Burning, Hungry Desire

Just got done watching part one of No Direction Home, the Bob Dylan bio by M Scorsese.

All about his beginings, everyone talks about how hungry he was. He was determined. I want that.

I want to be a great artist. I'm hungry for it. It will be coming late in life, as far as most actors go, but not as far as most artists go, but if it comes at all, that's all I ask. Come baby, come to me.

One guy, talking about knowing Dylan before fame, and seeing him after, talked about his shape shifting. BD just became this guy, and the observer thought that was the magic, it was in the new incarnation of BD.

That made me feel good. I feel like I'm shape shifting right now. Maybe I'm turning into what I need to to become what I want. This guy I'm becoming is going to get me what I want, finally.

I feel that way. I've been saying that since summer. It is going to happen. Wait right here, and you'll read it soon.

Art. Love. Future. Those are going to be new soon. I can feel it.

It is beyond me, and yet, it has been in me for as long as I have known.

Will the conceited prick rise, please?

OK. Little lessons, all day long.

First. Acting class.

Doing well in it. Got asked to advance. Been trying to keep up the good work so that no reconsiderations happen. Was on track. WAS.

Today, we had to do an audition. Then five minutes of what the teacher thinks of your progress. The audition was supposed to be the easy part. They gave us a choice of scenes we have done before.

Rather than do the scene he told me I nailed a few weeks ago, I chose a scene I struggled a bit with, and thought I was "getting" by the end. My reasons are sound. I thought I could come in and show him that I can take direction and learn and retain, and look how I proved it with this scene I have now done new and improved.

Unfortunately, that was only my reason, and not my result.

I stunck it up. After the audtion, he told me that was the worst thing he has seen me do. Ouch. He said he was surprised, because he thought as I entered the room that I would knock out a homerun, and then he would tell me I am his favorite, and that would be all. He said that now, I gave him something to talk about.

Normally, I would focus on the "stunck" and "worst" parts of his speech, but since reading that book, I am focusing on the "favorite" and "homerun" parts. He did say that I am in the advance class, and that I should just focus on the part of the neurotic. He said he was wrong the other day when he said I nailed it. He told me today, I haven't yet nailed it. I'm close, but not yet. He then followed with, but when you do nail it, you will nail it better than anyone I have known.

BETTER THAN ANYONE HE HAS KNOWN.

I think I will sit with that for a bit.

So, a little lesson there, which ultimately proved good.

Then, tonight, I went to support X on one of her big shows for the semester. She has two, and next weeks is bigger, but this was going to be the fun one.

I thought I should go to both, but was dreading it a little. I had been thinking that maybe she was wanting to try and get back together. I was thinking that because she has been nice to me when we talk, and asks me how I am doing, and smiles, and has told me she struggles with being alone.

Well, I went with a friend, and when we got there, she ran over to us, and got us a drink. The cups were part of the show, and they had velcro on them, and you had to stick your cup to another person's cup, and drink together. She wanted to demonstrate with me and my cup. I must have made a face, because she asked if that was too awkward for me. I said no, and we drank, and it was physically awkward to do it. She ended up drinking hers, and I didn't get any of mine. She noticed that, and said that it was ironic that even in just drinking, she didn't prove to be cooperative. We had an awkward laugh, and that kicked off the night of making slight jokes about the state of our marriage.

At the end, we had a little talk, and I found out that the reason she has been doing those things is she is worried about me. She thinks I am not adjusting well to this. I was flabbergasted.

Here I thought she couldn't get over me, and it just turns out she thinks she is doing the getting over better.

I felt like such a bastard.

I was actually relieved that she didn't feel that way, because I don't want to get back together, but it would be difficult if she did.

Then, I felt hurt that she didn't feel that way. What do you mean, you don't carry a torch!? How dare you!

Do you know who I am!?!

So, another lesson. I left the party, and we made plans to have breakfast on Sunday, and catch up on how each of us are doing. That might be good.

Now, do I have any wisdom to impart after living through all of that?

Yes.

Just when you think you have everything figured out, you don't.

That might be a tough lesson to learn, but the great thing about it is, it takes all the pressure off of you to try and figure everything out, because as soon as you do, it changes. So, just try to figure out how to get through the now, and then do the same for the next now, and leave the rest up to the whatever.

So sayeth the 40 year old waiter!

Fighting

I have been battling the self hate the past few days.

I just don't want to be there, and it came on strong, and yesterday, I tried all day to argue with it, and lost in the end.

Then this morning, I awoke with a start, felt like my heart missed a beat, and thought that that would be the symptom an alcoholic would feel.

Then I decided to stop calling myself an alcoholic.

The thoughts and words you put out there create truth. Stop thinking the bad thoughts, and stop calling yourself names.

Create a good truth. Live the story you want to be told.

I decided that lying in bed. No more calling myself that name. I had to do that awhile back when I got on a kick of calling myself a failure. TH yelled at me and said he didn't want to hear that come out of my mouth anymore. I thought I was just kidding, but I really had convinced myself. Now, I don't say that. Alcoholic is the same thing.

Then, doing laundry today, I started a book given to me by *. It is called The Four Agreements, and it is powerful mojo. The whole first chapter is all about self loathing. Why we do it, and why it is bad.

Talk about timing.

I read that chapter and it blew my mind.

Then MM called in a bad spot, and I talked him down. Told him about my thoughts and my morning revelation, and what the book was telling me. After a 45 minute talk, he felt better and was on his way to buy the book.

It takes strength, and sometimes you have to fake it until you make it, but I'm determined to do it. No more self loathing. No more! Stop right now!

Like I said, I have been becoming this guy who I didn't recognize, but who I thought I wouldn't mind being. Well, the guy IS me, and I AM him, so I'm going with it, and I'm going to enjoy it.

There is no room for self loathing in that scenario.

I'm not going to write it in. I would hate myself if I did.

The cycle returns!

Went and saw Walk The Line today. Another great movie. Not plot wise, though that is very impressive. A bit Hollywood, though. What is truly great about the movie is the two leads. JP and RW are magnificent. He truly embodies the attitude that is needed, and she is just the right combo of maturity and sex.

What struck me about JC though was how much he hated himself. It was palpable. I felt it. I feel it.

All day I have been wishing for a drug addiction. It seemed to do him some good. Not really, but it takes a bit of the steam out of the hate.

I am returning to hating myself again. This happens every so often, I realize. Maybe with this blog I can document it more, and try to find reasons, but for now, I just hate.

It was starting before the movie, I know, because my family asked me to call them today, and I didn't. Just didn't want to. Hated that too. Then, to really ignore them, I went to a movie. Just so happened to be a movie about a guy who is obsessed with a woman, but hates himself. I cried so many times during the film, not letting BM see me. After the movie, I went to work, but everyone was asking what was wrong. Then, after work, I drank. I had wanted that drink since this afternoon when I got out of the movie. Almost had a few nips before work, just to help, but there is a part of me that won't let it get there.

That part though, is dying. I want to be numb. I can't take myself. Don't try and tell me why I shouldn't feel this way, I know that already. I just do. I still will.

I need someone who will love me so hard that I forget who I am.

