Authors Note: Since we had SO much success with it last time, and it didn’t totally interrupt flow while writing whatsoever; we’re going to not “cuss” in this post too. Funny thing, actually found a site with the “101 Best Alternatives to Curse Words”. Not mentioned, you got it, dawg gone. Whatever, trying something new. Speaking of something new…
Let’s Be Friends…
One of my many, many issues with the whole online dating experience is how it eliminates any organic nature to developing a relationship. Now, are there people who I can see living forever, together in a life of eternal struggles and bliss who met via the online dating experience? Absolutely.
We hate those people and they are only detectable by Rowdy Roddy Piper (RIP Hotrod!) wearing Ray Bans.
However, it more than likely is a “me” thing. (If I may, I’m willing to bet all the money in my 401k vs. all the money in your Roth IRA that if we were to hop on, let us say Match.com right now; I would recognize a solid dozen ladies who are “online now”. Because they are ALWAYS online now. So, this “me” thing, it’s a “we” thing. Thanks for playing.)
And I’m done with it.
And if, for some reason, it is a “me” thing, then I’m going to own it the Stove Top Stuffing out of it!
Because, well, you know who I’m going to have dinner with, go for hikes with, talk about my day with , and dagnabbit, have sex with?
And it’s what needed to be done.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, and I know, some of you are…well…
But, you may have noticed I enjoy writing. How much so will be revealed in the days to come. (TEASE)
Blogging for me is an exercise. Practice if you will. This is something to hopefully entertain a few of you while serving a purpose greater than I care to explain. (Let me explain: writing is me uninterrupted. And if you know me, you know I don’t shut the Fraggle Rock up! So…) And I also use blogging to help strengthen my lack of grammatical skills. (Or reinforce my obvious (bad) habits.).
Screenwriting, whole different species to me. Hell, it has it’s own Kingdom Classification of torturia. And it, without question, is the single most amazing experience I have ever had. I view sitting in a theater, watching a show, or watching a movie as an emotional investment of time. For two hours, I give my emotions over to the storytellers (primarily writer, director, editor) and say “inspire me!”
And the first moment “Action!” was called, with a guy standing on a stool way to unsafe to sit on, while holding a boom mike hoping to not be in the shot. The first moment a gal to the side is making sure the light casts shadows in a somber, yet delicious tone. The first time a person with an eye that I will never possess focused through a viewfinder capturing the actors walking out in front of us reciting words you wrote…
…We’ve established my addictions, well…I never put myself in a position to put a needle in my arm, however…If I could, I would inject this feeling in between my toes!
I’d rather work for it…
I’ve recently hired a Screenwriting Coach, Lee Jessup (http://leejessup.com), and she’s been fantastic. She’s also put me into contact with Andrew Hilton (http://www.screenplaymechanic.com). Andrew is friggen awesome! We had a discussion (email) recently where I flat out said,
“I’m not looking for a pat on the ass and an “atta boy”. I want you to tell me I suck and why I suck!”
He does and it’s outstanding.
So, I set up a “deadline” with him for “Notes”. (Goes through, reads the script, thoroughly tells you what works, what doesn’t, and gives you a grade.)
I Scheduled one for the end of January shortly after the “pfft date”. Now that I consciously made my decision to combat my addiction to online dating, I desperately needed to get into a routine. (My routine consists of waking up at 4am (foreshadowing and yes, I just parenthesized within a parenthesis) because my mind first thing in the morning is like a jackrabbit with ADHD and a cocaine addiction. So, I go with it. I read for about 30-45 minutes. After stalking all of you on Facebook and Instagram. Then, I write. I do this until my 120 pages or so are done.) Once my draft is complete, and these are typically rewrites by the way. (One script is about 5 to 6 rewrites and the other is the 3rd) I’ll usually do a quick read through, tell myself I’ll do another but by that point my brain is exhausted and so sick of those characters. Email it off to Andrew awaiting the response of “Oh my God man, this is it! Bravo!” And instead “It’s made some strides forward, but many horizontally”.
And yes I pay for this. And yes, I love it. (Not gonna lie, at first, kinda stings.) But no one said it was going to be easy.
In the middle of this most recent time though…My phone was blinking.
Have you ever had a Facebook friend request, then didn’t? Because the person who sent it smartened up and canceled it? Well, this happened to a girl I “dated” for a month and I was a complete ass (donkey) too. She was sweet, kind, and just so happened to be the girl I was with during the “rabid cat” attack. Which was followed by the overly emotional writing of a script that eventually became my student film. Have I told you about “Good Grief”?
