Friday, January 21, 2005

"If the phone don't ring...

"...that'll be me."

I don't usually care for country music but I find this particular title fits very nicely in my relationship with Blue.

Blue*(Not Her Real Name Either)--I don't know why I'm protecting these people since they are surely not innocent--was the one I met in my movie club who was kind of a friend, though I was hoping for a lot more (sex). She sent me an email today suggesting we hook up, and adding that it might be awkward since I now know she has been dating (humping) this fellow for the last two months.

How nice. Me, I can barely get a kiss on the cheek and this other guy gets the New Year's Eve pipe job in Vermont. But, awkward?!?! Oh, perish the thought, I'm perfectly comfortable with this.

My ass. I'm not comfortable, I am miserable, angry and hurt and I don't want to see Blue ever again, goodbye, see you later, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.

I believe most of this is my fault, because I'm Catholic and feel everything is my fault, and because I didn't ask her outright what the deal was between us. I was hoping and hoping but not acting. So now I feel like a warm-up act, where she gets used to having a man around and then jumps in the hay with the main attraction.

Fuck, I feel like the Hunchback of Notre Ridge over here. I thought I could defrost Blue at some point down the line, but it appears the line is over the horizon and I'm on Sucker Street one more time. I don't want to tell her off in some stupid TV movie climax kind of way, despite my fantasies to the contrary (Is there anyway I can turn off this part of my brain? It's like a runaway video game up there.)

If I freak I'll just look angry and jealous (which I am) and nobody gives a rat's ass how I feel anyway. I can't do the polite English drawing room kind of thing. It hurts too much.

So I just won't respond to her e-mails or phone calls if she bothers to make them, which I doubt. I think she wants out of this thing, too, so that's how we'll play it. She won't be my girlfriend and I won't be her clown. Adios, Blue, I'll see you when I see you unless I close my eyes.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Coronation Day...

It's almost midnight and I've managed to avoid just about every news item about the coronation of President Jethro.

If it wasn't for Air America, I'm be on top of a tall building with a salad shooter spraying the people below with raw zuccini. What happened to my country? I turned away for a second and it turned into Mayberry 666. What the f...?

On the personal note, I had a job interview yesterday and I've got another one coming up on Tuesday. Christ, I think it's easier to fake an orgasam than it is to show interest in these suck-ass positions. Dating is somewhat less successful, as Annie *(not her real name) has apparently given me the slip.

Don't know what I did wrong, but hope I had some fun doing it. I don't feel like following after this one to find out what happened. I believe the early stage of a relationship is like a jet in take-off. You need to reach the high altitudes quickly, without any problems or you'll be splattered all over the runway.

Maybe Annie Not-Her-Real-Name is some kind of Republican operative, a member of the Heretic Foundation spying on all us blue staters. Probably headed back to D.C. to attend the coronation and give her handlers a full report. She is from Buffalo after all...

Meanwhile, fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy four years. I figured if I can't get a job here, I'll go to Iraq and become a coffin maker. Those suckers have got to be busy.

God help America.

Monday, January 17, 2005

Day One

I am born...

All right, let's get this show on the road. This is my first post on my first blog.

I am 47, marooned in Brooklyn without a job, wife or children. Most of my big dreams have crashed and burned like the Hindenburg, but that hasn't stopped me from climbing on the next bag of hot air and heading back into the sky.

Before being laid off I was a reporter for several years, a profession I never really cared for, other than it allowed me a chance to write. I confess I got a lot of great experiences out of journalism, but then I looked up and 15 years had gone by.

Getting a job and getting a lover seem to have a lot in common. You want them, you need them, but as soon as you get them, you're thinking, "Jesus, I gotta get the hell out of this."

You usually settle for them, taking a job/lover you're not too crazy about just to meet the immediate needs of paying the bills or companionship (Sex).

You've got to go through rigorous examinations declaring your love or loyalty, often when you're lying through your teeth. And no matter how awful the job or relationship may be, nothing hurts more than getting that pink slip or rejection, whatever the case may be.

I'm an expert in both areas, having been fired and dumped repeatedly. And I see similarities in both areas, as I pursued jobs and women that weren't my type, not interested in me or were just plain crazy.

But with the unemployment about the run out I've got to find a job and thus have something to say when I meet a nice woman outside of the "I'm between jobs" line.

This first month of the new year has been particularly brutal. One woman I've been trying to date told me she went off to Vermont with some guy on New Year's Eve, and another woman dropped off the face of the earth after our first date. She won't answer my e-mails and the cell phone number she gave me has gone dead. I reckon she didn't have a good time, or maybe she went into the Witness Protection Program .

Well, I've got a job interview tomorrow with some business trade magazine and I can't tell you how excited I am. But I'll smile, say all the right things and do my damnedest to score. There's got to be someone out there for me...