That is impossible, I think. Which makes me hate even more. My logic kills me sometimes.

Anyway, I have a drink sitting here, and it is lonely like me.

Good night...

hole in my heart

Have just come back from seeing the movie Capote. Wonderful movie.

He doesn't come off well in the film. Not to give much away, but he is very manipulative. At a point, I believe he does care, but has always been a manipulator and just naturally does that. Then, when he is close to glory, he goes into high gear to get what he wants.

Leaves you with a bad taste. Especially if you could reasonably see yourself doing the same.

I think I can.

I feel that way a bit now.

Bile is welling in my throat. Also a lump.

You see, my wife called today.

As I said, at the party, it was odd seeing each other. We stared at each other with wonder. Here was someone that at one time, I knew all there was to know. She the same.

Now, I don't. I don't know how she feels. I can guess, based off of my prior knowledge of her, and assumptions of what she might be feeling based on that knowledge, but really, I don't know.

I don't know if she wishes we could get back together. Sometimes, I think she does, and sometimes I'm convinced she doesn't.

I know she is afraid that she will be alone. Maybe that fear just makes her want to seek empathy, and she hopes I feel it. I don't. I don't think I will be alone. I don't do well alone, and I would probably make a wrong choice before settling on no choice.

Maybe she doesn't feel like she has real friends. She might not. Almost all of the people she has known for the past decade have abandoned her. Partly it is her fault, but that must still be hard. I do empathize with her on that. I fear abandonment.

Maybe she is just looking for someone to say, I know that. I feel that too.

Do I?

I felt bad for her all week. Felt like my pledge to her to try and remain friends was ultimately a lie I didn't know I was telling. I don't know if we can be friends. My feelings for another woman, realized or not, kind of have shown a bright light onto that. It doesn't look well in the light.

So, I felt bad for her. I do love her. I wish it was easier to be friends. I wish that our friends still wanted to be friends with her, so that we could be friends without really trying to make that happen ourselves.

But that isn't the case. We will have to create it ourselves, and I don't know if I can, or if I want to, or if it is even the right thing to do.

On Thanksgiving, with all of that in my heart, I sent her a text message that said, happy thanksgiving, hope your meal goes well, see you tuesday.

Her first show of the year is Tuesday, and I said I would go in support.

I didn't hear back from her on Thanksgiving, but that didn't really shock me.

I did hear from her today.

She was out with friends, and they were thinking of going to a great lookout point over LA. She called to see if I wanted to go with.

I had just made plans to go see the movie with my cousin, so said no.

She said thanks for the message, and sorry she couldn't call me. She said she had a rough time on Thanksgiving. She asked how I was.

I said I was fine.

She said that she was glad I was coming Tuesday, and that it should be fun, and told me that I shouldn't feel awkward. She said let's just have fun.

Her voice sounded small. Tiny with emotion.

I asked if she was all right. She said she felt alone. I said I knew that feeling.

I think that was a lie. I feel lonely, but not alone. I didn't want to get into it with her, because I am afraid of being her only friend. I don't think that is healthy for either of us. So, am I starting to break my pledge?

Manipulator?

I have a hole in my heart for her. I want her to be strong and happy and free. I want her to move on with out me. I wish some guy would come along and sweep her off her feet, because I can deal with the pain of her moving on first better than she can deal with it.

I want to carry that burden for her, but I don't think that will happen. I think I am moving on first. I think I will be the first to meet someone. My feelings over the past few weeks make me almost sure of that.

If TO didn't have a boyfriend, what would be stopping me?

What is best for her? How do I remain true to our friendship, and true to my growth, and true to my heart, and not kill all?

I remember two days after the BIG TALK, while we were walking home from breakfast, after having had a very mature and frank talk about our feelings and our future, I broke down into a deep sob. I told her that the loss of my best friend was starting to hit me, and it stung deep. That is when we pledged to remain friends. I told her then, it would be tough, and it would take awhile, but did I know what I was talking about? Was I lying to relieve my own pain?

Watching Truman struggle with his emotions and his manipulation, all of this was brought forward. Sadly, as I sat in the dark theater, pushing down the sadness so my cousin wouldn't see it, I knew I would drop her off, and rush to get a drink. Then, in the movie, Truman starts to drink heavy and always.

I only saw another parallel.

He also had a great pair of tortoise shell glasses, which I have wanted for some time. ANOTHER parallel!

I don't know. What do you think? Is it possible to make everybody happy, including yourself?

So, whatcha been doin?

So, as I said a week ago, my friend * was in town this week.

It was a great time. We did a lot of talking. Not the soul searching kind only. Plenty of just random, "what do you think of this" talk as well.

He arrived just after my last show, which I had a blast at. I really injected the fun into that one, which was good, because I didn't think I would because that day I was feeling low over my final dealings with TO.

Then on Saturday, we had a party in his honor. Tons of people showed. It was the largest party I've had here. It went until 6:30 in the morning. They really came out for him, and he loved it.

I, however, did NOT have fun. I smoked some dope, and got all paranoid. I thought I was over that, but, I'm not.

I kept seeing people's wants and intentions, over their words, and it was not pretty.

I thought one was mad at me, and didn't want him to be mad. I thought one was hitting on me, and didn't want her to feel that way. I thought one was too needy, and didn't want to have to give. I thought one was trying to flatter me to get something, and didn't know what he wanted, so couldn't believe the flatter. I thought one was waiting for me to tell her that I don't want to do it anymore, but I couldn't start that conversation. I thought one had something bad happen to her, but couldn't let anyone see me asking her if that was true.

I thought, and thought, and thought. Then, I laid down for sleep, and woke up five hours later. Still paranoid. Still feeling all the wrongness about everything.

* met up with some other friends that Sunday, and I went to work. Afterwards, when I got home, he was crashing on the couch, so I laid on the couch next to him, and as we both faded in and out of conciousness, we talked about the past, and the future. The past being school, and people we knew there. The future being a trip to Amsterdam in May that he wants me to take with him.

Monday came and I was feeling better. Went shopping at a very odd store with *, and bought a bunch of postcards that I am going to use to decorate the bald spots in my bedroom.

After work, * and BM, and another girl I really hardly knew, were all still up, and we stayed up until 3AM talking some more. Mostly about LA and the lives we would all like to lead.

Tuesday, he and I hung out here alone. After a couple of hours, he started to press me on the divorce. He was wondering why I didn't bring it up before. I told him that I felt like he arrived, and everyone just started telling him their problems, and I wasn't going to do that. He said that was the whole reason he came, was to talk to me about my life. He also said, he didn't think people just started telling him their problems, he felt like he probed it out of them.

Anyway, we talked, and he thought I was sound in my thoughts, and he took me to a bookstore, and made me buy some books that he thinks I should read now. I haven't started them, but I'll let you know.

That night, after work, I picked him up, and we went to the bar I normally go to alone. We sat and drank, and laughed, and had a great time. During that time, I turned to him and said I am definitely going to Amsterdam. I just thought that he teaches me so much all the time, and I have a great time with him, that why pass on another opportunity for all of that. And in Amsterdam!

