Blast from the Past!

This is a "story" that I wrote eight years ago. Those drug addled days, yes...


hey.
Dec 14, 2003

Life is Strange
by---
Saddam Hussein

To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure if I ever was depressed about that whole thing with that girl; I mean, I don't know if I actually cared about her anyway, and she did call the fucking cops on me. I haven't really told you the whole story, which is funny and deserves to be told in extensive elaboration later in a novella, perhaps; this is a brief version(and edited, of course):

It was the second time I spent time with her. We got drunk, and then she took off her pants, whatever, that part is irrelevant, so we had really good sex, and then she falls asleep on me, but I was feeling unsatisfied in some kind of way, so I thought that I would spend some time alone thinking, only with drugs, since she had this bottle of hypnotics, a sleeping-aid, next to her bed, which I've known to be quite fun, but causes memory gaps, and I knew this, so I took three, sat there for a while, drank another beer, found my pants, went outside to smoke a cigarette, and locked myself out, since the door locks automatically, and had to pound on the windows for her to let me in---------it was hard to get her up, but then after a few agonizing minutes outside in the snowy landscape of this Amish state, she came to the door, and after that, I don't remember a thing, except her body and face started to look like this other girl whom I've a mad crush on, K., and I acted in accord with my perceptions by apologizing to "K." that I slept with this other girl, and was very sorry about it, won't you still love me, K., etc. I guess she said, "who the fuck is K.?" I don't remember what happened after that, but she says that I did a lot of shit, like break her dishes, and kick over her plant, and throw her painting, because I said that it sucks, and take more pills, and then she called the cops on me, because I was "touching her" and "putting my weight on her, but 'not in a malicious way'," but I can't remember anything, it is all a blank; I'm sure that I didn't rape her, I wouldn't do such a thing considering my morals and likely impotence at that point, from the drugs and whatever, but I swear to God, I did not rape that girl, I'm an adulterer, but I'm no rapist. Then the cops brought me, without handcuffs, to my apartment, and he told me that I needed to go to bed, and that I was extremely drunk, or whatever. Then I pass out, and then get a call from the girl, and she is all pissed off, but I didn't know what the fuck I did, how could I be responsible for my actions? I was hypnotized, baby. We emailed each other a whole bunch of times, and I got really depressed because I kept feeling worse and worse about the whole thing, and then, Christ, she says to me that "I'm upsetting her because I am beating myself up over this, and I sound 'depressed'." And, she, "still can say fairly easily that we can still be friends."

And then she told me that her coffee was not actually the Columbian Roast, but Folgers's decaffeinated crystals, or whatever, and that's about that. I think she's crazy.

---Saddam
success
Dec 7, 2003

Let me tell you what, Pablo, I never want to go to another English graduate student party again. To make a short story shorter, they were stuck up, I got tired of telling those who talked to me that, "hey! I'm an English major and I like to rreeeead," so I changed my introduction to, "I am an aspiring adult film star." They turned around and walked away; I mean, can't one be in porn and also be intelligent at the same time? i.e. Gauge with her extensive vocabulary. "Your cock is so big that it makes me distraught." A grammatically sound sentence with a little high-school vocab test kind of influence going on, eh?

Basically, we then just left that scene because L. said that she wasn't feeling well, lying of course. Later on we went to some party where the conversation most prominent had something to do with the argument, which some art-chick made that people shouldn't use toilet paper. That got old too, so we left. I think that we then just dumped DC at his place and went back to L.'s house. I'm a very, very happy person today. She makes me happy, and she gave me an ambien. Well, before going into further details which would ultimately render me feeling like I'm in high school again, I will say goodbye, talk to you later.

"I'm teaching Pynchon studies at San Narcisso community college." - JAK