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You'd think I wouldn't have any words left after that last lengthy entry but that's the funny thing about words, they can be recominbed infinitely.

Last night after the talk with Daniel, I figured it would be safe to come home. Maybe my mom would still be on her date and Rick would be out drinking and I could get online and type up that last entry. Well, half right. My mom was home but still on the date if you know what I mean, all the lights were off in the house and his car was in the driveway EWW and Rick's truck was gone. I still HAD (as in, presently do not have) $50 on my debit card... might as well find Rick and put away some whiskey. He hangs out at the sleeziest, seriously only drunks and hookers hang out there, people who probably tivo Springer and the only reason they got a tivo is cuz they're selling their food stamps or herpes medication or something like that (ugh, why do I gotta be so gross?) So I'm in this dive, like as in the Marianas trench... and I'm not the craziest motherfucker in the room so it was a nice change. Some looney tunes homeless guy comes in and says "what can I get for this" I'm totally expecting him to pull out poop in a jar a la Damon Wayans' In Living Color sketch but the man actually has two crumpled up bills that only look like he's wiped his ass with em. Bartender says "That get's you Molsen, we got three kinds: Molsen Canadian, Molsen Golden or Molsen Ice" I was gonna tell the dude to get Ice, ice beers are more potent and that's prolly what the bum is looking for economically, more alochol for less money... but he says "I'll take a Canadian Golden" The bartender says "No, you can only have one, which one, canadian or golden" The bum says "OK, Golden Ice then" Oh, I'm laughing out loud and shaking my head at this point, like Yossarian saying hello to the naked man in the tree, it's no big deal. I say, "Dude just give him any fucking beer, it's not like he's got a discriminating pallette for christ's sake" Other highlights included some creep asking if Rick has gotten into my pants yet and when I said no he asked why not and I said "cuz I'm not into creepy old fucks that smell like beer" AND he didn't take the hint! Then a very nice looking kid my age comes in, pretty cute actually. He talks to Rick, and again Rick doesn't introduce me as usual. The guy, Johnny, sits down next to me and starts talking to the bartender. Bartenders are usually located close to me seeing I am ALWAYS in need of another drink... so they're talking about the bartender gaining back 100 pounds after having the same surgery from the same doctor my mom had, the bartender's resteraunt burning down one town south of here (turns out he owns the bar we were in too I guess). The bartender talks about how gassy he's been all night, says that any "off odors" aren't coming from the pretty one on the stool next to you... meanwhile I'm trying to watch the yankees make a comeback (fak yous baston red sux) and I'm trying not to evesdrop TOO much, then the cute guy says "I been like that all night too, fucken baby laxative..." and I turn and give him a knowing smile. He apologizes and says that he shouldn't be getting other's involved in that convo, and I said I'm quite familiar with that language and interject (meaning "make-up") that I thought most of the stuff around here was good qual, cut with b-12. He says it usually is which is why the baby lax is fucking with him so much. He also said that he hasn't been doing so much lately (I know, I gotta stop believing people!). I shake my empty glass at fat-n-gassy and he asks "single or double" the one before that was a double so I give him the peace sign and Johnny says "hell yeah, girl afta my own heart" I mumble but he doesn't hear "only to drain the blood from it, my dear" (and I was barely drunk by that point, already starting the "crazy talk"...). While I'm mumbling that and he's asking "huh?" the bartender responds to the "girl after my own heart" thing and says "I was thinking the same thing when she said 'SPELL IT'" and went on to explain how before cute guy came in, the bartender had rolled up a magazine and was smacking the bar near me quite hard and noisily. Then when he finished I said "Thank you sir, may I have another?" and handed him my glass. Oh he liked that shit and after filling my glass with mostly coke (hence switching to doubles, he musta been the owner) he comences the bar-spanking again, only this time going "Say my name, say it, yeah tell daddy you want more" etc and I said "You should tell them to spell it, tell em 'Spell it bitch!'" and when I said "bitch", I smacked my hand just like Jack taught me, and it was louder than the noise he'd been making with the magazine. So he retold this to the cute guy and cute guy says "So are you a good speller?" and I said "Depends on the name..." and I actually did not blush. One of the talents I'd been working on, this whole tough girl, gettin laid facade would be blown by my cheeks rouging so that had to go, and yes I can too control the flow of my blood by mind-over-matter, you just better hope I don't figure out how to control yours... and technically, I CAN control blood flow in other people, most of them being men. Oh Christ, anyway, the bartender went away and cutie and I flirted for a while and when the bartender came back we talked Nirvana, bartender being of our age sorta but only slightly remembering "that whole seattle thing". We bullshitted unti cute guy needed to use the bathroom and came out all sniffely saying he needed to meet a dude at some other bar for "a refill". He told me where he worked (wouldnt ya know it, at a bar!) and said I need to come visit him, wink wink. Then he went to shake my hand and kissed the Nirvana tat. It's like kissing the queen's ring... the bartender laughed and called him a dork. After he left I asked the bartender "So how much coke does your friend do." His answer, "More than a little." It took a couple weeks, but I found trouble. He works over at the Timbercreek. His name's Johnny. I wonder hwo he spells it.... But no coke for me. Besides not liking it, (I'm serious, there ARE drugs I don't like) it doesn't enhance my performance in bed. It makes me alert, but coffee would do that. It distracts, the mania is uncontrolable and I'm all talk and movement, but not the good kind of movement, more like getting up and pacing, fucking with the thermostat, noticing the thermostat is run by a mercury switch, figuring out ways I can blow shit up with my thermostat, drawing blue prints and grinding my teeth... rather than getting down n dirty. I like the men to be on coke though, for obvious stamina reasons. And guys usually don't talk a lot even on coke, and they're not gonna be pacing or fucking with the thermostat if they got someone there to suck em n fuck em for 6 hours or so.... Maybe I should have a coke connection so I can get guys high so they fuck me better. OK, some guys fuck me well enough, just NOT enough. The sex-on-coke guys have been at least five times a night, and really that's them coming five times a night, I don't even know how to count up the sex.... anyway I'm gonna stop before I start reminiscing about how well Harlan fucked me. A very efficient sex partner, thoroughly using all our resources and um, talents. Nuff said.

Always remember to quit while you're ahead.

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