The end of the night and morning after

Looey was the disruption I was longing for. A break from my pattern of thinking. I was infatuated with her body and her movements. After making out for what seemed like hours, we got up from the booth and joined her friends near the bar's dance floor. I could feel the blue and green lights moving on and off my face. I followed her around the bar for awhile and then we left. One of her roommates drove all of us home. Looey never actually invited me home with her, but I don't think she thought that I wasn't going home with her. She wanted me there. Her friends said nothing. I held her hand up the stairs and into her apartment.

One of the roommates starting making mixed shots. We all took a few of them. They tasted like sugar. We walked out onto the balcony of Looey's apartment. One roommate noticed a group of people walking into their apartment complex across the street. She yelled drunkenly into the night, "Heyyyyy, you guys go to elllemmmyouuu right?" I forgot for a second that everyone I was with went to Loyola Marymount University. Yelling back and forth ensued from both apartments and shortly after there were another 2 girls and 2 guys in the apartment. I helped myself to a Maker's Mark and coke. I felt like a stranger as I watched all these undergrads, all of which I hardly knew, talk about other people I knew nothing of. 

I held Looey close throughout the night. She couldn't have looked better, I thought. Everyone finally went either home or in their rooms, except Looey and I. We shared a cigarette outside. I remember the way she spoke. We were both drunk, of course, but I remember her voice distinctly. She would look at me, take a long drag of the cigarette, and then stare at the sky in a way that appeared as if she had never seen the sky before. We exchanged drags from the cigarette. I was hers. She slid the balcony door open with her left hand and grabbed my left hand with her right. 

Her room was interesting. Full of various nick-nacks and movie posters. Some movies I knew, some I didn't. It was powerfully quiet in her room. She went to the bathroom and I waited on the bed for her. We kissed each other passionately. I couldn't believe my luck. Maybe I could stay with Looey. I could live in the apartment with her. Maybe forever, I thought.

I took her clothes off slowly and she guided my hands where she wanted them. After a few moments, we were having sex. The more her tits swung back and forth, the more excited I got. Though she was drunk, she was actively participating. Every movement of hers seemed right and I was just trying to keep up. I felt incredible that night. I slept soundly with my hand around her.

I woke up the next morning alone in her bed. Looey and her roommates were arguing. I was very hungover and they must have been too. When the arguing subsided, I walked into the living room, unsure what of what to expect. Looey smiled at me and said she was going to change clothes. I talked to her roommate for about 20 minutes, who was clearly trying to figure me out. My story must have seemed ridiculous to her. I imagined her thinking, "Oh really? So you just drove out here with no plans, friends, hardly any money, and figured you'd just make it work?" I was a runaway. I was a nobody. 

Looey and I used each other for own pleasure, I realized. Although she was friendly with me the next morning, I continued to grasp the fact that she didn't want to talk to me anymore. I don't know how I could blame her either. I was just some bum to her. I was living out of my car, taking lots of drugs, not working, and had no friends in California. I had nothing. I was in no position to be close to her, though at the time I didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to tell me "No." I suggested we spend the day together, but one of her roommates quickly stammered that they had plans. Looey wanted to get rid of me, it was obvious, but she didn't want me to feel bad. I was prepared to spend any amount of money to keep seeing Looey. But that wasn't what she wanted. Looey and her roommate dropped me off by my car. Looey hugged me very hard and I would never see her again. 

I looked at my car in complete disgust. I was not in the mood to get in it. I didn't want to be alone. My phone directed me to a diner about a mile away from my car. I slowly walked there and the bell attached to the door rang wildly when I opened it. This diner was old. I have been to some diners that attempt to emulate the style of a diner from the 50's, but this place actually was a diner from the 50's. The tables, chairs, and bar looked to be about as old as my waitress. A friendly woman, whose husband, she told me, owned the place. The diner looked like it could accommodate about 40 people but only 6 or 7 were there at 10:00am this Sunday morning. I ordered a breakfast sampler and continued to survey the diner while sipping coffee. 

The only person at the bar was this middle aged man who wasn't actually there. His mind wasn't there. He was barely eating his oatmeal and didn't appear to be acknowledging any of his surroundings. He had the look on his face of a man whose thoughts were consumed entirely by something else. He was shaking a little bit. He was of average height, had an athletic build, and seemed to be skinny as a result of drug use. 

I was waiting on my food when our eyes met. I quickly glanced down at my table. He quickly spoke to me and I looked back at him and saw the shining color in his eyes. I have never seen a man with eyes as blue as his. His eyes were tired, but when fully opened, showed the penetrating blue in his eyes. His voice was moderately high pitched. 

"What's up with the mouse on your shirt?". Once again my shirt had been a conversation starter. I explained to him who deadmau5 was and the kind of music he played. It has always been hard for me to respond to a stranger when I was just thinking about them. I told him this was my first time here and he said this was "his place". I saw my waitress shaking her head disapprovingly at me behind him. I wanted to know more about this guy. He seemed like he wanted to talk to me. I told him I was here alone. He picked up his bowl of blueberry oatmeal, stepped down from the bar, and shuffled down into the booth seat across from me. 

He talked with a certain purpose. Like a man that was ready to divulge some secret. He spoke so quickly, it was hard for me to keep up. I did though, and I was so pleased to have someone to listen to. He talked my ear off. He asked me if I liked the LA Clippers and I told him that I was actually a Lakers fan. He scoffed loudly and antagonized me for that. He began his sort of story of his life from there. He knew people in the Clippers organization. He claimed to have met many staff members of the Clippers organization. Two names he mentioned that I knew were Larry Brown and Lamar Odom, well known figures in the NBA. He told me the LA Times did an article about him. I looked up his name after I left the diner and, to my amazement, found the article. Carl Cook was this man's name. After he talked to me about what he knew about the Clippers organization, he told me about what he used to do when he was in his 20's.

My food came and got cold. I was mentally tied to this man. He told me about a friend of his. A friend he used to get into all kinds of trouble with. He and that friend used to cross dress "just for the fuck of it". He told me about a night where he fucked a girl wearing women's clothes and makeup. He kept the stories coming. One night, Carl said, consisted of snorting coke off toilet seats with his friend followed by their running naked into Huntington Beach. He spent a week in the hospital after that night because he caught pneumonia.

He told me about a foursome he had involving one girl, his friend, and another guy. It was an amateur porn video, he explained. He was paid $40 to participate. After listening to Carl for what seemed like hours, I capitalized on a brief moment of silence. It appeared to me that he hadn't talked about himself like this in awhile. He seemed overwhelmed, so I wanted to change the conversation. I complimented him on how great it was that he had been sober for 5 years. He told me earlier that he was a recovering alcoholic. I thought my complimenting him might direct his thoughts differently. I was right. He told me about how his bicycle had changed his life. That's right, his bicycle. He gave up alcohol and started living off the street. He cut off contact with his parents, and worked odd jobs for money. I don't know if I believe that he's been sober for that long, but I definitely believe these words he told me in tears, "my parents just never had time for me." His tears were true. After I had paid my bill and tipped the waitress, Carl grabbed my hand and told me I was welcome any time here. I said goodbye to him and told him I'd come back and see him.

