a giraffe drinking

I pull up to the house. Go inside with the groceries. Go back outside to check the mail. Yep, another bill. I can’t remember the last time I got a letter. No one writes ‘em anymore. That’s for sure. I tried to. But no one wrote back. So, I gave up. Maybe I’ll try again. I still have all those postcard stamps and Hemingway stamps.

After putting the groceries away, and taking out a frozen pizza and stuffing it in the oven, I drop my pants to the floor.

Kind of a sad existence. Come home, drop your pants on the ground. Not like anyone is going to see it, yet it still makes me feel, I don’t know, awful? Poor? Trashy? Hell, who cares. I’m comfortable not having long pants and shoes on now. I just don’t like wearing them anymore.

Here’s to living somewhere that is hot all the time. Anyone know a way to get a job in Ecuador? When you can’t speak Spanish?

Speaking of, a few days ago, I was in the office talking about wanting to move to Cuba. No one understood it. Why, they asked, would anyone want to do that? It’s dirty there. It’s under Communist rule. They drive shitty cars.

I said “Exactly. And, it’s a freaking island paradise. I look around Jacksonville, North Carolina, and all I see is dipshit Marines driving their sooped up cars and flying the flag. Not really understanding much about why they are doing either, I would hazard to guess. A few, I’ll agree, know what’s going on, but there is a reason they used to be called the few, the proud, etc…

Back to walking around in underwear. I wonder if I’d do this if I had neighbors? Well, I did it in my apartment. I didn’t do it in my sister’s house.

This is the shit that goes through my mind. I’m a waste sometimes, that’s for sure. Sometimes?

***

What the fuck moments, like Booger tells Lestat are good for the soul.

I took a small one a couple days ago by shaving my head. No big deal when you think about it, but when you’re the person doing it for the first time it is. But then you do it, and it wasn’t a big deal.

Like kissing a girl for the first time. That first time is nerve-wracking. Well, for me it is. I’m sure for some dudes it’s nothing. It’s like taking a pee or shooting a basketball. In other words, routine. I’m glad it has never been like that for me. I couldn’t imagine it being anything but a magical moment. Even the bad ones. You get so damn scared, so petrified. What if she doesn’t want to kiss? What if she turns her head? What if she smacks me? Those thoughts have all popped into my head.

I’ve also been so scared that I didn’t do it. Only one of those times did I regret it. And only twice did I not end up ever kissing her. And of those, only one is a “regret” so to speak. I still think about that girl from time to time. But that’s no cause for shock with me and my mindset. She’s completely disappeared, which is extremely tough in this internet age. I guess if I knew the high school she went to, I might be able to find her. Or how old she really was. It’s funny, I always assumed she was younger than me, but I now believe she was probably a year older. If anyone has a way to find someone that apparently isn’t on the internet, let me know. Oh, and it needs to be free. I’m broke. Always have been, always will be it seems. But that could just be the pessimist in me.

Hell, I know I’m going to fall in love again. In many ways, it happens to a degree most days. Just that degree is usually 1 not 100.

So, I guess I should say this:

“I’m going to not be in debt one day. I’m going to own a bar, a bar that has bands. And hopefully, one day, Lucero will play that bar. I won’t say, they will, because they could break up. They could hit the “big time” or whatever. But I will one day make these things happen.”

And then I’ll be happy. Happier than a giraffe drinking. Or a monkey curling. And definitely more so than a cat flushing a toilet.