During all of the talking and paranoia, I have come to a conclusion. I am not the type of guy who steals another's girl. So, I will still be honest with TO about how I feel, but I am going off the hard press. It just isn't fair, and if she were mine, I wouldn't want me doing what I am doing. It's harsh, but right. Still can't stop thinking of her, but...

Also, at the party, I saw X. She looked totally different. It was odd. She walked up to me and I could see the same sense of wonder that I had in her eyes. She looked at me, and said, you bought burgandy pants. I looked at her, and said, your hair flips up. We then just nodded to each other and didn't know where to go from there. I later realized that for the first time, we were seeing each other without the past attached. It was purely in the now, and we are different now. I keep feeling like it is going to get harder to remain friends. A lot of my friends came up to me after she left and gave me shit in one form or another about her, and that makes it hard. Add on to that the fact that I can't really even recognize her, and don't know if it is even healthy for me to try, and where in my life does she fall into? I sent her a TM today wishing her happy Thanksgiving, but I feel my ideals will be hurt.

Friday with the family. Grandmother, uncle and aunt who fight, cousins who are very into themselves, and me.

It could be worse.

Giving Thanks

I give thanks to:

1. My friends. They are there to guide me. To support me and inspire me. To console me, to entertain me, and to listen to me. To love me.

2. My health. And the health insurance I now have which will hopefully keep my health, healthy.

3. My family. They stumble about showing me how much they love me. It is precious, really.

4. My cat. He needs me. He loves me. He gives me something to clean.

5. My ex wife. She gave me a lot of lessons, most of which I believe I've learned, and because of that, I will have a better future. I hope she can say the same.

6. My job. It is making me work today, but it allows me to be who I hope I can become.

7. My art. It keeps me alive.

8. My therapist. She makes me feel strong every time I leave her office.

9. My future. It is the bright light at the end of this tunnel, and I look forward to meeting it.

10. This blog. It gives me a voice, and lends me an ear. It is giving me strength to embrace my weaknesses, and teaching me how to be me.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

If you are not from America, take a moment and think about what makes you thankful. Then let those whom you decide should know that, know.

*

Today, my friend * arrives.

I call him * because his parents didn't give him a middle name, so on the line for middle names on his birth certificate it says *. He took that to BE his middle name. I love it. I love him.

I haven't seen him in five years, and then it was at a party for one night. Before that, I can't remember. I think another party after he completed the AIDS ride, so he wasn't fully there.

And when he is fully there, it is great.

He was a huge inspiration to me when I was young.

I met him at the age of 20. He was a first year teacher at the college I had just transferred to. He saw one of my first auditions, and came over and introduced himself. Told me I was talented. Is it any surprise we are still friends? Feed my ego, and you are mine.

Over the year, we became quite good friends, and then summer came. He brought a guy who he had been friends with into our summer productions that year. He thought me and his other friend would hit it off. We did. I had them over to my house often. Then his friend fucked my girlfriend.

That turned out to be a tough summer. All of us still had to do two shows together, and the two of them, the guy and my girl, decided to stay together. Torture for me. My friend * knew it, and somehow that made me all the closer to him. His guilt, and my pain bonded.

The end of that summer, with three weeks before the second year, he took me on a three week drive across the Western half of the country.

Two other guys came along, one we left in Utah to be with his gal.

It was one of my best vacations. We did much drugs, and drove to landmarks, and laughed our asses off.

We took turns driving, and I remember once while I drove, he leaned over to me. You see, I would do A LOT of thinking about my situation while behind the wheel. I would inevitably furrow my brow, as my thoughts were disturbing. He leaned over to me and smoothed out my forehead with his finger. That simple act resonated with me for years. I still sometimes smooth out my own brow.

The next year was a very creative boon time for me. He was right there alongside, coaching and mentoring me.

After college, I visited him four times, along with other friends over the next two years. Then one summer, he came up to Chicago and directed me in a show.

The role I played was a gay man. * was just coming out huge at the time, and he wanted to make my character real, not stereo type. So, did I. So, we went to gay bars, and I studied, and he kept me "safe".

He wanted me to learn, but knew I would be a bit uncomfortable in the scene. He never hit on me. We were friends. Other gay friends of mine have hit on me. I guess I have a pouty mouth that they like.

The show went well, and I got a supremely favorable review. He loved that.

Over the course of the next two years, as I did more theatre in Chicago, he would come up and see me. But less and less. Life was taking us down our own paths.

Then I moved to LA.

We pretty much lost contact. I think I have spoken to him once in the past five years.

He heard from a friend that I got divorced, and called me. He said he has been with me when this situation happens, and I go crazy. Thought he should come out here, and be a tonic.

I love him for that. I love him for so much. I can't wait to see him, and to spend the next few days with him.

I won't be writing much over the next few days. I want to indulge myself in his company.

I need to have him smooth out my brow.

Happy Thanksgiving, if I don't talk to you sooner.

Not totally crashed

It is about 5 drinks later, and I still can't get her off my mind.

I actually am still thinking I have a chance. What sort of unflappable hope has God given me. It can't be stopped. Peter Jackson is going to make a movie about it!

The thing that has me, that I keep looping on is, she sighed. She sighed. That is frustration, or regret. She wanted to go out with me. She wants to be with me. Let that sink into her, and I'm in. I just wish I had the opportunity to see her more than once a week. Or, now that thanksgiving is next week, at least before the next two weeks.

Still, if it isn't until two weeks from now that I see her, I am still thinking I have a shot. Am I crazy? Maybe, but optimism is always on the side of delusional. That's why everyone likes an optimist, they're crazy!

And it all came crashing down

She responded. She is not coming. She has to work that night, and is flattered.

I don't know if she responded before or after rehearsal.

It could have been either, but I bet it was after. The reason I don't know is, I went to a bar to have drinks. By myself. Needed them. Alcoholic, remember.

At rehearsal, I had decided to confess. Easier said than done.

You see, rehearsal works like this. We arrive around 7:15. The thing starts at 7:30. We get a ten minute break around 9, and then go until 10:30. After, we drink. Normally.

Tonight, things changed. First of all, the guys who I usually get to go drink were not there. One moved up to the other company, the other was unable to make it. My posse is gone.

Then, she didn't get to rehearsal until late. So, no talking time before. During rehearsal, she asked me to go for drinks. I was weak, and said yes. Then at break, she talked about her BF. I walked away. She gave me a brownie after break, as we were starting up again. I'm sure it was conciliatory. After the rehearsal, I tried to get others to go with us, but no one would. I waited around for her, she was talking to our director, and told her it would just be us two. She seemed at first to want to go drink, but I was reluctant. I was going to start the "my intentions are inappropriate" speech, but she then declined going for drinks, saying, it would be too much like a date, and she couldn't handle that at this point in our relationship. She then said that we both know I have the hots for her. I said, guilty.

Then we left. I said, see you later. She sighed.

I wanted to turn around, and say, fuck it. Let's go get a drink, and whatever may come, come. Why didn't I?

I totally want to write her now, but that is cheap. Anything I have to say to her should be in person.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Afterwards, I went to a bar and had three drinks. Now I sit here, alone, wishing I could talk to her. Or, really, just anyone.