Carl Cook, LA Times Article: http://articles.latimes.com/2006/may/12/sports/sp-clipfan12

Listing of half a night in venice

I remember Venice the most. I spent the most time in California there. At least a week, if not more. I stayed in my car a few miles away and would walk up to the beach during the day. A hot summer day at Venice beach is a busy one. I saw street performers, odd looking thrift shops, and outdoor skateparks next to the beach. There was one boy I clearly remember from the skatepark. He appeared to me to be the best skater out there. He got the crowd cheering. He was only about 9 years old.

I drank beer and watched football in a bar by the beach. This bar was strange looking on the inside. The interior of the bar looked nothing like any bar I'd ever seen. After talking to the bartender, I found out that the bar used to be a bank. I struck up a conversation with a guy that had the thickest Irish accent I've ever heard. His wife looked and sounded like she was from California. The Irish guy told me that he was a minority owner of a soccer team in Ireland. He and his wife were nice. The wife told me where to go that night.

I followed wifey's advice and went to this sushi bar which was walking distance from where I was. The night started for me at this sushi bar. I had pretty much sobered up so when 9:00 came around, I needed more drinks. I went up to the bar and started. I drank a lot too. I got really fucked up, really fast. I was definitely out of place in this upscale sushi bar. For one thing, I probably didn't smell too good. Living out of your car will do that you. 

The first girl I met at the sushi bar was a tall sexy skinny blonde. I don't remember her name, but I remember what started our conversation. She was picking up drinks from the bar to take back to her table when our eyes met and she said, "Oh, that's deadmau5! Cool shirt!" She was full of pep. Must have been the Irish coffees she was drinking. After telling her which deadmau5 songs I liked and where I was from and whatever else, she invited me to join her. The only thing I remember about her and her group of friends was the girl who worked as a "specialist" for a suicide hotline company. Interesting. Actually, I remember where they went to school. Some of them were undergrads at UCSB. 

At this point in the night, my primary goal was to find a place to stay. It would be a long drunken walk back to my car if I didn't. My only chance was to get with a girl. I followed the girl and her friends to the bar across the street, where they said they were meeting other friends. This was the bar where they left me. I walked to the new bar to get a drink and when I turned around they were gone. 

It was a good thing I met Looey quickly because if I hadn't I might have just started walking back to my car. She must of seen what had just happened. I took a big sip of my beer and walked up to her. She watched me and I approached her and said something like, "Can you believe that? Fucking bullshit!". I was right, she saw. I bought her a red bull and vodka. Looey looked sexy too, but in a different way than the other girl. I was much more attracted to Looey. The other girl looked more like a surfer. Looey was wearing tight cutoff jeans and a pretty revealing top. She had really nice tits and legs. I met her friends. More undergrads. Looey and her friends were attending LMU, which I hadn't heard of until that night. Loyola Marymount University is really close to Venice I found out. One guy in Looey's group was studying film there. He seemed interested when I told him a little bit about the idea I had for the short story I'm now writing, (I haven't worked on in it for about three weeks now) but I had no desire to talk to him. 

Normally, I would never pay a cover charge to get into a bar, but I did this night. Looey and her friends had decided that this next bar, or perhaps nightclub, would be the last place. I had picked up on the fact that the 3 girls lived together, and the guy was dating one of them. I figured I had a good chance to go home with Looey.

I paid 10 fucking bucks to get into that goddamn bar or club or whatever. Every single person in there was dressed in really expensive clothes. I remember wondering if the people there, all about my age, were the sons and daughters of famous actors. The environment just seemed that way to me. When we were in line to get into the bar, Looey told me what she did. She said she was studying acting at LMU and was taking voice lessons. An aspiring singer and actress. The place was small and had bright green and blue lights flashing around. There was a DJ in the back. It felt exclusive and I would have felt out of place if not for the people I was with. I began thinking that the only reason I was able to get into this bar was because of the people I was with. I tried talking to Looey more but it was hard because it was so loud. We were both really drunk. It was about 1:00 am. The 5 of us got a booth behind the dance floor. Looey and I stayed there to talk. We starting making out pretty quickly. I think she realized that we were unable to hear each other. 

Her skin was so soft. I definitely remember that. I had my left arm wrapped around her waist and started to kiss her. Just touching her legs made me horny. I wanted to fuck her right there, in this ridiculous atmosphere. I was so drunk. She didn't seem to care at all where I touched her. After an embrace, she leaned over and arched her back slightly and offered her tits to me. She looked down at them, smiled up at me, and then we kissed again while I slipped my hand under her top and onto her tits. I felt incredible. All of my problems faded from my mind. I wasn't just lost now, but lost in lust. 

My friend kirt

The friendship I thought I had with my college roommates was compromised when I met Kirt.

These roommates, now both engaged, I no longer speak to. I wish I did though. I wish I would hear from them sometimes. I have occasionally dreamt up ridiculous scenarios involving these long lost college friends. In these dreams, I envision myself as a ghostly member of my friends' social circles. I follow them around and make up stories about them. I hover above and between them, in a misty cloud of smoke, as we travel to a college party. I pretend to know what they are thinking, to attempt to understand the motives behind their actions.

Kirt does not make appearances in my dreams. I would never have met Kirt without some luck. I consider my meeting him as being sort of lucky. He may never have existed in my life if I had not met him awkwardly one fall afternoon 4 years ago. On that day, my car was broken down. My car was parked outside my apartment, a few blocks away from Kirt's house. I was condescendingly looking at my car when Kirt walked right up behind me and asked me what had happened to my car. He scared the hell out of me. I was so confused. I was 19 at the time, and was at a loss for words. I wanted to get rid of him. I was angry about my car and I thought he for sure was going to talk my ear off and then probably ask me for money. Kirt is a 38 year old black guy that has lived his entire life under his parents roof.

A good friend of mine, whose closeness in my life has varied, described Kirt in a way that I've always thought fit him best. My friend said to me, "He's a symbol of how cruel and selfish this world is." All Kirt wants is a friend, and the only frustrating part of that to me is that he is always trying. He doesn't understand what it means to be a friend. Our friendship grew over time. Sometimes I remember wishing I could yell at him "I'm your friend damnit!" I got more and more comfortable with him. I got in the habit of calling him "my really good friend". It made him feel good. It was probably about 3 months after I first met Kirt that I started inviting him over. Before that, I would talk to him at the park across from my apartment or in the streets. My roommates, whose inferiority complex is rooted in their hatred towards people they don't understand, immediately disregarded Kirt. They started to talk to and treat me differently and would make snide remarks at me. "Who is that guy and why do you keep bringing him over here." It would be a more honest series of questions if I had asked them the same questions about the dickheads they would bring over.