Needless to say, I was a little dramatic at the time.
Anyway, she was the ghost of okcupid past, and was gracing me with the chance to be kind. Plus, I owed her a much deserved apology. (When you stop being a waste of a body and mind due to drinking and drugs, you have a lot of amends to make and even more actions to make amends for. So, you become pretty good at it. By the way, if I haven’t for some of you reading; give me a bit.) She wasn’t seeking that, she just wanted to say hi. I’m glad she did.
We reconnected due to her heart absorbing a torpedo to the side of its hull. From the man she met after me. She was wounded, severely wounded.
Now, she’s a beautiful, sexy gal, and here is an opportunity for me to take full advantage of her freshly wounded organ and be my typical, overly flattering, charismatic, charming, con artist self. So, of course, I said:
” You know, we were never friends. And right now, you need a friend.”
What the Fraggle Rock was that?
Have you ever had a panic attack? They’re awful. A year after going sober, my days were full of them. It was awesome.
For those who have never had the pleasure…
You’re thinking, typically, you’re thinking about how much life sucks. You’re sweating. Especially your palms. (I have this thing about my palms sweating. As a kid I used to get worried about them getting sweaty right before “Peace Be With You” at church. No kidding. Which of course did what? Made them sweaty) You notice the impossible to not notice sweaty palms. They always sweat. “Am I freak” races through your infant like sense of self. You have flashbacks to Ash Wednesday your 7th grade year at Christ the King. Your heart races. You notice. It’s hard not to. You’re having flashbacks of cocaine with a girl you met named Penny at the bar Jilly’s with a homemade tattoo of a crucifix on her middle finger. You think you’re having a heart attack. You’re convinced you’re having a heart attack. Which of course causes you to…
Panic. Which cause your hear to race, which cause you to…
Such a fickle little cycle isn’t it?
However, during said mental meltdown, you find yourself desensitized. Outside of your body.
For my hallucinogenic taking friends, it’s about the 2-hour mark in a mushroom trip or hour 3 to 4 in a clean LSD experience. At this time, your dilated pupils are looking down the barrel of whether this is going to be a friggin blast, or I’m going to piss myself and curl up into a ball for the next, well, forever…
I’m not saying I was there (desensitized) when I said that to her. But it was so, well, odd and…
And then I heard her crying.
Two things came from this moment:
- We became friends. We don’t chat often, but when we do, it’s a conversation between two people that, well, are treating people like people. Funny (funny meaning scary) how you lose this concept while by consumed by the “lifestyle” of emotional online gambling. Matter of fact, I recently reconnected with another ghost of okcupid (I wish North Korea would bomb THAT site) and she’s, she too was and is one of those people you thank God you were graced in meeting. I’m not good enough for her… And…
- Holy crap, it’s that easy? Say you want to be friends! That’s it? Because as we know…
Right now, it was hour 2 or hour 3-4 depending, and I needed to choose: A euphoric good time, or defecating myself from this eternal hell. Do I use this newfound intel for good…or for…
Then my phone chimed…
This young lady and I started chatting months earlier. I was in the middle of a “hitting streak.” (You have a good amount of dates lined up. Typically, when you do have this sort of “feast”, you usually walk away with a lighter bank account and a bottle of Aveeno lotion and “first-time lesbian experience” in your Google search bar. Why? Man is incapable of handling that many options.) We had a dinner planned for a Saturday night but, a few days before she called…
“Can you be my date for this event tonight?”
This was literally minutes, like 90 before said event and it was an hour plus drive (foreshadowing) from me to her. Plus, I just walked into my place after a workday. Plus, it was a formal event. Plus, it was for the “Ladies of Law” in Capital City (Albany).
So, to summarize: First date. First date that’s an hour away where I have to pull out my wrinkled Kenneth Cole suit. First date that’s an hour away where I have to pull out my wrinkled Kenneth Cole suit where there will possibly be people in tuxedos. First date that’s an hour away where I have to pull out my wrinkled Kenneth Cole suit where there will possibly be people in tuxedos at a ball for the “Ladies of Law”. First date that’s an hour away where I have to pull out my wrinkled Kenneth Cole suit where there will possibly be people in tuxedos at a ball for the “Ladies of Law” and you are this Fudge Nugget:
“Ya, I’m good.”
