February 20, 2011 § Leave a comment

I couldn’t find his email address in my “Friends” folder. I needed to send him all the pictures we took. We sang like fucking champs last night, and I could just imagine the goddam crowds of people not being able to get enough of this crass but stylish duo, talking shit to each other on stage, then singing to each other like “for real, people, we’re the greatest love story of all motherfucking time.” And the people, they would love that motherfucking love story because it’d be like their parents. They’d know that we were staying together for them and they’d never know if we were really angry at each other or just goofing.

I’m in a foul fucking mood today as things draw to a head. I need to figure out what it is that I want. I’m lousy for choice making, because I’d rather know for good or bad exactly what ending I’m headed toward. Those Choose Your Own Adventure Books were never a favorite of mine. I’d like the author to make that decision and stick with it, thank you. In love, though, I’d never be satisfied with being told which route to take. I play it off like I’m just a sweet buy bawdy loud mouthed bitch, and who knows why it is all these men get so hooked?

“I’m average”, I’d told DT as we ate burritos near a couple wearing diapers. They weren’t scenesters, just old people. “There’s something to be said for average women. Average height, weight, looks. Just riding the middle lane of all of it. People say they like fat or skinny girls. They say they like short or tall. Extremes.”

But we average women, we’re the secret desire of the masses. We’re the pop standard classic. Nobody’s jumping out of their seat when we come on the juke box, yelling “That’s my jam”, but everyone is smiling and singing along.

I found his email address in a folder I’d labeled “In Every Port” and I remembered that once upon a time, he was a part of my decision making process. I chose the other guy, thinking the other guy was a safer bet. The other guy went fucking crazy and ran off to Italy. I’m pretty sure I made the right choice, painful as the ending that choice lead toward.

For the moment I have 15 text messages from this one guy, 16 things to say to 2 other guys, and 17 minutes before another goes to sleep in Japan. I’ve never been good at math, though, so today I think I’ll focus on history. Maybe the answer isn’t in the averages, but in the revolutions.


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