Chapter 5

It's Sunday again, fellow sinners

Sun May 18, 2003 at 04:17:44 PM EST


 
I started reading a little of the Koran yesterday. A hearty thanks to the Arab gentleman who gave me the link, whose name I can't remember. I'm sure I'll run across him here again.
Now, more than ever, I can't figure out WTF the Crusades were about. Except that the “Christians” were a bunch of total jerks and dumbasses. Because from what I've read so far, there is absolutely nothing in the Koran that contradicts the Christian Bible.
OK, that's enough church. Lets talk about music and women. I hope the cops don't close Dempsey's down.

 

 

 



I saw at New Scientist that they've cloned muchagecko.
Speaking of women and clones, I figured out why that chicken killing maria's lab is trying to clone chickens - they want a replacement in case the original GW Bush dies.
My grandma was a chicken killer, too. Only we ate the ones she killed. I don't think I'll ever forget the sight I saw as a small child, of the headless chicken running down the hill while its head lay there on the chopping block with its beak and eyes opening and closing... boy those were some good tasting chickens! Lots of work getting the feathers off, though, and those feathers were hot.
But none of that has the slightest bit of relevance to what I originally set out to write here. I had a link to the New Scientist article in notepad and my mind wandered a bit. I haven't had enough coffee to wake all the way up yet.
You K5 people made me get out the Matrix tape and watch it again. A lot of you are poseurs, you know that? That was a good flick, well filmed, art, and if you didn't catch the deeper meanings, the nuances, well, you're just thick. But yeah, I know, it's “kewl” to bash it now, just like it was “kewl” to slobber all over it when it first came out.
So anyway, after I watch the tape I walk on downtown to find some live music. About three blocks from home it starts sprinkling. Then harder. My glasses are wet. I pray for it to stop. It doesn't. I remember the mustard seed thing, and add “if it's your will.”
The rain stops. I sure love God. Even though he does seem to want me to be horny, in debt, and on foot. The “thorn in the side” thing, I guess.
I walk down 5th street through the fog that lingered after the rain toward the bar I was in Friday night. As I cross Monroe, I hear music from the direction of Dempsey's. So I walk on down there.
The place is packed. There are three empty tables outside on the sidewalk, and chairs. A band is inside jammin’. Yep, this is the place tonight! Their ad poster is on the door, “The Station”. As I walk through the door they're singing...
 
Come on in, have a mighty fine time...
been walking for miles,
Sit yourself down...
Have a drink or three...
Just let that fog be...

