i'm still not sure how i managed to only have two unseen typos in last night's entry, even after the sadly focused attempt at proofreading through the whiskey-drunk haze. apparently, according to my computer, the last song i listened to during the whole process was 'everybody hurts' by r.e.m., which i definitely don't remember, let alone want to admit. i also forgot to include a few other pertinent things that i had originally planned on mentioning, but that's expected as the level of liquid in the tumbler lowers; like how i was rummaging through the papers and random objects strewn about my dresser and found the two thin metal discs that were once part of her earrings. we drank two large bottles of white wine (i know, but it was her choice) during a movie and the night didn't end well. past sins were rehashed and wounds were reopened. we both brought up painful things that the other had done, but she totally flipped out on me. cursed at the top of her lungs, wailed on me with her clenched fists, scratched me, bit me, etc., and her earring broke as i tried to restrain her. (ok, i won't play the saint. i do remember spitting in her face at some point during our pissing match that evening, but it you would've too if she had said those things to you with that smug look that warranted far worse than some saliva.) i had my female roommate and her boyfriend drive her home since neither of us were in any state to operate a motor vehicle. when we spoke the next day and apologized to each other she said how upset she was that she woke up with my blood on her white shirt. i think we stayed apart for about a week after that fiasco, which is sickening. you'd think we would've taken the hint that we shouldn't have been together, but no. we tried to make ice cream out of shit (those lame construction phrases really rub off on me) for far too long and stuck it out through some scenarios that any sane person would have left after. i found the remains of her earring a few days after the brawl and told her i'd try to fix it, but never managed to find the clasp and therefore never lived up to another of my promises. it sat hidden on my dresser for months and months until it reared its ugly head the other night conveniently as the alcohol was coursing through my bloodstream.
shit like that's been happening more and more lately, those stinging little reminders of the good and bad times that we spent together (and drinking on weeknights as a result). i'd sit here and list them, but they wouldn't make sense and it's really unnecessary since i'm sure you already know what i mean. besides, sharing those kinds of things tend to cheapen them, and if i have to live with all of those mistakes i'd rather have them still retain some sort of value. no matter how much a past love interest pisses you off you always carry a piece of them with you. it's just a matter of for how long, and in my case...let's just say i have some issues with letting go of things, good or bad. a bit of an emotional packrat, if you will.
but i won't discriminate, we can't forget about the physical scars. i'm sitting in my car during lunch break on the new jobsite last week and look to my left. parked next to me is a beat up old mercedes with rust spots from at least fifteen years ago that some guy in their twenties who wants to claim to have a benz would buy. i glance at the person lounging the in the driver's seat, establish that my assessment of the vehicle owner's age and sex is correct, look back down at the book in my lap, and abruptly do a double-take. no, it couldn't be him! i feel my blood rise as the puerto rican temper comes out in me, i reach down for the 14-inch pipe wrench sitting on the floor of my car, my knuckles whiten around its handle. his windshield beckons to meet my heavy wrench. i promise myself not to use the tool on his body, just his vehicle, since his body will be taken care of by my fists. my fingers slide into my door handle as my foreman drives by the front of my car and smiles at me. i come to my senses and remind myself that it's not worth losing my job and possibly going to jail over this weasly little punk. i shoot a look at him again, he doesn't notice because my car is slightly further back from his. putting the pipe wrench down takes me back to reality. i look up into my rear-view mirror, see the scar across the bridge of my nose, rub it a few times with my hand which is still shaking from the adrenaline. i hadn't seen him since the one night i ever did, the night at the bar two years ago when he broke my nose with a heineken bottle. if you're reading this then you probably already know the story so i won't be redundant. basically, homeboy came up to my friends and i and started talking shit as he stood behind us at the bar. i tried diffusing the situation nicely twice, but when he insulted me after the second time i said i couldn't hear him with all that cock in his mouth and he hit my nose with the bottom edge of his bottle. yeah, real brave, tough guy. anyway, i couldn't believe this bologna bandit was really on the same job as me. i always swore i'd settle