I can sound like a condescending world despising bigot from time to time. Not only can I sound like one, I most surely am one. You should always be taking steps to understand yourself, and for a long time, I didn't want to. In some ways, I was just as much of an immature prick as my roommates were. My friendship with Kirt helped me combat my feelings of low self worth. After becoming close to Kirt and seeing him almost everyday, I realized how much I enjoyed his company. Although it's wrong, I started to take pleasure in the fact that my peers thought I was "A really strange guy". I would bring Kirt along to my various intramural games and he was happy. I made it a personal goal of mine to try and reveal the hypocrisy in others. People would glare at me and I would rejoice in the hate. People would stare at Kirt and he would look back at them with what he calls his "Rose colored glasses."

I wish my life was as simple as his. Wake up, walk around the neighborhood, go to work in the mall, come home. His mind is so simple, and he's so honest to a point where he could bring out the best in me. He is treated so unfairly by people and he is somehow unaffected by so much of it. Not all the time though. I've seen him at a low point, a time he told me he'd never had a friend like me "to talk to about this stuff."

I was in my bed watching tv and shuffling my poker chips, when I noticed Kirt's mood change. He was sitting next to me in my leather chair and started to ask me work related questions. I was giving him halfassed answers, I wasn't really listening. I had never seen Kirt get emotional and I felt guilty afterwards for not listening to him right away. He was trying to get me to settle down and listen to him, which I wasn't doing this night. My mind would occasionally drift off when he came over to my house, and I felt infinitely more relaxed when he was around. After he had asked me an unusual amount of questions, I turned off the tv and gave him the proper attention.

He started to talk to me about the new position he was getting pushed into at work. I'd heard him talk about it before. After some 15 years spent working as a shoe salesman at an athletic store, management was attempting to give Kirt more responsibility. Earlier that week, he had told me how much he didn't want the new job because of the responsibility he would have towards his other employees. I've met his manager. At first glance she appeared to be a complete bitch, an opinion I further developed after speaking with her. She hurt Kirt in a way I would have never known until this random night. She wouldn't listen to Kirt. Kirt didn't want the added responsibility, but this bitch decided she was going to put him through the management training process anyway. Kirt told me that an employee, a guy he considered his friend, yelled at him because Kirt informed on him for attempting to steal a pair of Jordan's.

Kirt struggled to talk to me about a staff meeting that had occurred earlier at his work that day. Kirt was made a fool of by this employee, a thief who was surely using Kirt and doesn't want to be his friend. Fuck him. I cried for Kirt. Although he didn't explain the meeting to me very well, I knew Kirt was being honest with me. His tears were real, and so were mine. He was slouched over crying in my leather chair. This middle aged black man was crying his eyes out in front of me. His large black hands were making attempts at hiding his face. He was embarrassed and confused to be sharing his emotions. I felt like shit because I wish I had been more ready to hear his thoughts. I wanted to walk into his work and punch that guy in the face.
.
At one point he said, "It's not you, stop thinking that". I thought about this for awhile. In tears, I was thinking about how I could make it all better for him. I felt incredibly strange all the sudden. His life is not mine, I reminded myself. How stupid is it to have to remind yourself of something like that? I can't give Kirt a sort of stubbornness to just dismiss people. He never talks to his parents about anything. If I wasn't there for him, who was going to be? Nobody.

I love Kirt. I love to entertain him with some bullshit and he makes me feel like a person. The jokes I come up with make him smile and that makes me feel good. He can frustrate the fuck out of me sometimes though, this if for sure. I don't see him everyday anymore, and I don't want to text him constantly. I have to convince myself that I don't have to talk to him everyday if I don't want to. It used to be easy to see Kirt because he lived a few blocks away from me, which is no longer the case. If he had some issue that really required my attention then I of course would give it to him.

There was one time that I was laying on my bedroom's carpet and he came up behind me. He wanted to know if I wanted a back massage. He proceeded to step on my back. I felt powerfully bonded to him by this experience. He was stepping on me and it felt good. My back wasn't sore from the basketball I had played earlier that day, and the pleasure I received from this experience was entirely mental.

He texts me sometimes and conjures up some pretty crazy bullshit. He asked me once if I was bragging while playing basketball. "O were you bragging?" Another time he texted me and asked if he was doing anything wrong. He was somehow convinced that he was doing wrong. I don't remember what we were talking about. Doesn't matter. I had to convince my good friend that he wasn't doing anything wrong. His blatant honesty is valuable.. a soothing addiction. I don't think he has ever been comfortable being alone with someone before he met me.

Simply put, Kirt is a gangsta. An honest person. A friend I desperately needed and was fortunate to find.

Just before I became broke

"I don't understand why you wouldn't rather do what you're doing now back here with us," Mike said to me the other day. "You could wait tables at The Dock and stay with us. Doesn't make sense."

The conversations I have with Mike are frustrating because he's right. Maybe if I was broke when I first met him and Rod, I would still be down there.

After working at the hall, I never want to see Johnny again. He wasn't someone I wanted to go out and meet locals with, but I had no one else to go out with. I wanted my relationship with him to be just business. I wanted to make my own new friends, although that's not what I told him. I knew that the people I would probably meet wouldn't get along with him. Johnny was as close to a friend that I had when I was in school, but he's too much of an ego head. He was different from most of the private school kids, but he had that same sense of entitlement that a lot of the other kids had. His dad is a really successful business man and Johnny was obviously going to take up the family business, which he did.

After a day's work at the hall, I went out with Johnny, his family, and some coworkers to a bar close to the beach. The only thing worse than going out with Johnny was going out with his family tagging along with us. It just wasn't enjoyable to be with them at all but after being miserable for about an hour at the bar, the group of them left and went home early. I stayed at the bar and that's where I met Rod, Mike's roommate.

I had just ordered a beer from the bar when I saw one guy hit another guy. I was at the end of the bar and turned my head to watch the bouncer carry the guy who through the punch out. Rod and his group sat down next me, irate about what had just happened. His friend that got hit was laughing and the left side of his face was starting to swell up. Rod was laughing too. The other guys they were with were really upset about it.

It didn't take me long to realize that this group was "Rod's group." Some of the girls kept asking him if he was going to let the group go back to his place for the night. The girls were really sexy. Rod introduced one of them to me. We didn't talk too much, but I liked her. She and her friends were wondering which of Rod's friends would "just buy and go" if the group went back to his place. He was getting angry with them. I think one of them was his girlfriend but I never found out for sure.

Rod and Mike are coke dealers. Obviously Rod was a dealer of some kind, but I didn't know what yet. Rod and I bought each other drinks at the bar and he drunkenly tried to explain to me what had happened with his friend who got hit. The friend came up behind us at the bar and joked "Want to smack my other cheek?" He was really fucked up too. Way more than Rod. I'm still surprised that the bar didn't kick him out too. Rod told me that the other guy started the fight, but who knows. The way his friend was acting, it wouldn't surprise me if he was just as much at fault. After Rod's group was really drunk and it was almost 2:00am, Rod announced that we could all go back to his place, which is a beachfront apartment.

