Sunday, September 18, 2005

junkie ex #3

She was my first girlfriend. I got engaged to my first girlfriend. She wasn't very attractive. Almost a midget, she was like-- I'm sorry, not a midget... not a generic little person either-- she was almost a dwarf. She was 4' 11" and had to some degree the slighly out of proportion head and limbs of someone with true dwarfism, or achondroplasia. Like Warwick Davis or Weeman from Jackass.

Yeah, her fingers were stumpy, like little baby carrots, and her feet were preternaturally broad and short like hobbit-feet. In fact overall she was almost gnomelike in appearance... homonculoid... she got fat, too, once she started doing a lot of smack...

I had never had a girlfriend before. It was my own fault, mostly. I was fat through most of high school-- or not fat but fucking pudgy, flabby, spongey, doughey-- that certain kind of cheesey, marbled fatness that only very white people can get, a big pregnant gut and broad fleshy thighs, and I had of course my big broken crooked nose in my fat formless, face, and long crusty hair down to my ass. Girls were right not to fuck me. Not to even talk to me. I had no idea that I was so unattractive. I thought that I was such a smart, charming person that people should have wanted to be with me. I had no idea that girls were judging me on terms just as shallow as I was judging them. I was an idiot.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

junkie ex-fiancee memory #2

OK, like in the future I'll know that if a person has a picture if their first fiance on the dresser, posing with his arm around Scott Weiland, except the girl has burned out the fiance's face with a cigarette but kept the picture on the dresser for several years, with just Scott Weiland with his arm around a guy whose head is just a big melted char-mark-- that's not a fucking good portent.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

drunk as fuck and high on cocaine

all right-- i'm drunk as fuck and high on cocaine. i feel good-- not exactly lucid, but definitely sort of-- the air is very thick, and warm ,and the sound of the fan provides a sort of middle note that makes everything feel as though it were underwater. i started at 8, so i'm past that initial pure euphoria, that chatty idealistic bliss, and into a sort of more hadrcore high, slightly more agitated but also more visionary. and already, in fact almost from the beginning, i'm thinking longingly of... well, this time it's the bulb from the turkey baster. i'm going to stop at 7-11 on the way home and buy non-lubricated condoms, and duct tape one of them (filled with warm water) to the base of the turkey baster so i can squeeze it and make it pulsate. of course, in reality a) a trip to the 7-11 while crashing off coke on the long walk home would be a fucking garish hell and b) of course the tape would get wet and just come off, probably when i had the whole apparatus in my bed. but nonetheless.

yeah, it's good to be fucked up. and i'll be hung over but still, i would have been miserable anyway.

how to explain how i feel? at first, it was just like pure happiness, like evrything was a good idea. sweeping up the pieces of (name omitted at the request of the habitual schedule 1 drug user in question)'s broken wineglass was genuinely fun, and when she thanked me for it i felt like it was unnecessary... and honestly, (see above) is the absolute best person ever to talk to when you're high.