Sex Face

Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York

Last night I got my feelings hurt because Marie made fun of my sex face. I didn't even know that I had a sex face. Not THE sex face - we all know we have an OH! face. What I didn't know (until last night) was that I also have an I WANT SEX FACE. And when Marie mirrored this face to me it looked to me as though my I WANT SEX FACE makes me look like a lazy eyed drooling retard - SEXY! And I got bent out of shape and felt shitty about myself, like a kid who'd just been made fun of. I guess my point is, is that I seem to get bent out of shape real easy. This I WANT SEX FACE thing is just a drop in the bucket as far as me getting hurt or pissed off goes. I mean, last week Marie and me were "officially" kuput for some reason or other that completely escapes me at the moment. We were so much done with each other that I did the old drink myself under the table number with my buddies Tugboat and Jake at O'hanilan's on 14th and 1st Ave last week where Tugboat works, the whole time yelling out absurd quotes from the movie IDIOCRACY to the bartender (who's also a fan of the movie - GO WATCH IT NOW!) who responded by feeding me enough drinks to forget where I lived (Jake was good enough to escort me home) and make me forget why I wanted to get that fucked up in the first place - which was exactly the point of the exercise (one gold star for me; gold star taken away for not being able to get out of bed the next day). And so I guess my other point is that it's become obvious to me that my faults are numerous (hey I'm just tryin' to get by here man, and love someone in the process - which is apparently a lot fuckin' harder than it sounds). Let me just relate this little beauty that recently surfaced in order to help you (my dear reader) understand that I'm not completely alone in this thing as far as diggin' my dick in the dirt is concerned. My second ex-wife called me out of the blue about exactly a week ago at 2:30 in the morning to tell me that she was sorry and hoped that I was doing okay. I told her no grudges. I told her that I'd written a book. She told me to send it to her. A day or two later I text her to get her email address again, only someone responded asking me who I was and what book I was talking about. I told that person I was looking for B****y. He said that he was her husband. I said that I was her ex-husband and I didn't hear from him again. Last night I got another call from B****y to tell me not to ever call her husbands number, or hers for that matter. Wow. Wasn't plannin' on it anyhow. Asa buddy, I wish you were still around to do that tribute album that you wanted to do for her: BRANDINE YOU BITCHWHORE! That woulda been the shit. Only you could've captured the utter ridiculousness of that whole mess. Whatever... So I feel like this blog and my life are simply begging the question at this point: what the fuck is wrong with me? And the only response that I've got is that my life somewhere along the way went severely off course...

Love