the score if i saw him in a bar sometime, but never dreamed i'd have to see him excrutiatingly sober and while i'm working. he still hadn't noticed me by that point, and doubt if he would've anyway. my hair was longer two years ago and i wasn't the lean, mean, plumbing machine i am now. besides, we were both so wasted and it happened so fast that he probably wouldn't even remember what i look right off the bat. lunch ended and i nonchalantly walked back to the area we were working in. my foreman and coworkers asked why i seemed so pissed off and out of it all of a sudden so i told them. their faces soured and they started asking where this guy was now, suggesting different gruesome means of exacting their punishment on them. no one messes with their beloved 'shakespeare!' (yeah, of all the nicknames to be given...i knew i shouldn't have told them i used to be an english major before i fucked up.) we all realized how ridiculous the situation was, laughed, and calmed back down. my supervisor and current work partner, dave, who loves me so much that he tried (repeatedly) to marry me off to his (fat) daughter, approached the general contractor on the job later that day and asked who the asshole in question works for. ironically, he is the plumbing inspector for hannaford. needless to say it seemed as though we'd be seeing more of him and things could possibly pop off. i spent a couple days after the initial surprise thinking of how to handle the awkward situation. true, i don't want to jeopardize my anal virginity by doing jail time, but i think i need to at least address the bastard and let him know that if he were worth it i'd be more than happy to remind him that things would've ended a lot differently that fateful night at the bar if i weren't sitting down at the bar with my back to him as he sucker-punched me with a fucking heinie. i can't walk up to him and say something because then the man code would require me to make something of it, fistocuffically speaking. i settled on a more passive approach. if he walks by me, which he hasn't, i will reintroduce myself with one of my witty remarks: "how were those eight months in orange county jail?" or "wanna try to hit me now that i'm not sitting down with my back to you?" or "thanks for the monthly restitution check for a hundred bucks!" or, if he makes a comment about the pipe we're laying, "what was that? it's hard to hear you with all that cock in your mouth," at which point his jaw would drop. i guess i'll take it from there. something tells me he won't have much to say, let alone do, because i'm a lot taller and thicker than his scrawny, pale ass. be the bigger man, but defend yourself if need be. a couple days ago my apprentice buddy and i were sitting in our cars looking at him doing paperwork in his haggard "mercedes" and laughed hysterically when he started the loud hunk of shit up and drove off the site. he hasn't been back since that day, it's been a different hannaford rep on the job. i'm starting to wonder if he recognized me and requested to be redeployed elsewhere for his own benefit. it's a terribly small world, folks. and, of course, at the end of it all i wondered what my old nightly sounding board would have said about the ordeal. she would've been more pissed than me and told me not to worry so much about consequences for once (while sober). fuck, it really always does come back to a female somehow in my life. kinda hate that. arnold was right in "terminator 3" tonight. "you'll find a way to destroy her," says john connor. the schwarzinator sets him straight with "unlikely, she's a far more superior design." maybe not more superior, but definitely more resilient. i tend to dwell. just a little bit. no, really, i know it's hard to believe and all. balls.
i met the old friend who first taught me to play at barnes and noble the other night. i had already sucked down nine beers at band practice so i was pretty much three-quarters of the way in the bag when i got there. (you know you're really hip when you go to the fucking bookstore ripped.) i threw down forty-three bucks on some much-missed bukowski books since i halted my collection expansion a few months ago so i wouldn't run out of material of his to buy too soon. i made it home ok and found those two metal discs from her earring as i disrobed and threw the shit from my jean pockets onto my dresser. yeah, it sucked, but what sucked more was that i couldn't find another decent bookmark to use for my bukowski since my other two are already employed. in my half-a-glow stupor i had a brainstorm. two inverted five-inch strips of electric tape with two stupid metal discs at either end later and i had myself a goddamn appropriate bookmark, especially for something by good ol' hank. i read a few of his short stories before passing out and chuckled over my ingenuity as i turned out the light. rebuild as best you can from the scraps left behind after the fallout. that's the best you can do with a lousy hand.
currently reading:
the lies inside the fortune cookies i ate tonight.
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