She has a boyfriend. She has a boyfriend. She has a boyfriend.

After all this training in comedy, you think I would have better timing.

Rational vs. Rationalization

My mind is waging war with my heart.

I am starting the downward spiral from the heights of delusion. It seems to be a long fall, which only means I was soaring there for a bit.

My friend, the rational one, has weighed in again, and when seen through her eyes, I wonder what I was thinking. Not to say she is negative. She in fact is trying to help me succeed. She just has a confounded logic about her that infuriates the dreamers like me.

Tonight, I will see TO. We have rehearsal together, so it isn't like we will just be sitting around talking. We have 15 other people in a room with us, and there is an agenda. Only if she goes out for drinks would I be able to talk with her, as I did last week.

She hasn't responded to my evite, and I am starting to think (hah, starting to think!) that she won't.

My friend has advised me to either tell her to stop flirting, not mean, but in the I can't control myself way that TH told me to do. Or, tell her directly, but not creepy, how I feel, and let it be.

Both are tough. Not that I couldn't, but, man, laying your raw emotion out there like that is a kicker, not to mention doing it in front of someone whom your fairly certain will only be able to frown with understanding and walk away.

This is where my crazy side likes to poke his head in and give advice.

Hey, Tony, why don't you just not look at her all night. That will teach her! Head games are fun. That's why the word game is in there.

Better yet, why don't you make an elaborate scavenger hunt game, where she will drive around town looking for clues you have planted, until she finally finds your note declaring your love in a bird of paradise on the front lawn of someone in Beverly Hills.

Better still, you can draw! Make a mask of her BF's face and wear it during rehearsal. Then break up with her. While her eyes well with tears, and her vision is cloudy, rip off the mask and hold her as yourself. Tell her you'll never let that creepy guy bother her again. This may involve cutting her phone line and removing her doorbell. Worry about the internet later.

If while reading this post, it comes across as desperate and not funny, please feel free to add your own jokes.

Thank you.

In Remembrance, Or Not

Yesterday was my (now defunct) wedding anniversary.

My intent for the day was to be too busy to really think about it.

Turns out that was both true and not.

I was busy, but I did think about it. The upside is, I wasn't as bothered as I thought I might be.

I actually spoke with X, the day before, and we just sort of checked in with each other, and made sure the other was all right. That's what modern, cool divorces are all about. Being magnanimous, not monogamous.

I think we are letting each other off the hook, and doing it to ourselves as well. Therefore, the day didn't sting.

I started out with acting class. Last week, my teacher had praised me and invited me up to the advanced level. That doesn't start until January, so I need to finish out these classes until then. I really felt like I should be just as good as he thinks, or he might see last week as a fluke, and reconsider.

I was great. Humble, huh?

He gave me two scenes, and both were really well suited to me, which helps. Two right up my alley, and I knocked them out of the ballpark. Is that a metaphor smash up?

Anyway, he asked his assistant if he has given me some coaching outside, and the assistant said no. I knew that was good. In other words, I was so good, he didn't think I came to it by myself.

The great part was, it wasn't a struggle. I really let go of my self imposed pressure, and just had fun in the scenes. So, I acheived greater than what I had intended, without really focusing on doing that.

Then, it was second night of work, and training MM. TH and PV were there too, so it was the boys on duty. Fun night. MM burned himself, but only on two fingers, and despite the initial pain, we got a boyish giggle out of it. I think he will do well, if he just stops trying to prove himself. That will come. Everyone is being cool to him, and once he realizes that he can make friends based not on his waiting skills, but on who he is, he will relax.

After wards, we went to TH's place, and played cards, and then craps. Not for money, thank god, I have none. Plus, we drank and smoked. Ganga that is, Texas scrub brush, leafy gold. That was intended as a play off of the Beverly Hillbillies' theme song, but I think I screwed it up.

I have discovered that when I take a toke, even just one tiny one like I did last night, I become very stupid. That is fine, and with close friends like MM and TH, I don't mind being stupid, but with others I think I shouldn't smoke. I really pride myself on my cleverness, and use it as one of a few tools to impress people and get them to "like" me. So, without it, I won't feel like I am doing that, and will feel like they don't like me, and will become paranoid and sad. So, smoke 'em if you got 'em, but only with the closest of friends.

When I returned last night, I had an e mail from a friend who is concerned about my fantasy fling. She gave me some great rational advice, and I heard it, and will listen, but what I really heard, and what I probably should hear, is that this is going too far for what it really is.

Just so you all know, I know that. I keep saying this is doomed, and I know that. I have a glimmer of hope, but really, I am prepared.

I think I just really like feeling this way, and want a bit more before I have to give it up for now.

I think that is why those around me are indulging me too. All but MM.

They want to see me goofy and happy again. A couple of people have written me emails to say that they have noticed it kind of returning lately, and they want to encourage that.

So, what is, is. I'm ok.

Thanks.

A friend in need...

Tonight, I trained MM at my job.

He has been going through a rough spell financially, after getting laid off of work back in April. He just couldn't land another sales job.

It probably didn't help that he isn't really the corporate monkey, but does a wicked imitation. He is after all, just a free wheeling, self esteemless artist like the rest of us.

So, he wasn't getting work, and he knows not only me, but TH and PV at the restaurant as well. With all of us recommending him, he was assured a spot. He took it.

Gots to pays the bills.

As I said, tonight was night one. He was nervous. Hasn't done the job, as menial as it is, in over six years. I told him he would be fine, that once he got back on his feet, it would be easy again. He told me that I didn't realize how retarded he's become in the past few years. I told him I have realized how retarded he's become, I just still have faith in him.

I think that sunk in.

Then the strangest thing happened. He was loosening up, and doing well, and I think it made him stop and look more, because he asked me when I got my swagger. I wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he said I was swaggering around like the cock shit of the walk. I laughed, as I don't think I have EVER internalized anything near a thought like that, but it was nice to hear.

I wondered if my little fake fling wasn't maybe revealing itself in my very movements. That, or I have finally developed a sense of confidence in myself, ironically, in a situation I would love to get out of.

Speaking of my little tizzy for TO, I told MM about it and he said I was being ridiculous.

You see, not only has she not responded to my evite, but I found out from BM that she viewed the evite on Saturday. Which makes me think she is out there thinking she wants to come to the party, but doesn't know what to do about her BF.

When I postulated the problem to MM, he said he very often doesn't respond to evites right away, and he is well aware that they know he has viewed it. He also said maybe she has seen it, and is just ignoring it because she doesn't want to go to the party.

I think he saw my swagger sink, because he then said, maybe she is just waiting to see if her BF is going out with 'the boys', and then she'll pretend to 'go out' with 'the girls', but actually come to the party.

None of those scenarios made me feel secure in my delusion! How dare him deflate this precious little bubble I am floating in right now.

A friend indeed!

Becoming ill

Yesterday, I was fatigued. That is an understatement.

After four days of only five hours of sleep a night, I finally crashed.

It didn't hurt that I went to a brunch with some friends for a birthday celebration, and had four mimosas. At home by noon, and still having to work at night, I tried to sleep, but was so tired I couldn't do a tiny nap, and knew I would either sleep the sleep of the dead, or lay there restlessly. I layed there.