After Rod was done getting the group together, I followed him. All the girls couldn't fit into his car, so I took one of them with me. I was pretty fucked up, but not on the level of the people in the group yet. The girl I took to Rod's apartment was so drunk. I asked her what her name was and she said something like "Emjee". I was going to say something else but she waved her hand as if saying "Just drive".

I parked next to Rod and the girl joined her friends. Rod put his arm around my shoulder and said
"Nice place, eh?". Yeah, I thought, really nice. It was a Friday night and I had finally met some people.

Rod's apartment was way too small to accommodate 20 people. Mike was playing Super Smash with a fucking huge Mexican guy everyone called "Papa". He was cool. The "buy and go" guys left, and they took some of the girls with them, which lessened the group to about 10. I did three or four lines with Rod and Mike and then everyone except Papa went down to the apartment pool. One of the girls and a member or Rod's group were having sex in the pool. Nobody bothered them. Everyone was fucked up, smiling, and joking around. I ended up crashing on Rod's couch that night.

My god was I fucked up. This was my first experience with coke and it was unlike any experience I've ever had. Once I lost my job at the hall, I would help Rod and Mike for the next couple weeks and would stay at their place. There was a trust that Rod, Mike, and I shared. After the first night I crashed at their apartment, the three of us became close. They would leave me alone in their apartment knowing that I knew that there were $100's of dollars of coke and cash that I could steal. That made me feel good. It sort of reassured me that we were close friends, that I belonged.

Who will disconnect first (part 2/2)

It feels strange looking through my chat with Chris for the purpose of deciding what I want to include from it in this post. I’m not sure what to include. The conversation I had with him was different than the one I had with Marcos. It definitely was shorter and developed quicker. At first, I didn't think there was a chance that I wouldn't get disconnected right away by Chris. I had good reason to feel that way, based on what I saw and have seen.

Like I mentioned in my last post, people spam the fuck out of the chats. The conversation with Chris started out no different. But, there was a strange bit at the end of his spam. I didn't realize the potential this spam had for a conversation until I reread it again:

 

Stranger: fooling around with horny puberty guys on omegle that just want to see some girls nudes trying to get my nonexistent kik account

 

The possible conversation starting word here is "nonexistent". Very clever, Chris. Nevermind what Kik is. If you use Omegle you may use Kik, but if you don't know what it is, it doesn't matter.

 

 

When people spam, I like to spam right back with a link to this blog just for the hell of it. So, that's what I did. I sent a link to my blog and said "read" "it's good for you."

 

Then, after I was sure to be disconnected, I quickly received a few questions from Chris. "What is that?" "Why do you want random people to read it?" "Do you think this might be something for me specifically?"

 

I was very taken aback. I did not think I was going to receive these questions from Chris, but after I did, I hoped he was a girl. I of course had my doubts and of course he turned out to be a guy. I answered the questions as honestly as I could. I said that I liked writing and wanted to share my blog. I said that I feel a connection to the characters and authors in the books I read, and how I wanted to sort of do the same with my blog.

 

Now that I'm writing this and referring back to the chat log with Chris, I can already tell that this post is going to turn out worse than if I simply c/p'd the chat log. Despite this, I don't think anyone would want to spend the time reading the entire chat log. Chris was the inspiration behind my asking Marcos to write about him. I met Marcos long before I started this blog and I talked to Chris on Omegle about a week ago.  

 

I've read the chat log with Chris a few times now and, like I said earlier, I'm not sure what to include. Chris and I's chat was good conversation between two strangers. I told Chris I was going to write a post about him, so I'm doing it.

 

I remember getting the feeling I was chatting with myself at certain points. Chris is better educated than Marcos. English, his second language behind German, is extremely good. I told him at one point that he might know the English language better than I do. He even says "In the internet". Isn't that the correct usage?

 

I couldn't help but get the feeling that Chris was my long lost European brother. We were in the same position, it felt like. The feelings we shared about what irritates us about things were similar. I could elaborate more on this or that, which might make this post more interesting, but I don't feel like it. I won't write another post about an Omegle chat, I don't think.

 

So, how do you decide who disconnects first? I have no idea, go and ask Chris the same thing. Neither of us wanted to disconnect first, though Chris pointed out that it was 4:30am in Germany. Chris said he is "Never the one to disconnect first", another thing we have in common. So, we did a 3-2-1 countdown followed by a mutual disconnect.

 

 

 

Who will disconnect first (part 1/2)

Online chat is something I have used throughout my life. Not on a regular basis, but I've always used them at one time or another. It used to be AOL instant messenger when I was a teenager and now I've progressed to a website called Omegle. You can chat with anyone from any country on this website.

I get on Omegle to feel a connection to someone, to share my thoughts and interests with a person I cannot see. It is extremely hard to find a person that you can have a conversation with. If you get on Omegle with the intent of having a legitimate conversation with someone, you're going to have to spend time getting through the bullshit. Kind of like real life. On Omegle, there are so many people online that will disconnect you once you tell them your age or sex, and there are even more people that just spam the chat with links to webcams. The bullshit is what keeps this site running unfortunately. Kind of like real life too, isn't it?

In these chats, it's a one on one text conversation. There is no video cam (unless you choose the option), like Skype. It's not a chatroom. It's just you and one other person. Before I talk to you about the person I talked to recently, whose conversation I consider one of the best I've had on Omegle, I'm going to tell you about another previous one.

I was chatting with this guy around 6 months ago. His name is Marcos. He is a really nice guy, and we both felt better after talking to each other. He is from Maine, which is a state in the northeast United States. After a pretty basic but enjoyable conversation, we started to talk about our families. Before I tell you anything more about Marcos, I want to mention the thing I like most about him. He likes to do most of the talking, or I guess typing/chatting. I prefer these conversations because I enjoy listening (reading.. whatever, fuck it) to others on Omegle more than talking.   

Marcos lived in a foster care center for 8 years with his sister, Princess Leia, before being adopted by a church organist and his wife. He lived with this couple for 3 years. When I initially talked to Marcos 6 months ago, he was 19 and living together with Princess Leia, who he would later tell me wasn't his sister by blood.

This couple that adopted Marcos sexually and mentally abused him for years. Marcos, this honest 19 year old Portuguese American, told me about all this on Omegle. After we talked for about 3 hours he told me he really wanted to see me. I didn't have a Skype account until that moment. I downloaded it, made an account, and accepted his Skype video chat invitation. I had never used Omegle video chat or Skype before meeting Marcos. I already felt connected to Marcos and we trusted each other. On Skype I was able to see him and later on, his much younger sister, Princess Leia.

Through Skype, he told me that he discovered he was gay about a year ago. He was comfortable with the fact that he was, but just not in public. In the back of my mind, before we started the Skype session, I sort of thought he was going to tell me something about his sexuality and possibly make an advance on me. He told me something like (I'm paraphrasing here) "I wish people would just understand that I want to hold my boyfriend's hand in public and not be looked at strangely." I didn't save the chat log with Marcos. I wish I had. Marcos did not appear gay to me when I first saw him and he didn't talk or act like any gay person I've ever known. He explained to me that he thought what happened with his adopted parents had influenced him to be gay. I told him it didn't matter to me that he was. He said this and I'll never forget it because I felt the exact same way. "The connection I feel towards you is the same as my gay friends. The physical part is what gets in the way." The physical part is what gets in the way. I told him how much I appreciated his honesty and he thanked me for listening and not judging him. He told me he felt an emotional release after talking with and seeing me, which I also felt and told him so.

