Date Archives November 2005

Why, God, WHY?

My ‘friend’ Ned* (Yeah, I won’t be calling him a friend anymore…) called me last night. I worked with him my first go-around at Guitar Center, I made friends with him and his wife. When they went out of town, I took care of their pets for them. When they moved from Aliso Viejo to Seattle, I drove from Escondido to Aliso Viejo daily to take care of their evil cat. He offered me a job here, and a place to stay until I found an apartment. Shortly after I moved here, he and his wife moved to the east coast, and again, I watched their place and their pets for them. Before they moved, they gave me a couch and a microwave.

So Ned called last night under the pretense that he hadn’t talked to me in a while, and wanted to see how things were going post GC. His voice sounded funny, but I couldn’t quite place what was wrong. Something just seemed…off. All was revealed when he started breathing kind of heavily and told me that he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and how often he fantasized about coming into the other room while I was sleeping on the couch and waking me up by sticking his dick in my mouth.

…Yeah, I hung up on him. He tried calling me back a couple of times, but I don’t want to hear it.

Seriously, WTF? WTF WTF WTF?

Getting a new couch has been moved to the top of my buying priorities list.

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty except from those investigative souls who take it upon themselves to dig through my journal archives.

I attract the mentally disturbed and suburban kids.

Last night I was at Pegasus, singing and having a good time. This guy in a wheelchair rolls up behind me and starts telling me about his idea for a nationwide karaoke competition, basically seeing which bar has the best singers. He wants to turn it into a reality show. What a crock of shit.

But I smile and nod, and smile and nod, and all of a sudden he starts saying all of these suggestive, horrifying things. (And realize, I was too horrified to say anything, I was trapped in my bar stool by his wheelchair, and he would NOT SHUT UP, so these are excerpts from a much longer, much more humiliating diatribe.) Stuff like:

“You got a big ‘ol ass, and I like that shit, more cushion to push back what I’m packin’, and I’ve got a 9-incher, baby.” (Gee, thanks!)

“I don’t even know you and I feel a connection with you. This could be the love of a lifetime, boo, a love connection like Chuck Woolery and shit.” (Like Chuck Woolery….and shit. Yeah, that’s about how I’d describe it.)

“I just want to tie you up, squirt whipped cream in your pussy and lick it out.” (eww, I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth while typing that.)

“I’m 35, boo, I’m too old for games, I got three kids, one 15, one 16, and one 17, ain’t no man gonna treat you like I’d treat you, you ain’t gonna have a good time with no one else like you would with me.” (WTF? WTF? WTF?)

He got pissed off when I wouldn’t give him my phone number, and demanded I write his down. Just then Scott showed up and saved me. Looks like I can’t go to the bar anymore without backup, ffs.

Oh, and whoops, I accidentally lost his number on the way home. Darn!

Seriously, though, WHAT THE FUCK? Where do these people COME FROM? And why do they ALWAYS FIND ME?