Its seemed my infatuation energy had run its course. I didn't have the jangled energy of one who wants to run to another. Literally, run.

I zombied my way through work, actually trying to tap into some of that energy to propel me. I continued to tell myself that this week she would break up with her boyfriend.

The scenario would go 1. She tells me she broke up with him, I feign sadness and ask why, she says she has discovered an unending interest for another, and wants to give that a try, I, nervous with anticipation ask who it is, and she smiles at me and says, I think you know. Commence love. Or, 2. She tells me she broke up with him, I tell her I'm sorry, but then say I must confess that I'm not, she asks why, and I tell her everything. Commence love.

Squirrelly, I know. I feel like a juniour high girl. If you see any TR + TO 's at the sides of this post, slap me.

I fell into slumber last night, and... dreamt of her all night!

I guess my infatuation is in full order. It just took a little nap. I rose this morning and came out to the computer to check something.

You see, an old mentor of mine is visiting this weekend. He was a college professor, and so he knows several of my gang from teaching them. Including my roomie, BM. So, we decided to have a party to welcome him, and give a chance for all to see him. Then, I decided to include some folks from improv, as they are fun, and funny. I then included her on the evite.

Now, I check it almost every hour to see if she has responded yet.

One of my dreams literally was me reading her response of the affirmative. Just that. Me reading at a computer some words she wrote. It got me worked up though. I came out here this morn actually thinking that maybe that was prophetic, and I would see her reply.

I'm sick with it. This is very nice, but ultimately I feel a dread that horror movies instill in you. You are enjoying the movie, but dreading the sure to come moment when the one you are identifying with gets slaughtered.

How long do I have until someone meat hooks my heart?

10 things

A few of the blogs I read were doing an exercise this week:

10 things that are shocking or revealing from your dating/sexual history.

So, here goes

1. I lost my virginity at 19, my sophomore year of college. In contrast, my father had me three days prior to his 19th birthday.

2. The first girl I ever kissed was in my junior year of high school. We acted together in the play On Golden Pond. We were the old couple. One night in a friend's backyard, I got her to reenact the kissing scene, only this time I frenched her. When she stuck her tongue in my mouth, I almost threw up. We never kissed again.

3. On a high school trip to New York, I fingered a girl through her pocket on top of the Empire State Building. When we got back to the hotel, she wanted me to come to her room, but I didn't really like her, so I said no, and that was that. She hated me after that.

4. The girl I lost my virginity to ended up being my first girlfriend and we were together for three years. At the end of our relationship, we weren't having much sex anymore. She was reluctant, and I would beg. She mostly would just give me a handjob. Then one time as I was begging for sex, she told me that what I was doing was a form of rape. I think she really messed me up.

5. I slept with a lesbian girl who was a friend of a friend. I guess she was curious, and my friend hooked us up. After it was over, she left. She gave me her pack of smokes before leaving. I remember thinking that it was the closest I would ever come to having a Hustler type male fantasy.

6. When leaving a party, I gave a friend of mine a kiss goodbye, and she kissed me back with tongue. We went upstairs to a little room where people would go to get high, and I went down on her. During, the girl I was actually sleeping with walked in on us. That was awkward.

7. I met a girl at a party and we hooked up. I didn't wear a condom, and I came inside her. She kept me up all night, telling me that if she got pregnant, her father would make me marry her. I got so stressed that night, the next day I woke up and had a brown spot in my right eye that is still there. I can see it just to the right of my vision when I look at something white. It floats to the right when I try and look at it directly. Always to the right.

8. I had a huge crush on a friend of mine, and after about six months of this, I asked her on a date and she actually accepted. I took her to a nice dinner and when the bill came, I didn't have enough money. I didn't have a credit card at that time, so when she went to the bathroom, I stole $40 from her purse to pay for the bill. Always take your purse!

9. I've only had 9 lovers in my whole life. I always felt bad about that number, having come so close to double digits, and then stopping. Now, I am pretty much going to get my wish. Be careful what you wish for...

10. The only woman I've been with for over a decade was my wife, and I'm scared to death about my performance for the next time. I think this is what is stopping me from pursuing it.

Taking hold

We had another great show. Not our best, but loose and fun.

I also was able to incorporate fun into my improv. I think I am getting the gist of it now. It is much better for me too. I am so much more relaxed when I don't care too much.

I am going to miss my guys, but a bunch of cast mates were telling me that they secretly are glad I will still be with them. It is nice to be loved.

Now if I could just sleep. I can't seem to let myself just nod off. I am always going, and even though I am tired, I can't relax.

Giddy sometimes is a burden.

Positively Giddy

OK.

I know I was bemoaning my lot with TO to you all last night, but I must confess something.

I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HER.

I sent her an email last night telling her to join the next show with me. Even after saying on this very page how that would be torture, I wanted torture. If that ain't good, then I wanna be bad.

Then I totally checked my inbox like twelve times to see if she responded. AT TWO IN THE MORNING!

I feel like a school girl.

I went to bed at 4:30, and woke at 9:30.

Still thinking of her. Raced out here to see if she responded. She hadn't.

Then I started to think, what am I doing?

Called a friend and told him. He said cut it out. He said it is great that I feel this way, but SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND!

He told me to tell her not to flirt with me anymore, because I won't be able to be responsible for my actions. That way I state clearly my desire all the while doing the right thing if she is indeed committed to this guy.

He is probably right, but I don't want the flirting to stop.

As for my desire, I think the two AM email says it all.

I have been hopping around today, partly from LOTS of coffee, but mostly cuz I am on clouds.

I keep looking at her picture online. Not naked! A headshot.

I doodle her face on paper. During a meeting. Told my friend R, and she said that it is great to feel this way.

She is trying to devise ways of seducing the boyfriend and opening up the relationship for me.

Great idea, Lucy. Then we'll be show biz stars.

Got home from the meeting and checked my inbox.

SHE RESPONDED!

My breath quickened. I read her message. She said she sent an email to the director to get into the next show, but that she couldn't do the entire run. That almost killed me because the director had just last night said he wanted entire run commitments from the cast.

What if she isn't in the show! Where is my lovely torture?!

I know. I'm kind of fucked up, huh?

She also said that she was happy I didn't get into Zebra, and that she actually had threatened the director with a knife so he wouldn't move me.

A knife. How sweet.

Help me. I am totally bonkers for a girl who I can't have.

The Freudian take on this would be that I desire love, but am still too afraid to accept it, so I am focusing all of my energy on someone safe, because I know she is unavailable.

Yeah. So?

She makes unavailable look so good. Plus, I think I am truly doing all that I can to make her available. Crazy, yes, but you gotta have goals.

Still, it sure is a nice ride.

Done

Found out just now that HW and PT got moved up to Zebra.

Our director just sent out an email.

I feel a little shitty about it. I wish I was moving with them. I love those guys, and have been together with them for over a year now.

On the other hand, it is probably for the best that I am where I am. Now I can take this opportunity to shine. Yeah, cool.

That and I get to spend a whole lot more time with the girl I can't actually be with.

Won't that be pleasant.

Why now?