A couple days later, she cancelled our date. Turns out Plan B said yes, and she, much respect, wanted to give him a “fair shot”.
Good for her!
3 months later…My phone chimes.
“Hey Keith, Happy New Year.”
Texts are exchanged, the texts turn into a phone call and she reveals the whole story about the guy who went to the event with her. Cool. I really don’t care, but you know…I have to let them talk at some point. (If you’ve ever been on the phone with me, you get this. Have I mentioned that I don’t shut up?)
I inform her how I’m in the middle of a screenplay called “Gone Guy”. It’s the story of a man that goes missing when he take it upon himself to reveal online dating is actually a middle class prostitution ring………….(Okay, it’s not. The screenplay. Online dating IS prostitution.) I also inform her that…
“Im done having my soul sucked out on a regular basis. Meaning I’m done with dating.”
Which works because she just got out of the 3 month story with Plan B.
Then I drop…
“But, if you’re looking for a friend, I’d love to be your friend”.
“I would love that.”
Now, did I consciously say that knowing that I would love to see her naked?
I don’t know. But, did I consciously capitalize Fudge Nugget earlier when referring to myself?
Then she asks…
“Do you want to come over and watch a movie?”
Yeah, she didn’t ask this immediately after the whole friend thing. It was a week later. My writing had intensified. I was a week from “deadline”, and I was beginning to get a little punchy.
“You know what? Ya, ya I do.”
Then I made the hour trek to Albany.
Needless to say, I liked what I saw.
Needless to say, she liked what she saw.
Needless to say, we didn’t finish the movie…
Then in the middle of post-coital spooning I created my “out”.
Yes, this is how my mercurial mind works.
This is how it all played out, in my mind of course: (Favorite quote: “I’ve seen a lot of trouble in my life, and only a fraction of it actually happened”.-Mark Twain)
It doesn’t work between us.
Because I’m a chicken-poop that despises change. You know, totally unlike society who easily embraces change……………
She tells me that change is good.
I get annoyed.
I despise her more for caving so quickly. I find my moment, and execute my escape plan.
“Well, hey, I said I ONLY wanted to be friends.”
Her appropriate response:
“Oh ya, I forgot that moment where I had a gun to turn your head while it was between my thighs.”
Then she kills me in a moment of passion, pleads insanity, and enters into evidence my blogs as proof to my torturous behaviors. She gets 100 hours community service calling bingo at the local old folks home and my brother gets my baseball card collection.
All that aside, what do we crave after sex? No, not food. Even though I was hungry as all hell. I think I was, yeah, I was in the middle of this “cleanse/reset” I do once a year.
So, my late night reward when I got home was Vegetable Miso Soup and lentils.
Sex. The answer to what you want after having sex is more sex. At least that’s how my addictive personality thinks. For you see, I’m the guy eating dinner thinking about dessert. I was the guy doing the line of cocaine thinking about the next line of cocaine. I was the guy having the drink thinking about the next drink. And I’m the guy in the middle of…You see where I’m going with this.
I have this thing about being “present” that I’m dealing with. I don’t know what that means, but I just know I’ve been told I have an issue with it.
Needless to say, the person that told me to be present is no longer present in my life.
So, the next day, all her and I did was discuss how we were going to do this again, what we were going to do to each other, and how soon we were going to do it.
Because that’s what friends do.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to finish the next 60 pages or so of my script which is due in a week. No pressure. However, I just added quite the distraction to the equation.
The next day, we made plans for her to come to my place (Not a fan of that crap so soon, however, SEXY TIME!). I did tell her though, I needed to get some work done while she was at my place. Pleasant surprise, she reciprocated that sentiment.
She was in the middle of something, I don’t know. So, she was going to bring her computer. (foreshadowing)
She came over, checked out my place for about 10 minutes, noticed and appreciated this little, well, shrine to those I love where I have a blessed rosary from the Church I attend.
“I like your rosary.” (foreshadowing)
Needless to say, we got very little work done.
However, we did have about a 45 minute window where we did.
Because she left her GOSH DARN battery at my place and she lives over an hour away.
Now, I’m a man of ritual and habit. We all are. Especially as we progress in age. We wake up and do the exact same thing, day, after day, after day, after day.
And she was fudging it all up!
Little did I know I wasn’t the only “mercurial minded” one in this “friendship”.
Little did I know that “being friends” was worse than, well, not being friends.
And little did I know that Jesus was going to be hanging from my door waiting for me…