We went on to talk about different things. He asked a few times and I made sure to convince him that I didn't want to participate in any sort of sexual act with him. He explained the feeling he had. He felt like he had to please me somehow, that he thought I needed it, but I continually reassured him that I didn't. The more I smiled, the more he seemed to believe me. I could relate to him so much somehow, and I'd only known him for a few short hours. I told him that I've wanted to please a man before too, but that it didn't mean I wanted to suck his dick or do anything sexual. I have never felt sexually attracted to any man before and still don't.

I hadn't told Marcos about my blog until I decided I wanted to write about him. When I asked him if I could write about him, he said it was cool and that I could use his actual name. His sister's name is Princess Leia, but I don't know Marcos, I think she looks more like Snow White :)

A little poker

Before I lost all of my money and then stopped playing, I was good. Is that even fair to say? Not sure, but it's true. I'm good.

I don't know why, but part of the car ride alone to the casino I consider half the experience. It's like layup lines before a basketball game. I like that drive. On the drive home it's of course different, when you go home a loser it sucks. I know every exit, every gas station and which ones typically have the cheapest gas. I also know how many porn stores, or, excuse me, adult video stores there are on the way to the casino. I know where the cheapest hotels are. I know that 1 hour drive like the back of my hand. Poker is similar to the drive in some ways. I know certain things after hours of observation. I know when some people are going to make certain plays. I know when some people are letting a bad beat control their play, and I can tell who has taken too much adderall or coke.

I can read your facial expressions, observe your betting patterns, your attempts at casual eye contact. You have no idea, but I know. 

They call this guy Coach. I've played with him a couple times. He coached tennis at some private school I heard. He's a 2/5 regular. He always wears one of those fucking huge gold rings on his left hand. Probably a college championship ring or something. He has an above average game, but can be exploited because he doesn't respect other players. 

Oh, whats that Coach? You think I have top pair on the flop and you think you're going to represent a flush draw or overpair with that flop reraise of yours? That flop raise you made is too big sir, I'll call you. Then, unfortunately for you, that flush card comes on the turn. "That 3 of clubs, I knew I'd spike it. I'm going to get this kid off the hand now!" Your probably thinking merrily to yourself. You're excited because you think you're gonna bluff my punkass out of the hand this time. I'm almost positive that flush card didn't make your hand on the turn, but I'm excited because I'm thinking you think I think you did. 

Still following me?

Judging by the pre flop play, it seems very likely to me that you have either two overcards or a mid pocket pair and are trying to get me out of the hand, which is the reason I didn't reraise you on the flop with my set of 6's. That turn bet you made is again too big. I'll give you some credit here though, you tried to make a turn bet that would make it seem a little bit more like you made your flush. However, in your hastiness to get me to fold, you still made that bet too big, which reveals that you don't have the only few hands I'm worried about which are AK-AJ on suit. I wouldn't dare raise you on the turn. If the river blanks, you're of course going to bet too much again and I'll get more of your money. Easy game. An innocent offsuit 9 comes on the river, and I look up at you and you're already looking down and getting your chips together for that big bet that I knew was coming. I couldn't call fast enough. I call and you flip over 99 and have hit your set of 9's on the river.

Fuck it, I never liked most of my coaches anyway.

In the back of some minds

You would rather not think it. But, it's absolutely true. Before I go any further try and ask yourself this question: "What do I offer this world? In what way can I calm down the people I consider close in my life?"

If you have to either, as you might think, over think this issue, or idealize that it has some sort of meaning that you cannot place, then I promise you, you are destined for my company. This is company both you and I need, I assure you.

Don't worry my good friend, I'll show you. Even in the most unpredictable of times, you will find yourself needing my expression, my casual glance and laugh. The primary problem, which we can't deny, is that it fits us. We are connected like long lost brothers. And why is this so? Do we really want to believe that the people closest in our lives have dwarfed us to this point of social ineptitude? We are crippled as we try to normally relate to others. We are a strange breed, my friend, but it suits us well.

In one of our worst moments, you will believe that I'm trying to assert my dominance over you, to show you how much more of a "man" I am. The opposite could not be more true. What does it mean to be a man? This is something I wonder about, as do you.

I irritate you and you can't understand why. You are irritated at yourself because of it. You don't feel normal. I feel the same my friend, but we are different people with different minds. My anxiety is a part of my mind that is never ending and no matter how many sedatives I take, I will never know what it is like to feel blissfully still in relaxation. There's a certain pain that we can inadvertently trigger in each other, though we wish we didn't. These pains we feel are a kind of madness that has always connected us.

When you were young

Life has always been a sort of game to me. When I was young I always loved to play it. I loved playing before it mattered how many points you scored, what results came about from your performance, or before anyone decided how skilled you were. It was just a game.

When you start to get older, different things start to "matter". Your individual skill set, what makes you, you, becomes put to a test. A sort of benchmark to judge yourself against your peers. The game you were once naturally drawn to and loved becomes a sort of way for you to classify yourself. A way to fit in to the society you live in.

There are certain things that can make a man cry and they are different for every man. I could be standing in a line at a grocery story and observe a man and his wife exchange honest harmonious acts of affection and feel nothing. To me, that just isn't a powerful feeling. It's not to say that the act between the two of them isn't filled with less love, I just wouldn't describe it as a powerful feeling that maybe another man might.

I was at a basketball game earlier and I felt something. An innocent, energetic boy of about twelve won the attention of a cheerleader that was cheering for her team during a timeout at the game. During this timeout, all the cheerleaders were supposed to go and pass out pizzas to overly excited fans. This young boy was desperately seeking the attention of this one cheerleader. He finally got it, and the girl smiled candidly at him and brought him the pizza. I was 4 rows back. The boy didn't seem to care much about the pizza, in fact, I never saw him open it. His dad was confused at first. His dad had no idea what his son was doing because he was flipping through the pages of the sports program. His son had garnered the attention of this cheerleader and he had no idea.

The exchange between the cheerleader and that boy and between that boy and his father were so powerful to me that I couldn't help but start to cry. Not a loud fit of tears, of course, but just this little release of emotion that couldn't wait to be poured out. It's times like these when I love to be alone.

The father smiled to his son in a way that struck me deeply. I so badly wanted to feel a part of that somehow, to somehow capture that boy's feelings. To have that father, a complete stranger to me, beam down at me and put his hand on my shoulder as if saying, "I love you son, way to go!"

I started to think about how silly I was acting. "Get it together," I told myself. And I eventually did, you know. But for that instance, for whatever brief of time, I wanted that middle aged man to give me the reaction that he had just given to his son. I didn't care what I needed to do. For some reason I needed that exchange from him, I thought tearfully. It's maybe like I imagined it might be... when I was young.

