Tonight Snapper joyfully informed me that he and Red are officially dating now. Before they were just hanging out and "kissing an' stuff." Which including getting high, getting drunk, getting whatevered.
So guess what constitutes dating? Yup, in my weeklong absence Snapper and Red did it. Shh, don't tell anyone. Snapper wants me to keep it on the low. Well actually, Red wants him to keep it on the low. But Snapper likes me alot, and he said he just feels so comfortable around me that he feels like he can talk to me. I get that a lot. Hence my professional license.
But what I don't get a lot of?
Doing it is such a phenomenon in my world.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm talking about SNAPPER. Hyperactive, loud-talking, lazy, a little slow Snapper.
Is getting some.
Snapper stepped to Red, hung out with Red, moved in on Red, got that lip, touched them thangs, and then did it with her. In the space of three weeks.
SNAPPER.
And no, the question isn't "What does he have that I don't?"
In fact, it isn't a question at all. It's a statement. A reality check, if you will. It goes to the tune of this; "I AM NOT AS HOT AS I F*CKING THINK I AM."
Or, I might be hot, but I'm not burning anything.
Snapper has not changed from the day I met him. He's a loopy kid who likes getting high and likes to try hard, but not too hard. And just by being himself, he did what I have spent about a novel's worth of words agonizing over. I mean, he just did it. This kid who could be my grandson just went ahead, without hang-ups, without fears, without inner condemnation, without philosophy and the existential unbearable lightness of being decidedly bullsh!t, just went ahead and did the damn thing.
I cannot hate on the boy for it. I truly can't.
But as for myself? I want to shatter every mirror. I don't want to see him in there grinning his gap-toothed grin, thinking he's all that with his fat cheeks, his manboobs, and his pot belly. Because he so is just not. I mean, what the hell is he doing with a counselor's license for God's sake? Who the hell is he going to counsel? Comicbook geeks who live in their parents' basement with posters of Napoleon Dynamite on their walls? Yeah. And even THEY are getting some.
Ugh, God I hate me so much at the moment.
Maybe I'm just torqued because Won't Go Away Girl stayed true to her name and STILL came in tonight, despite her verbal vomitus at the end of last night's shift. Lucy with the football, and there I was, all Charlie Browned-out, ready to give it a kick.
I got no Carmine Macchiato and I got no Bull with the Lyle Waggoner smile tonight either.
I did get another visit from Muslim Girl and Ghetto Fabulous, wherein I plied her with enough lyric to discover that she and her friend are schoolteachers. (Yup, I talked to her.) And while I'm hating on myself for underestimating Snapper and overestimating Me, the Raging Ego still decided that these two ladies came back to the cafe to do their lesson plans but also to check me out some more.
To quote Fleming & John,
"Ha-ha-hahaha-the-joke's-on-me
I feel jealous and I feel mean"
Because I'm just oh so much man, baby! Gotta come and get some more Big Sexy Barista.
Big Feckin' Wanker is more like it.
However, Ghetto Fabulous, the cute NOT-Muslim one never did come up to the counter. Muslim Girl came every time. And but of course she did. Not to mention that they sat in an area where they could see me this time, and Muslim Girl was facing me. Because SHE'S the one who digs me. And what do I do? I make excuses, while Snapper shags Red rotten.
Pathetic.
I want to end on a positive note, but I got nothin'.
Early Morning Edit: Okay, pity party's over. Please collect your parting gifts at the door and thank you for attending! In other words, I feel better now. No need to collect the consolations I was fishing for. :-)
7 comments:
You have a way with language that reminds me a teeny bit of James Baldwin. Pity parties are allowed sometimes, you know.
I can assure you,Snapper tapping Red had nothing to do with looks and everything to do with attitude. Or confidence. You're lucky. You have looks. Now you need that consistent confidence. When that happens, you'll have more hooch than you know what to do with.
I tell The Boyfriend that all of the time. Fortunately, he doesn't listen to me.
Well Fringes, James Baldwin is a great comparison as far as literary influences and styles go. The fact that he was homosexual, however, is a bit of a nailbiter. You haven't read far back in this blog, I gather, but the hounds of homosexuality nip at my heels on the regular.
I sometimes feel as though I could choose a gay lifestyle and trot merrily along. And then twenty seconds after each time, I realize that there's too much I'd have to fight through in order to do that, and I know I'm not strong enough for that. And then I think of Sade, and various amazing looking women, and their smiles and their giggles and softness, and their caring eyes, and how good they look on a man's arm, and the memory of her head resting on my shoulder, and way it made me feel -- and I go back to hetero.
I visited your place to discover there's a Q in your life, and that you guys met on the internet after he visited your blog. That's similar to another relationship I know of. It sounds like the perfect way to join someone's life. Lots of great insight for the interested person.
Too bad I didn't consider that when I first started this blog. I know without doubt that I've already given enough information about myself to chase away even the most courageous of women.
I can't indulge too much in pity parties, because I turn into a mean drunk. After I finish chewing through my issues, I'm ready to jump on others'. Then I want to go leaping into the past and point fingers at things I'll never change. Then I'll spiral downward and consume an entire birthday cake (not because its my birthday, but because buttercream icing is a drug of my choice). And on and on and on its has gone.
This blog and therapy are two ways I use to try to get out of this mess inside my head. I was doing well for a while. I'll probably get back to better again.
Buckle up. :-)
Meanwhile, Grizz, seriously? I only think I have looks when I have confidence, but at the moment ... I think I'm just delusional.
Sweetie, you could look like Will Smith and that girl still may have gone with Snapper. Some women just don't have any taste!
Sounds like you answered your own question. He just did it without overthinking it.
Wow. What a wonderfully detailed response to my comment. I will tell you that Q read my entire (former) blog before leaving that first comment, therefore, he'd been exposed to every single bit of my crazy: depression, meds, alcohol, old lovers...he read it all and wanted to know more.
There is hope for you on either side of the coin flip.
Please visit us again. You are welcome at any time.
Vi; I'm inclined to agree with you only in that Snapper doesn't describe much in the way of quality time that he spends with her. Seeing that he gets high every night with his homie, and he said she's exactly like his homie, I'm guessing she's a stoner like they are. So she just has radically different tastes than I do.
And yep, Coaster that's the key. He just did it. He's blissfully simple like that. I'm thinking too that alcohol and MJ can loosen you up miraculously. I may rethink my drink and drug abstinence, but as for now, I'm sober as a judge. And as such, I overthink. "Obsessively analytical" was how one of my therapists called it.
So many many many bad things can happen and I can't ignore them and they block me. So I'm trying to think of all the good things that can happen instead of the bad. That's where everyone else's blogs and your great comments come in.
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