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.