I don't remember it quite the way she does

A friend of mine tipped me off that my 90's girlfriend Lainie had spoken about me on her old blog so, ego being what it is, I checked it out in the internet archives. She seems to remember a few things differently than I do.  You'll remember Lainie from the stories "Dog Catcher" and "The Year I Lost My Mind".  
In an earlier blog she laments not speaking to me as she passed me on the sidewalk in Feb '04, when I was "looking good" in my "longdreadlocks" and walking a German Shepherd. The problem is that I was baldheaded in Jackson MS in February of 04. She made the common Austin white-people's mistake of thinking that this guy Rich was me. You see, Rich, Allen from Bad Mutha Goose and myself all have dreadlocks. We look nothing alike, but since we have all been seen hanging with white people; therefore we must be the same person.

 Enjoy.

Sorry I Drove You To Drink.

April 7, 2006

My life has suddenly become a country and western song.

I was so bored last night, having decided that 10 bux was too much to pay for Daniel Francis Doyle (and only Daniel Francis Doyle, because I wasn't in the mood for any other bands) that I was playing myspace roulette. You know...you type in a name in the search menu and see what kind of disasterousity pops up.

Among other folks, I was searching for ex-boyfriends of mine. There are, admittedly, few. Actually, there are really only two that I don't talk to anymore ever. And one of them is the father of my children. The other one, I discovered last night, is the one I drove to drink.

But, really, if this particular ex had pulled his head out of his ass, his dick out of the imaginary thingy of the 16-year old girl he was obsessed with (romeo and juliet my fucking ASS...more like pedophile and pedophilet!), or his mind off of the worry of whether or not I would get too fat for him (which, evidently I was - even though I truly wasn't) or his mouth off of the bottle of malt liquor (which is hilarious, because I don't even remember him drinking AT ALL, so I'm tempted to say "imaginary" malt liquor...but knowing the state of mind that I was in when I was with him, I probably just totally didn't even notice he was drinking himself silly) he would have realized that I was pretty severely depressed, having left behind my home and my family and all of my friends almost immediately after a close friend committed suicide and another close friend OD'd on heroin. So, yeah, I have no doubt I was a challenge to live with. I was absolutely insane. Perhaps if he wasn't such a selfish prick, he would have attempted to show some sympathy, rather than whining about how his girlfriend who paid all of the fucking bills was difficult to live with to any chick who would show him her boobies.

You know? You would hope that someone you once knew so well, but grew to dislike, would maybe change over the years and become more pleasant. Unfortunately, this dude is still bitter about "all of the women who wronged him in the past," just like he was when I met him and, mistakenly got involved with him. The only difference is that he's thrown me on that pile, too...and I have a little more empathy now for the others, having known him.

Since he is openly struggling with alcoholism now, I will give him a hint. STOP BLAMING OTHER PEOPLE FOR YOUR MISERY. Dude, it couldn't be any less my fault that you started drinking. You were unemployed for several years while we were together, and I paid yr fucking bills because I stupidly believed in your artwork. Also, I didn't freaking drink a drop. If you "stocked the fridge with malt liquor" (which, again, I honestly don't even remember) - it was because you didn't want to face life, not because I drove you there. I had my own problems to deal with. Yes, there were many. But I was 21 fucking years old...give me a break, dude. I know it's good story material, but LET GO. Let. go.

 

But, if I let go then I wouldn't have the story... Lainie you so crazy!

In the grand scheme of things, this doesn't matter. I remember driving late at night in your gigantic car. I remember telling you I was a virgin. I remember Wild At Heart, and the thunderstorm night you devirginized me. I remember sweat stains in the shape of our bodies on the bed. I remember swamp cooler and waterbed in Lubbock. I remember visiting with friends and a picnic on Buddy Holly's grave. I remember feeling totally alone and isolated from everybody. I remember what seemed like years of semi-OK sex. I remember living in filthy hovels with you. I remember being totally in love and being extra totally insanely crazy jealous. I remember being informed we were officially married by the food stamp counselor. I remember being embarrassed to be known as "that guy that hits on all of the women's girlfriend," I remember dead cats and skull rings, I remember your stupid gun, I remember realizing for the first time that I was pseudo-married to an absolute sexist asshole, I remember walking in on you having sex, and having her silently thank me as she was leaving. I don't even remember who broke up with who. I remember you telling me you were going to put your beloved dog Melvin to sleep because "he was of no use" to you now. I remember you calling me years later to get him back, most likely because you suddenly realized he was your "in" with the women, I remember chick dice - and all of my friends laughing at you - and feeling embarrassed for you and embarrassed of you at the same time.

And, oh, my friend who OD'd...the last conversation we had consisted of her totally yelling at me for ever getting involved with this guy. If I had taken her advice, I might still be in Chicago to this day. So, I guess I don't totally regret having known this dude...but I certainly haven't thought much about him in the past 10 years or so, and I certainly don't think I will think much more about him after today.

So, yeah...I'm sorry I drove you to drink. But I really think drinking is the least of yr problems. Here. I'm letting go of all of my memories of you today. Perhaps you ought to do the same, Mr. X.