graceland's Diaryland Diary

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Playing in a Starting Position

Now listening to: The Mars Volta. I love a prog rock concept album and so few are as ambitiously savory. Reminds me of a friend, who loathes the concept album, something he views as unfavorably arrogant. He may be right about that, but it doesn't make me love it any less.

Last night I accidentally got retarded. I had to go out as wingman for a friend and ended up raging. I met this horrendous man who told me filthy dirty things. And I'm not talking dirty talk. Initially, after he bought me a dirnk and put out there that he wanted to f*ck me, I thought about talking him home but then he got into a realm of dirty sex discussion that ruined it. For the better.

This man told me about f*cking his ex-wife for so long and so hard that he got scabs on his penis. I didn't understand because he started by telling me about scabs on his penis and I shrank away from him, missing the part about it being from some marathon sex during which he told me that they "soaked the mattress." His words, not mine.

To say I was horrified doesn't even cover it. I thurst myself into a conversation with a friends' guy friend and attached myself to his side. Eventually I told him what the man had said and he blinked once, then twice, and asked me to repeat for clarification, what I had been told. He was equally horrified. As we stood there blinking at each other in mutual bewilderment, the man slinked past me again, running his hand across my ass and then up my back, down my arm, letting his fingers brush against the side of my breast as he past, giving me this look that was so lascivious, I nearly hyperventilated. My new guy friend blew out some air and shook his head. "That guy thinks he going to have you," he said. I may have ordered another drink.

He and I sat talking for the rest of the night, which enabled me to shake the scabbed monster. I got really drunk. At one point I was sitting on the bar and the bartender was passing me bottles as I whipped up a line of drinks for people.

He made me laugh when we were talking. "You use the term 'hang out' a lot to refer to past relationships - that's funny, but what does that mean, exactly?" Someone else pointed that out once.

The bartender wouldn't let me leave. My new friend had help me finish my drink. He invited me over to his place on Saturday to hang out. We were both drunk and are in wierd places. He just moved back here and has a girlfriend down south. I was just telling him how I've decided to stop looking, that love isn't going to happen for me.

So it was out of this mutual lost feeling, I think, that the invitation evolved. I agreed to hang out, took his phone number and left. Once outside of the bar, I texted his phone and said, "Thanks for the invite over, but don't hate me if I don't show up tomorrow because I'm feeling lazy."

I was sick when I got home. I hadn't eaten. I ate some soup and threw up. Drank water.

Tonight I felt differently about life. I always thought that it was better living life with your walls up because feeling nothing was better than feeling the pain of a bruised or broken heart.

I decided tonight, that getting tossed around in the game is better than sitting untouched on the sidelines. It's kinda a rush, putting yourself out there. It's addicting. I'm starting to like it.

So I'm thinking about doing it again. And then again. Until I get it right.

10:12 p.m. - 2004-10-16

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