Rehearsal tonight.

We had our evaluations as well. Mine turned out fine. Our director did pretty much what I expected. He asked what our strength and weakness was. I told him my strength was allowing a scene to progress like a dance. To allow the scene to go where the scene wants to go, rather than where I personally think it should go.

I told him my weakness was I didn't add enough fun to my performing. He totally agreed. He said it is great that I care so much, but I have to remember in the end this is just play.

So, it went as I expected.

What didn't go as I expected was my dealings with TO.

She is the pixie girl that I am totally crushing on. I am going to officially upgrade that tonight, to I am totally in love with.

That is a bad thing. She is in a relationship. They have been together since June. Not long, but long enough.

The killer is, she totally loves me. She said that twice tonight. She of course was talking about how fun and funny I am. She even tried to tell me not to get moved up to Zebra, which she thinks I will, because she wants me to stay in the company with her. She came out for drinks after with us, and we talked all night. We split a pizza and I bought her drinks. She patted my back twice while I was talking about something. Not that that necessarily means anything, but I want it to.

I am so in love with her. She is fun, and sexy, and fun, and shit.

Why does she have a boyfriend? Why would God do that to me now? What am I supposed to learn from all of this?

I want her so bad. I don't just mean that sexually. I want to spend all my time with her. I want to have private, revealing conversations with her. I want to just goof off with her. I want to just be with her. Then I want to lay down with her, and make her feel good.


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

DABDA

Elizabeth Kubler Ross defined the five stages of death. Turns out, they are the five stages of any grief, or strong loss.

DABDA. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

I have entered anger.

I went to therapy today, and it had been awhile. About three weeks. Since before my haircut.

She liked my haircut, and told me to tell her about my motivations for it. I somehow got lost in the conversation, and mentioned how people said I seemed angrier, or bitter.

She jumped.

Talking more about it, I really got angry, and tears were flowing.

She said she was glad to see me going through this. Sounds funny, I know, but she said it was great healing. She said a lot of people, guys especially, can just repress all of the hurt from divorce, trying to move on, and never truly move on. She said my emotion told her I would some day be all right.

I guess I was in denial. Early on, it was the denial of excitement at a new chance on life. It was always tinged with sadness, but I felt opportunity right around the corner.

Then my denial started to morph without me realizing it. That is when my disconnect started to come in. I was literally denying my very existence. The disconnect kind of snapped with the haircut, and that must have been the beginning of stage two.

Anger.

We'll see how long this goes for.

She told me something disturbing, but also said she isn't sure she believes it. She prefaced it as it isn't a scientific timetable, but she heard that it usually takes half the length of a relationship to properly get over that relationship.

That would mean five and a half years. Yikes.

I wonder what bargaining will be like? Will it be me begging for sex, or me asking God to grant me a girlfriend and I will donate to public television? Maybe it will be me working out at a gym, thinking that if I do this... I will get that. The classic bargaining thought.

Geez. I just realized, according to the graph, I haven't yet entered depression. Boy, if this isn't depression, then I'm really screwed. Just think how jaunty those posts will be when I'm ACTUALLY depressed!

Also, I think I am scheduling acceptance for mid July. I really look more open, and therefore accepting, in light, breezy cottons. Plus, acceptance really goes better with sunshine. But not too hot. No accepting in late August or early September. Accepting is all about embracing, and people are just too sweaty to embrace at that time of year.

So, mark your calendars! This blog will really be good in July, 2011.

Felt On A Roll

I just realized that title sounds like some awful breakfast treat.

I meant it as a past tense thing. As in, I felt like I was on a roll.

I did.

Had a great show last Friday. Not only was it one of our better shows, if not our best, but I personally felt like I had a great performance. That hasn't happened in weeks.

Then I got a callback for this pilot that a friend of mine is making. It is a show about films, and they are looking for people who can discuss films in an intelligent and funny manner. Well, that is pretty much all I ever do. Minus the intelligent. Sort of.

My assignment was to watch Jarhead before the callback. No problem. I had been looking forward to seeing that movie, as I like Mendes' work, and the actors are ones that I like.

Then today in acting class, I did great scene work. I was paired with two girls to do the same scene twice. The scene was perfect for me, right up my character alley. The first person I did it with is a great actress, and we nailed it. My teacher pretty much said he didn't need to give much in terms of notes.

The second girl was a new girl. Young and pretty, and the scene calls for us to be married. So, I put my arm around her while rehearsing. God, she felt great. So warm, and with that gentle downy fuzz on soft skin. It has really been a long time. The first woman I sleep with, I am seriously considering telling her to give me a mulligan the first time, cuz I am going to enjoy it far too quickly. Then, I can concentrate on actually doing IT well.

So, anyway, me and the girl did our scene and again it went great. My teacher pointed to me and said, you are doing fantastic.

After class, he followed me out into the hall, and told me he was starting an advanced class in January, and he wanted to invite me to join it. Most people take about a year to get into advanced, but this means I will have done it in 6 months.

All great news.

Then, after work, I went and saw Jarhead.

Really great movie. Powerful. I'll leave my thoughts on that for later. Afterwards, though, I felt like I needed a drink. I didn't want to come home, and open a bottle of wine.

So, I went to a neighborhood bar. Sat by myself. That is actually huge. I don't like going places alone. In fact, I tried to get someone from work to come with me to the movie. No takers, so I went alone, and then to the bar alone.

At the bar, there were a number of people. All talking and getting close, and having fun. I, sitting at one end by myself, was doing none of that. I looked at people. Sometimes, someone would come near my end of the bar, and I hoped they would talk to me, but they were only ordering drinks, and then taking those drinks back to the people they wanted to be with.

During my second drink is when I got sad.

I felt my forehead knot up so much, I started to get a headache. I thought that people certainly wouldn't approach me looking like that, but I was two drinks in, and it was one in the morning. What sort of conversation would I really be starting then?

When Ziggy Stardust hit the jukebox, I was fucked.

My wife was a big Bowie fan, and the first gift I ever got her was a Bowie album. Not Ziggy, but still. Tears started to well up in my eyes, and I thought that the most pathetic thing in the world ever was to be the guy at the end of a bar, sitting alone, drinking alone, at one am, crying. So, I left.

Walking home, I thought to myself that I wanted to write about my good fortune lately. It just seemed ironic that I was crafting my good times blog while walking down a dark street crying.

So, for a bit there, it was really feeling good. Maybe that is the very tiny start of things, or maybe the fates took a nap. Either way, I'll take it.

The other side

My last table tonight was a pair of girls. One was black, the other was a creepy Victoria Principle lookalike.

They both were drinking seriously. I didn't pay too much attention at first, but then I noticed the VP girl looking mighty distraught.

When I came by the table, the black girl was saying, so you two argue all the time?

VP replied, weakly, uh-huh.

I knew their was relationship trouble. I should have known from the conspiratorial way they chose the table. Away from others, and with a little wall next to the table to give the sense of privacy. That plus the rapid consumption of martinis is a kiss off story.

I moved in closer. Lingered a little unnecessarily while lifting salad plates.

That's when I heard VP say-

So, I guess I'm back on the market again. Nine years I gave him. Now, what?

