of future results.” So that.

Or this: She seems more cautious than the others. More responsible. More grown up. In control of her life. And so the serendipity that has come from “trouble” might not be found this time around.

Lessons should be learned from everything. And what I know is that I have a killer intuition. I should listen to it. But I’m also a fatalist in many respects. Sometimes things are just things. And they happen because they happen. And why fight that? When it’s my time to die I will die. And when it’s my time to love I will love. How we got to there matters not at all.

So, new moral? Throw the baby to the wolves. The kid might just live.

1 Which is true.
2 I can’t shake it!
3 She likely won’t. Two prior circumstances does not make a statistically significant sample size.

“Find inspiration for your home bar” is from Volume Three: Rock and Roll Part Three (2015–).

When I let go of what I am I become what I might be

When I let go of what I am I become what I might be

A mess of hand written pages and bulk mail scattered on the floor of the Floyd Avenue apartment in Richmond, Va. on Sept. 22, 2006.

After a few apologies and promising that I was a terrible lay, they got back together.