Trying to make a connection

What will follow is not a story of two people that you could label. You just couldn't be able to, the story would lack development. There's no established plot here, but a twisted account of fixation and a furious recollection of emotion. These are the problems, my problems. I can't stop living with the problems I see as incurable. For some time now, I've been viewing the outside around me as mostly blank and the inside of me subsequently feels empty. The ability to feel a connection to others feels like so much more of a struggle for me.

She'll hesitantly stammer, "You're more comfortable now, right?" This question ignites a certain sadness in me. It hurts so bad to hear her say it.

To me, my response is an affirming perfect truth, but her reaction will dispel everything. She doesn't believe me and there's seemingly nothing I can do. I'm away from my friends, my environment at last, and she is the only thing on my mind. Am I comfortable or infatuated? In either case I'm connected to her and am relieved by her presence. Her touch, eye contact, and words that follow mine will desperately try and convince me that my answer isn't revealing to her, but, in truth, her inability to understand me the way she wants to will eat away at her. The real truth is that it can't be so, me and her. It's so true and for me to already know this after just meeting her is sick. I could comfortably shed a tear after she asks her question because I know I'm doomed. It's already over.

I know it's over, that she'll never believe my honesty. She is an expert on body language, on tone, on any kind of human reaction. She can't avoid becoming confused with me. Her uncertainty is simply too much for her to handle, and the power of the next series of sequences is impossible to describe. It breaks me down to see her hesitate, to see her unsure about me. It makes me want to die...be someone else...to somehow possess a different quality in order to comfort her. My thoughts become more erratic.

Her beauty and charisma are without question. She possesses this ability to captivate me. You can tell she's never been torn apart by anyone else, but, been a force unattainable, yet undeniable, to the men she admits in her life.

She can read people, like me, except different. We are both heavily invested in each other's emotions, and maybe we each have a gift necessary to save the other, but we are somehow unable to give it. Throughout the night there is no save face, no recovery time, and no time for shortness of breathe. I can't be swayed by even the most convincing of exaggerations from most girls, but strangely, a few expressions from her make me feel in some way already connected to her. With her, it appears to be what I've always wanted- it's a dream world. She'll paint it in cool colors for me, something of an elaborate fantasy. It's a world that is so consuming I would give up everything to live in it with her.

X

“I want to live in a world free from fleeting happiness,” Caleb said. “I’m so scared. The bullshit that is me is impossible to dismiss from my mind. I can’t help but think about how fucked up I am. Don’t you find it hard to feel good about life when you know that you are doomed?”

“Come on.” Damien said with disgust. “You do good deeds for others. You donate to the less fortunate. People respect you. You are the most honest person I know. Don’t you see the worth in these things? Think of all the drug dealers, pimps, and murderers out there. You are separate from them.”

“Yes, but, am I really doing the less fortunate any genuine good? Maybe I’m just enabling them. I have thought about the drug dealers, pimps, and murderers.” Caleb said to Damien, clearly troubled. “So, what of them? Who is to say that my life is any more upstanding than theirs? And who cares if I have what they don’t.. Perhaps the opposite is just as true.

“You’ll feel bad one day, Caleb, and you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself!”

“I feel bad already, but listen. Imagine this. A world where nothing matters. A world where there are no real rules and that’s because no objective rules or truths can be reached. In this world, the realization of this fact is the most holy thing that man can achieve. A person doesn’t reach everlasting happiness, Nirvana, Buddhahood, because they can’t. That’s the most unfortunate thing about man if you ask me, everyone is looking, but never finding. Every human is far too morally fallible to achieve some fictitious desirable state of mind.”

“You think too much, Caleb. You are a good man, do not forget this. You’re envisioning a fantasy world. A world without any peace of mind.”

“I do think a lot, you’re right. I have struggles that I will never overcome and how am I supposed to cope with the fact that I never will? I want to know how I can get to the world that I just described.”

“You need to think about other things. You have some soul searching to do, my friend,” Damien finally said as he got up from his chair and walked out the room away from Caleb.

Caleb wished his friend wouldn’t leave. He remained seated, unhappy. He sighed and 

leaned back in his chair.

_________________

Such a world exists, you fool, but you do have to get there. No, it’s not on Mars or some distant planet. It’s death.

That’s right, Caleb. You have to get to the one place which you cannot stop thinking about. Death. There is world like the one you just described. Crazy thought? No. Despite what you might think, your actions on Earth do determine your eligibility to join the world.

But who am I to tell you this you may ask? Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. Keep thinking about how messed up your moral senses are. You’re right about that and that is what might save you. Don’t entertain the thoughts of this other man. This other man believes you are a “good man”, and according to societal standards that were cleverly invented around you, you are that. However, to your great fortune, you are dissatisfied with this and that is good.

Here is what you are to do. Go and commit sin and live off every impulse in your mind. The only sensible life to live is one without a single rule. And why is this? Because, like you said, every man is morally fallible. He cannot and will not ever be morally infallible. You are on the right track, Caleb. There is no savior in this world of yours. There is no quest, no enlightenment. You are the instrument that your mind needs only to play with.

This is not difficult, Caleb, you just need to go and live it. Adopt “madness”. Release yourself from the cruel restrictions that your world has placed upon you. Every repressive thought you have had about yourself and your surroundings is not your fault, you poor soul. You will find a different sort of happiness in my world.

You could start with murdering her. Her pretty, ignorant self must go. If you look deep inside yourself you know you believe it’s true. You know those dreams you have had about fucking her and then strangling her to death? You need only to act. You need to simply admit to yourself that you believe in the satisfaction you would receive from it. You are willed to do it, Caleb. Your demons are the door for you and the honesty about yourself is the key. Do not forget this. Now get up and go.

The girl at the bar

I met her tonight. I was sitting alone at my friends' future fiancé's previous place of work. It's a bar. It's in my hometown, not far from my parents house. I walked to the bar and assumed I would just be watching the Lakers game and waiting for my friend to come and pick me up.

About 10 minutes into the game, this girl asked me to come sit with her and she offered to buy me a drink. She was dressed really nice and her offer was friendly, and I was more than happy to go and sit with her. I sat with her in front of the bar and we started talking. It was the usual shit at first you know: hey how're you doing, what do you do, ect. My friend, jimmy, had just texted me. He said he was on the way to the place. Before long he joined the girl and I.

She is young. 2 years younger than me. She didn't hide her interest in me, which I immediately liked right away and I did my best to show her I was also interested. I can't stand it when any girl plays that 'hard to get' card. Bothers the hell out of me. It's a bunch of shit.

This girl seemed different from the wealthy suburban girls I've seen for much of my life. Although she was shy, she was forthcoming, which made her all the more cute.

I don't know if it's wrong, but I became more excited with her and more attracted and comfortable with her after I started drinking more. I ended up drinking 5 whiskey/cokes which was 4 more than I initially intended after sitting down next to her. She told me a great deal about her life, and so did I. I even told her a little bit about my family situation, which I partly blame the drinks for.