Bingo!

Had I found my first?

I imagined me walking up to the table. My eyes trained on VP's eyes, making her uncomfortable with the power, but unable to draw away. She would recognize the empathy in them, and her tiny wounded heart would leap at my words. I would set down her penne, and lean down to her height. My hand would tenderly take her shoulder, and I would say, I know what kind of pain you are going through right now. I only wish I could tell you it will be better soon, but I don't know if I believe that myself. Life is tough. It can kick you around. It's even nastier when you don't have a warm embrace waiting for you at home. What do you say we provide that for each other. Maybe just for tonight, maybe twice tonight, but definitely for each other.

I made my move over to the table.

Then she said, Well, at least I get to keep the fucker's $30,000 ring.

Zoinks!

I just kept walking.

Two months salary for a ring? Hell, that's like two years salary for me. I don't think I could comfort a woman like that. I'm more of a $21,000 total earnings kind of woman comforter.

L.A.

It's going to be fun, isn't it.

A Wish Amongst The Fog

Went to go see one of my castmates' show tonight. Good time. Fun show, and HW was there watching as well, so we hung out at the bar after.

Driving home, I came down a section of Beverly Blvd. which I love. It is between Highland and Vine, and it is a long stretch of green. A country club flanks the street on both sides, and a tall green covered wall keeps people like me from peering in. Despite the offense, it is a nice line of non-sprawl.

Tonight, there was a fog. Just enough to give that ethereal feeling from right out of a movie. The street lights blared down, illuminating the wispy dreamlike state. The street is an elongated S curve there as well, which only adds to the effect of becoming lost in another world.

Passing through, I indulged my imagination, and let myself pretend I was in another world. Then the strangest thing happened.

The other world I thought I might fall into was actually the past.

I thought of a time from my childhood. Back when all of my mom's siblings were still alive, and young. All five of them lived within a short distance of one another. We all were very close. I was the first of the next generation, so I remember it better than most. I also remember a time when most of the others weren't parents, and therefore led a more out of the house life. Of course, they ended up at our house. That was what I thought of. Whenever they would come over, they would just walk in. No knocking. No locks. I would be sitting there, in the kitchen say, and all of a sudden one of my uncles would enter the room. It would only be slightly startling, but the best thing about it is it wasn't really. You got to a point where you half expected someone to just show up whenever. They would just walk in. They were family.

That is what I was dreaming of. That is the kind of relationships I would like to cultivate.

It is arguably harder to do that in this time, and place, where we use locks, or live in buildings that have security doors. Even my actual family, the very people I was just talking about, don't do that anymore.

But, it seemed nice. Simple. Open. Loving.

I've built a family of sorts here. My close friends have become more important to me than my actual family even. But we aren't family. We don't treat each other with that same openess. In fact, several of us don't really get along. We hang out, but there is a difference. If push came to shove, I'm sure a couple of friendships would be the victim.

Which is probably what happened to my family, actually.

I wonder. Can relationships really last at such a level of intimatcy? For a sizable length? I wonder.

Now that's just rubbing it in

This is taken from a blog that I have been reading regularly for quite some time now.

"Tony felt like a plate that someone had let cheese dry onto. When, oh, when would someone come into his life with an S.O.S. pad?"

I am fairly certain that he isn't aware of my existence, but nevertheless, that's just kicking a man when he's down.

Milestone, or a mile of stones

This is my 100th blog. It also happens to be the 4th of Nov, and therefore the fourth month of blogging. I started on July 4th, for those of you who hate to subtract.

Being my 100th blog is cause for contemplation.

If I were a presidency, people would be saying how I didn't live up to my promises.

If I were a sitcom, I would have a lucrative syndication deal now, and my next few years would suck before I was put out to pasture with a very special episode.

I thought to bring the contemplation theme to this post, I would first go back and read the beginnings of the past four months. This is what that excersise has told me.

Nothing has really changed.

In July, I was occupied with who I am, and how do I get sex. Girls seemed daunting.

In August, I was occupied with who I am, and how awful the show was. Funny seemed daunting.

In September, I was occupied with who I am, and how miserable life is. Nights alone seemed daunting.

In October, I was occupied with who I am, and how do I get it on with a girl I can't have. My roommate situation seemed daunting.

In the past few posts, I have mentioned ALL of these things!

Wow, really glad I am writing to work all this shit OUT of my system.

These days, I think to myself, why don't I get anymore readers? Well, when it is the same thing month after month, nobody wants to read it! Gary Trudeau, are you listening?

So, I am vowing, here and now, to bring something fresh into my blog.

Like, I could start to talk about, uhm, maybe that, no, not that. Ooh, how about the way I think, uhm, no, not really different. Oh, I got it, that, uhm, thingy, you know, the way life is when, uhm, well, huh?

Ah, skip it.

So, who needs an audience.

I'll just play the one note.

I guess this is like a presidency rather than a sitcom.

At the bar...

Met a group of friends at the bar. Well, to be sure, I knew a couple of the people. The others were people that my friend knew. He and his wife were engaged in conversation with them when I arrived, so I sat down by my other friend and started to talk.

He asked me, how is the divorce going?

I wasn't quite sure how to answer that. I asked in what sense. He didn't elaborate. Just repeated, a bit more annoyed, how is the divorce going?

I searched for an answer.

I told him that so far, it still felt like the right thing, but had not yet produced any results.

He wondered what results I was expecting.

I said, happiness.

He then looked at me, like he was seeing me for the first time, and said, you're looking for your soulmate. You just got divorced, and you're already looking for your soulmate.

I must admit, that is correct. I fully realize that it will take a while. Soulmates aren't a dime a dozen. So, I am willing to give it time. Plus, although I am looking for my soulmate, I do think I might be questioning what that exactly means right now. Just becuase I don't know what I want, doesn't mean I don't want it right now.

Like I have said before, I had just gotten to the place where I realized marriage was something special that I wanted, and partly because of the specialness of it, I realized I was in the wrong one. So, now that I am out of that one, I am ready for the specialness of the right one. Easier said than done, I know, but we are talking feelings here, not action.

The other night, I watched my friend TH go into his hitting on women routine. He is a pro at it, and I got an unusual opportunity to witness this, as two women joined us at the bar at work. Watching him work at it, and it was work, was revealing in a couple of ways. One, it is exhausting work trying to get super acquainted with someone in a very short amount of time. I was tired just watching him. Second, I don't think I am the kind of guy who connects with a woman by design. It is something that has always just happened to me. I am sort of a mix of preparedness meets opportunity. Rather than seek out, and impress the woman I want, I meet someone, and can be charming, and it goes from there. It is a fine difference, but I think you know what I mean.

I don't think my friend tonight was satisfied with our conversation, but little did he know, it was one of the most real conversations about my divorce I have had in a long time.

A cush to fall into

Sorry about the late Halloween update. I'm sure you have been chomping at the proverbial bit just waiting for how that guy in LA spent his holiday.

Well, spent is quite an appropriate word.

Went out as Groucho Marx. Basically, I bought one of those plastic glasses with the nose and mustache attached deals. Also, bought a nice long cigar, which I will smoke later. Then I wore my tux. Classy, looking good costume that totally goes with my personality.