 
I thread my way in, trying to find somewhere to squeeze in to get a beer. “Hey Steve!” I look up, there's a guy from the other building at work. Talk with him a little, finally catch the poor, busy as hell bartender's eye and get a beer and a water. It's hot in there, so I wind my way through the crowd again to sit outside, at one of the tables out there by the door.
As I'm walking out I see Holly, the beautiful Perkins waitress I had met at Dempseys a week or so earlier, the one who I spoke to for a while before she moved to the other side of the bar. *sigh*
She'd be perfect if she'd stop smoking those Camels. And if her “real” personality is as sweet as what I saw in the bar is. And if she didn't have those two little kids. Since she pretty obviously isn't interested in me anyway, I sit down outside and drink the glass of water, and start sipping the beer. I'm sipping, because the women are, all but a few, breathtakingly beautiful, and I don't want them turning into cartoons. Mind you, I'm a lonely guy...
A twenty foot long twelve door limo pulls up, and a half dozen or so more beautiful young ladies start getting out, one by one. One spies me and walks up. “Want a lay for a buck?”
“Huh???”
Oh, duh. I notice the leighs on her neck. “Uh, I guess.” Beggars. They were there to sell leighs.
The limo driver gets out and asks can I do him a favor. Sure. He wants me to spot the absurdly enormous vehicle into three parking spots by the corner. It barely squeezes in.
I finish my beer and go in for another. I give the leigh to an otherwise very attractive lady with an enormous nose. The beautiful Holly is still trying to get waited on.
I squeeze in between two big, muscle-bound guys at the bar, who probably think I'm gay, because they disappear in a hurry. Sometimes being a skinny nerd the women don't want is handy. Holly walks up and starts chatting! Cool. She could be a movie star. The word “Hollywood” takes on a whole new meaning.
She gets a beer and walks over to dance. A dozen ladies are dancing, the rest are standing around looking bored, as the guys all hit on them. One that had studiously ignored me a month ago when I was trying to hit on her is sitting by herself, frowning. Hah! She's not bad looking, except in comparison to the other ladies there. Nope, I'm not going to get rudely turned down twice by the same woman.
I get my beer and start to go back outside. The song ends and the singer says there's a stack of CDs on the table, to take one. I think I'm the only one that notices. I take one and stick it in my shirt pocket.
The limo is gone, and there are a bunch of college dudes sitting at the tables with one fat chick. I go back in and wander around, smiling at the bored ladies, who smile back and keep smiling. I'm starting to realize that most of them are here for the music. As I've given up on any chance of ever having sex again, so am I. Meanwhile every other guy in there is trying to get laid, and annoying and boring the beautiful ladies.
There's one girl at the bar with a very nerdy pair of glasses... maybe it isn't the glasses. She just looks so serious. Half a dozen guys are crowded around her. I push my way through, tell her to stop being so damned serious. She laughs, and I disappear.
The band finishes the set and goes out for a “fifteen minute” break. I get another beer and go out for some air.
I'm standing there talking to a young neohippie when a police car shows up with its lights flashing. Two burly uniformed cops brush past us and go in. I drink the rest of my beer and go in, and the dorky bartender goes outside, accompanied by the two cops. Wow, they're busting the bartender?
It wasn't quite so crowded now. A lot of the college type guys were gone, but most of the women were still there, standing around in front of where the band played, waiting to dance some more. The other bartender, the pretty one, looks pissed. Mad pissed, not drunk pissed. There is a thin blonde sitting by the sound mixer. “Are you with the band?” I ask. Yeah... “Well, thanks for the CD. You mind if I rip it and put it on the internet?” Hell NO she doesn't mind!
I get another beer. A couple of very attractive, young looking ladies are sitting next to me. There's a sparkle from the left hand. Oh well, it's not like I was going to get laid tonight anyway. “You're wearing that 'no trespassing' jewelry,” I tell them. “Yeah,” they say. “Sorry.”
“Not as sorry as me! I'm jealous of your husbands.” They liked that! Big smiles. “Thanks!”
The goofy bartender comes back in, a worried frown on his face. The band plays Muddy Waters’ Champagne and Reefer, only they play it a lot faster than ol' Muddy.
I started outside once during the night, beer in hand, not sure exactly when. Goofy bartender won't let me out with the beer. “No patio license?” I ask. He shakes his head. “That what the cops were here about?”
“That and a whole lot of other things.”
Shit.
Somehow I found myself in the dance area, dancing. I never dance! Exil-X would be PISSED, as she always wanted me to go dancing with her, and here I was dancing with the beautiful Holly. I probably looked really stupid, as like I said, I can't dance, but hell, so what...
I handed Holly one of the CDs. Explained the bit about the free CDs. She asks the thin blonde at the mixer, then sticks it in her tiny purse. Holly's starting to look a little unsteady on her feet. Beer, gotta love it!
She starts outside and I follow her. “You're not leaving already, are you?” I say.
“Yeah... I have to get home. See you next Saturday?”
“Well yeah, especially if you're going to be here!”
She gives me a big hug and walks down the street. I stand there with my jaw hanging open. Ooooohhh....
I walk back in, sit down next to the married ladies and wait for the bartender lady, and ask the two lovely things where their husbands are. They played golf this afternoon and were too tired. I tell them their husbands are fools. I sit there talking with them a while, and they ask me how old I am.
I hate admitting my lack of youth. “Ah, well, you're married. And you wouldn't be too young for me but I'm sure I'm too old for you.”
“Well how old are you?”
Why is it OK for a woman to ask a man his age, but it's not OK to ask a woman hers? “OK, I'm fifty.”
They look at each other in amazement. “how old do you think we are?”
“No more than thirty.”
One was thirty six and the other was 43. They ask me to save their seats for them while they visit the ladies' room. I'm wondering if they really have husbands. Maybe they just didn't want to get hit on. Maybe they're lesbians. I had lesbians try to hit on me when I was married. Maybe... Oh hell, stop dreaming, dumbass!
While they're in the can, the band finishes and leaves. The married ladies come out of the pisser, I tell them I saved their seats but probably didn't need to as the show was over. I tell them good night and walk on home.
Sigh. God'll let me have women, he just won't let me have sex with them. I sure wish I could get to know Holly better.

 

 


Chapter 4
Index
Chapter 6

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