I haven't outright liked a girl in quite awhile, but I liked her. It's a great feeling. We texted after she left. She suggested I text her tomorrow and I am excited to. She suggested we go to a street that's full of college bars this weekend. I was happy to accept. Hopefully, jimmy can come with us.

Although all went well, I couldn't help recognizing this awful feeling that came to me briefly. It was after maybe the 3rd drink or so. I felt somehow like my father; I felt like I was somehow overpowering this girl with my drunkenness. I felt like I was taking advantage of her innocence, like I was controlling or manipulating her.

Is this a dream, do people think about things like me? Believe me, I am not an overpowering guy in any sense of that word- I care deeply for others and I would never intentionally wish harm on this girl. I am searching for human intimacy, and maybe it's this girl. However, now that I am alone at the end of this night, I feel like I am free again.

I can't help but see something, something scary. I love my isolation. It is the base for my creative, wandering mind. Can someone else be a part of it? We'll see. I love people.

Late night thoughts on a futon

Been awhile. A lot has happened in the last three weeks or so. To sort of sum it all up, I'm back in the city that I started. Literally, the city I started. I was born in this fucking city and I've been here my entire life except for the four years that I spent away for schooling. This city is repulsive to me. Most everyone is the same here. 

You know what to expect to see and hear when you go out in public. A 'happy' young resident of this city would probably ascribe these three characteristics to it: there's a great night life if you know where to go, lots of success driven people working upstanding corporate jobs, and a fabulous police force that keeps the area safe. Fuck all that.

The city I live in is this materialistic, utilitarian, clean area with a bunch of brainwashed assholes in it. Even the Starbucks here bother me more than the other ones off the interstate from my travels. There was always the chance of meeting someone interesting there.

Ok, so the night life- I think just the phrase "night life" might be enough to sway enough people that it's shit, and a miserable way to spend a Friday night. I mean if you are into listening to shitty radio music, drinking highly overpriced whiskey cokes, and having to talk loudly over the music, then hell, you'll probably have a great time. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll be able to get into a riveting conversation with some douche who is anxiously awaiting taking over his dad's management consulting company, which he'll show you is conveniently located a finger-point away. He'll probably talk your head off about it. There's this unspoken way to be/act/present yourself/talk in this city and it makes me sick to my stomach. Sometimes when I've gone out, I find myself talking to a person like the one I just described. I can recall just bullshitting everything I said to the guy. I could tell he wasn't listening anyway so I just decided fuck it. 

I've been back in this city now for 2 weeks and have already had 3 encounters with cops. My city pours a shitton of money into its police force for seemingly nothing but for fancier SUV vehicles, uniforms, and better traffic control for church traffic on Sundays. The crime rate is so low here that the cops just troll the streets looking for people to write a ticket for a headlight out or for making a wide right turn. 

Wow, I am really bitching a lot right now. Sorry about that? Maybe I'm a bit jaded towards this city because of the miserable time I've spent here. I'm really frustrated and am feeling very lonely to be back. Oh, and did I mention that I don't have a job yet. Well, I don't have a job yet.

On a positive note, I'm slowly writing and editing a short fiction story that I hope I can get to turn out the way I want it to. I've never had education that focused on writing, but I have always liked to write. However, I'm not a very consistent writer (as you can maybe tell :P). Who knows, maybe I can get a stable job/living situation sooner rather than later so that I can pursue my writing more. 

Living out of my car

Living out of your car isn’t so bad, really. I finally have a place to stay, but I miss the car sort of. A day living out of your car goes like this, for me at least.

The first seconds of my day are spent waking up to an alarm clock set for precisely 7:30am. Why 7:30am you might ask? 7:30am is right in the middle of when most hotels offer continental breakfast in the morning. Wait, let me back up. So, my car is parked outside of a hotel, but not just any hotel. It’s parked outside of a choice hotel. If you don’t know what a choice hotel is, it’s pretty much any hotel that you have seen a commercial for. Anyway, so its 7:30am, I’m drenched in sweat, and I get out of my car. My neck hurts like hell, but once I start walking around it’s not so bad. I look at the hotel I’m next to and try to remember what door I’d decided the night before was the best one to go in through. I walk into some side door, find the breakfast, and eat so much food it’s ridiculous. Once I’m done eating, it doesn’t end there. I don’t know how much experience you have eating continental breakfast food, but there are lots of stuff you can take with you. I probably stuff something like 5 apples and 5 blueberry muffins into my cargo shorts before getting the fuck out of there.

Next stop for the day is Starbucks. I drive to the nearest Starbucks and find the comfiest chair in the place and then I’ll open my laptop. Then, I get in line to buy the most expensive caramel mocha monstrosity that Starbucks has to offer. Fuck that, I’m of course kidding, I don’t buy anything from them. I do use their bathroom quite a bit though. So ya, I stay in Starbucks pretty much the entire day and that’s when the majority of my work takes place. Once I get settled I’ll pop an adderall and chase it with bathroom faucet water. I used to dry swallow adderall but I don’t anymore because of this weird feeling I would get in my stomach when I used to do it. Alright, so I’m settled in the comfy chair and I’ve got the wifi going on my laptop. I get on craigslist to cruise around for jobs, watch movies, and listen to music. Also, I read. The latest book I’ve been reading is Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, it’s been a good read so far. Aside from how convenient Starbucks has become for me, I hate the place and I’d never buy anything from there. Sometimes it gets so cold in there that I just go to sleep in my car for about 20 minutes just so I’m not so cold anymore. After spending like 8 hours or so at Starbucks, I drive a little further on the interstate. Now it might be time to put like $10-15 bucks in my car. I walk into the Valero station and tell them to put money on a pump, but not before I’ve browsed the aisles and snatched a few candy bars.

I find another hotel and exit the interstate. I scope the new hotel out and quickly find out where the pool is and also which side door I think will be easiest for me to sneak into. After 3 weeks with a routine similar to this, I must say that the Holiday Inn is my favorite hotel because they leave the most clean towels out near the pool, and because they also have fantastic cinnamon rolls in the morning. Why the towels you might ask? I sleep in the backseat of my car engrossed in about 15 hotel towels. I always snatch the towels if I can. When I find the hotel pool, I’ll hop the fence and probably hang out there for a couple hours. Once 9:30 or 10:00 comes around, I try to force myself to go to sleep. I pop a couple sleeping pills and bundle up in towels in the backseat of my car. The biggest downside isn’t that it’s physically uncomfortable for me; it’s that the car will get hot as hell. I roll the backseat windows down, but still it’s hot. Once I get to sleep, I’m usually able to stay asleep, but it can be hard some nights.

I would be willing to bet someone that I could live one month out of my car and spend no money other than money for gas. I drink water out of faucets in the hotel bathrooms and at Starbucks, ok pal?