In fact, riding in an elevator with a girl who happened to be going to the same party, she and I started talking. After a bit, she said I was doing a great Groucho. To which I was caught by surprise, I wasn't doing the character at all. It was just me. I do have a bit of an east coast bite to my vowels, and I am a pun master with the wit.

The great thing about that costume is, take off the nose, and you are just a guy in a tux. Which looks good.

I remember a Halloween many years ago where I dressed up as Frankenstein. It was a great outfit. A paper bag on my head to get the square top, green makeup, and raggy clothes, including my green raggy army jacket, which made for great detail. I actually won the nice bottle of wine as first prize. The crap of it though was, a girl I was hot for turned to me at the end of the night and said if I hadn't covered myself in green, she would have taken me home. That's just cruel. Don't ever tell anyone that.

So, I learn from my mistakes. Still managed to look good, but I could ditch it all in a second.

Not that anyone asked, but lessons learned is the whole point.

Got to the party, and as I walked in, the smell of weed was overwhelming. I was looking around to see who was providing, but it seemed that I had just missed a go around.

Now, lately I have been returning to the occasional smoke, after years of paranoia induced abstinence. However, I am like a teenage girl in the amount it takes to get me "right there".

So, I didn't want to ask whomever if I could have one hit. I figured it was a party and eventually, it would come around again. I told one of my coworkers that if he spotted the goods, to let me know.

Then I settled down for a night of mingling.

Not long after, my lookout came around and said that the smoking was about to commence. We headed out to the balcony.

The people out there were paying some sort of deference to a guy sitting down dressed as a pirate, so I assumed he was the man with the stash.

I was waiting for the moment when he determined "everyone" was there. I started joking with a Superman. As I spoke, a guy dressed as a friar walked out and joined us. Continuing to joke, I said, Father, touch me.

He pulled out a cigarette case, opened it, and held it out to me. It was full of pre-rolled joints. He told me to pick the one.

Suddenly, I realize this is the "man", and now everyone is staring at me. Groucho.

I unthinkingly point to a joint and say that one.

He pulls it out, lights it, and smiles. I was awarded the first hit. Silly, since he actually took the first hit, but semantics at a time like that is unwise.

It makes its way around once, and as it does the friar looks at me and says I chose the "bullet". He says it real creepy like, which makes me mentally remind myself not to ever trust the clergy. Not even those who dress like the clergy.

Superman looks to me like I should understand the bullet comment, to which I reply, Leave it to me to select the bullet that will inevitably shoot my brains out. Superman starts laughing, and trying to figure out what movie I just referenced, not listening to me as I try to explain that I wasn't quoting, just quotable.

The friar is whispering something to another when the "bullet" comes around to me again. I am thinking one normally does it for me, but considering Superman's giggling conversational skills, I might have a second go, just to assimilate with the other wildlife.

I do.

As I pass it, the clergyman leans in to me and says do I wanna know why it is the bullet.

I really didn't, but that would be rude. So I say, sure.

He says it is cush. There was only one, and I picked it. Nice pick, he says.

Cush.

I think I have heard of that somewhere. I quickly try to scan every drug reference I have ever heard MM say, but all that comes is a vague feeling that cush is something greater than most.

I lean in for confirmation. The friar not only confirms, but tells me it is strain DK9700 with, I don't know, like lavender infusion, or something. All of which sounds to me like I just shouldn't of had that second hit.

I pass on the rest. As the round ends, the friar leans in and says, it should roll over you in about a half hour.

Does that sound ominous to anyone else? I was looking for a giggle. I wanted to be Stupidman, not rolled over.

I make my way over to a wall, predicting loss of muscular function when the roller rolls. I start conversation with an Agent Smith. A few minutes into the conversation, I break out in a sweat that only Amazonian explorers could relate to. My eyes are having fun with the internal zoom button, and keep going from widescreen to telefoto. I decide conversation will certainly break down soon, and excuse myself.

I make my way inside, shredding clothes like a eager prom date. I find a soft couch, and decide to rest in peace there.

Just as I sit, the belligerent hostess calls my name. Her sister and brother-in-law have just arrived, and he too is dressed as Groucho. Now, we have to do some sort of secret guys-who-dress-as-Groucho handshake or something. The last thing I am prepared to do is a Groucho-off. I make my way over, thinking that the fucker who keeps rolling the room is going to hear it from me tomorrow.

I politely acknowledge the fellow Marxist, and smile as he tells me how those are his real eyebrows. I can only imagine the angle I am standing at, and whether the "I need a V-8" reference would play now, when my mouth loses all capability to make saliva. The result: a tongue that could give Godzilla a fair fight. Now incapable of speech with my rival, I mumble the word water, and break away.

At which point, God has a laugh.

The hostess is actually a co-hostess. Her roommate is fricking gorgeous, and has come into work before, never even looking up as I pass. I, being me, have never started a conversation with her, because of feelings of inadequacy. That while sober. Now, I can't even talk to myself. So who should decide to introduce themselves to me, right now!

Hi, my name is Jo.

I mumble that I know that already. I work with Lora.

A W K W A R D P A U S E

My brain is not helping. This is what my mind is telling me:

---------------------------------------------------- pretty.

Someone calls my name, to which I respond. Jo fades away. Literally, not in my drug addled reality.

I get the water, as whoever thought they needed to speak to me does. I don't listen, and don't look. My focus is solely agua.

I sit at a corner chair and drink the water. Normalcy starts to make a flirtatious return. Not quite settling on me for the night, but hovering just enough that I can do an impersonation.

I speak with Hunter S. Thompson, and it goes well. I am even aware enough mentally to see the irony.

Jo does make her way back, asking me if I have seen the remote. I try out my new conversation legs, wobbling like a baby fawn. She smiles and leaves. I remind myself to forcibly kick myself hard in the morning. Tux, removable character, kick ass haircut, and I now have disabled my one true asset: wit. Hell, not just wit, the ability of speech.

I sentence myself to remain out on the balcony for the rest of the night. I talk to the pirate about back pain. Neither of us are functional enough to think to listen seriously to the other. A guy dressed as roadkill comes out. I joke with him about how I have always wanted to fill a rotten apple with shaving cream and then have a bag of those in my car for when someone drives like an idiot around me, and I could just throw it at the car, and what a great explosive gesture that would be.

I think to myself, hey, that was both funny, and logical. I'm back, baby, I'm back.

What I realize twenty minutes later is that was the last thing I said.

Rather than a return to form, that was the last gasp of a dying man. I give another ten minutes to make sure. Then I leave.

My total time at the party was just under two hours. My Groucho nose is folded into an inside pocket. My tux shirt is unbuttoned enough to make me feel like a desperate Vegas lounge singer. My tie is shoved into my pants pocket, making an unseemly bulge which I realize might have been the reason Jo finally did introduce herself after all.

I fold myself into my Geo, and make two wrong turns on the drive home.

As I climb into bed, knowing that this will be another great "fool" story, I am surprised I'm not depressed by it all. I wonder why that is, and after a bit of thought, the reason comes to me.

At least I'm not sleeping on La Brea.