The odd job

Okay, so the first thing I have to say today is this: I now have $78! This is absolutely terrific news and I could not be more excited about this. Whatever. Anyway, I lied in my last post. I’m going to postpone telling you about how I’ve lived out of my car and instead tell you about what I did last night. I made $60 clipping flyers to apartment doors. I found the job on craigslist and figured, hell, what better way is there to spend a Friday night. Whatever. The guy I was supposed to work for spoke on the phone like the job was some really important business. He told me it would take 30 minutes to get to the meeting place but I easily got there in 10.

So, I end up having to wait over 30 minutes just to get started with the job because he was late to the meeting place. This guy seemed like a scumbag right from the start. He dressed like he had money and I’m sure he probably did. He had one of those unnatural crushing handshakes that you could tell had been taught to him by some business partner or something. Once he explained the specifics of the job to me, he started walking over to his car. I followed him without question. Is it a little bit strange that it was implied of me to get in his car without question? I’m a sucker I guess, but hey, I’m still here to tell of it and I needed the goddamn money too, did I mention that? A two mile Range Rover ride later and I’m at the first apartment complex. He was looking at me a certain way before I got started with the job. It was as if he had something else he wanted to say to me but decided against it. I rolled that thought around in my head as I went from apartment to apartment clipping these “Own your own home!” flyers to apartment doors.

I felt like such an asshole performing this job because of the encounters I kept having with the residents. I wanted to avoid them completely, but it was impossible. Some of them gave me looks that clearly said “Really, you’re doing this job on a Friday night?” I felt pathetic and a nuisance to the residents. An hour and 300 apartments later, I’m finished clipping flyers on all the doors of the first complex. I get in the guy’s car and off we go to the next apartment complex. We’re at a red light and he gets a phone call. The ring tone on his cell phone was the weirdest one ever. The light turns green and he doesn’t accelerate right away. This phone call had to be some important one because his voice changed instantly to a more fake sensitive one. It was his ex girlfriend. He proceeds to tell all about his personal life. He met this girl on an online dating site and told me they had broken up 3 weeks ago and that he wasn’t expecting to hear from her. This dude was such a fake; it was so obvious. I felt increasingly uncomfortable in the car with this guy as he continued to tell me about how he felt about this girl. He used the words crazy, spoiled, and mean to describe her. That’s right, he used the word mean. He kept presenting these relationship situations to me that had such obvious answers. Clearly, I was only hearing what he wanted me to hear so that maybe I would take his side or something. “Once you’re fucking somebody, it becomes hard to break it off you know?” he said. “The sex becomes easy and you start making compromises, you know. Plus I’m 45, so you know, it’s hard to move on from someone when you might not meet someone for awhile.” No you weird manipulator, I don’t know, I thought to myself.

Even though I didn’t like the guy, I sort of sympathized with him somehow. It wasn’t because of his situation with this girl, which he obviously skewed in his favor, but because he was unhappy. People that are unhappy have a certain appeal to me. 3 hours and 1000 apartments later and I had become $60 richer. Because I had to climb multiple flights of stairs, sleeping in the back seat of my car felt more refreshing than usual.

Before the meeting

I have to meet this guy in a couple hours that is a friend of a friend. I’m running out of money. It’s going to cost me probably $15 just to drive my dumbass down to the restaurant on the other side of town. I’m in a coffee shop again and I've got another 4 hours to kill before I meet this guy. Setting up this meeting made me feel like such a fuck. Like I said before, this guy is a friend of friend. The kind of friend of a friend that you have no idea what they look like, how old they are, ect. I feel like I’m on some sort of online meet and greet service while I'm texting this guy. He told me to meet him at this restaurant at a specific time and I told him I was a white male and 23. I asked him “How will I recognize you”. He says, “Asian, I’ll be the only one in the place”. Now that’s funny. Either way, I’ll be able to find him. It would be easier if he was the only person in the place, but that also increases the chances that I go to this place and get shot in the face, right? I can’t say I’d mind an experience like that right now.

This is just dumb and I can’t get over it. I feel like I’m going on a blind date. I could not be more uncomfortable about this. I’m going to be presenting myself as such a pity case to this guy. I’m also going to have to explain to this guy why I’m not eating. Hopefully I can find the right time to casually say that I spent a quarter of my money just to drive to this fucking place. So, what’s going on with me you might ask? I’ll tell you what’s going on. I’m nearly fucking broke, homeless, and have no job- that’s what’s going on. If you ever think about taking your money and “starting over” in a new city, go for it. But just make sure you don’t gamble all your money away when you get there because then you are really starting over. So, yeah, that’s what's going on with me. Anyway, so this guy I’m meeting for lunch is supposed to help me. He’s supposed to be able to give me a job and possibly find me a place to stay. Tomorrow I’ll talk about what it’s like to live out of a 4 door car for 3 weeks. You’d be surprised how little money you can spend if you know how to go about it and if you don’t mind thieving a bit.

Let me go ahead and close this post out by talking about how fucking annoying the music is in this place. Every song has this jazzy 80s twang sound to it. It all seems to be some kind of dance-pop post disco bullshit. What coffee shop owner would play this shit, especially in the morning? I shouldn’t even be writing right now. I’m still really tired from last night. I didn’t sleep much in my car and I’m dreading the lunch with this guy more and more. I really hope he can help me. I’m running out of pills and money, what could be worse? 

In a coffee shop

Have you ever looked around a public place and thought that a simple exchange from someone meant so much more? Is there a message in these movements, is there this strong connection made, what the hell is there?

I look up and right away these sudden movements occur from different people. The scratch of a nose, a shoulder shrug, a halfway smile. How crazy is it to think some of these things meaningful? But the timing, it’s so precise! I know these movements are directed towards me, but why? Is this some call to action for me? Am I needed now? Why am I so convinced these movements are so important and are directed towards me? There is something more, there must be. I think about my life. Have I just recently come to think these things?

Why can’t I be satisfied with the day to day life? That is of course what I’m unsatisfied with. I feel like I always have been and that I fixate on my dissatisfaction. So, what happens as a result you might ask? Here’s what happens: You start to think strangely… think, think, think. You start to make things up, elaborate stories, fantasies, adventures. Idle time becomes play time. What you perceive as orderly, normal, or trivial becomes more harmful on your psyche than experiencing physical pain. Your body is of little importance to you. You want to believe that these exchanges tell a story, or maybe rather, that they fit into your story. When these moments occur, it’s as if you’re thinking “Ah-Ha! That movement, I knew it would occur, I knew it. And wow, it happened here and now. I just looked up!” So then come these thoughts: I could go and talk to her. Her half smile and body language seemed so revealing. Her subtle eye contact makes me believe that I am in fact the object of her attention, but it seems equally clear to me that she is trying to be coy. This encounter is the start of something unexplainable. But what happens after, though? The possibilities are so captivating that I don’t even move or maybe it’s that I just can’t. I just think about what could be… think, think, think. After I feel like I should approach her, she’ll leave in haste and I’ll just feel so sorry. I feel like having to watch her leave in the manner she did was her reprimanding me for being such a nothing. I’m sorry for living in my head. Sorry for missing an opportunity for conversation, sorry for not even living. Just sorry.