Man-Size (man_size) wrote,
Man-Size
man_size

Hitler Bitch Casserole

SBX admitted to me Friday morning that she had no initial sympathy for the car accident and my injuries thereof, and realized that it was in holy error to feel that way. She was trying to reconcile and get to the root of her blasphemous reaction. She thought that maybe my oft hyperbolic spin on most things big and small was breaching overdrive and that my recent hi-jinks was the proverbial stick that broke the camels back. That, perhaps I was seeking extra attention? That, perhaps I was testing her waters to come running when we both know how limiting her ability to play nurse and treat me like a king is, what with her children, schedule, divorce, etc., etc.,...and...etc. I felt blasted, betrayed, befuddled. How could a patch of bad luck instigate such a negative reaction in my woman?

SBX is still young at this relationship gig. No genius in the world of love my own damn self, I told her that when it came to relationships I was in college, sometimes slipping back into junior high, but that she was clearly still dawdling in kindergarten. We discussed the machinations of dealing with another's tragedy and pain. I wondered how she could show passion and sympathy for a strangers' misfortune in the newspapers yet shut down when it came to a loved one's discomfort AND question its validity? Often, she'll call her daughters out on the mat when they pull a stunt and cry. Even if they've genuinely hurt themselves in the midst of tomfoolery, SBX will berate them for their obnoxious behavior first, and tend to their wounds second. Not always, but sometimes. At least, some of the times I've witnessed these melees. Whereas, maybe if she gave them each that first minute of unqualified love and care before judging and spanking them, giving them the attention they're obviously seeking rather than punishing them for it [especially when they're at that young age where their communication tools are raw and immature], the tender loving care might could offset the anger that comes with such spurts of mismanaged behavior and get to the root of the problem. Not to enable the cause but to achieve the desire.

SBX struggles with the word "need" and "taking care of." Her initial reaction to my accident wasn't one of worry and caring but a selfish retreat, worrying that, if I couldn't take care of myself, how could I take care of her? She was dreading having to take care of YET ANOTHER person in her life. Hmff. That's the breaks, kid. The good comes with the bad. Seen? If you expect to share a life with another, you better be prepared to wipe ass, wash hair, and feed food if'n it comes down to that. That's what I signed up to do. Otherwise, call it quits. SBX admitted to having created a mock head injury when she was 17 years old, so that she would gain her parent's attention. She was having it rough that year and needed more than what she was getting. So much so, she faked a fall and played a semi-coma state so that she would force her parents into noticing her. Paramedics came and put her in the hospital for an overnight watch. Parents concerned and attention bountiful, SBX got what she wanted. But, at what cost? Must have been really bad for SBX to resort to such desperate measures for a parental hug. I wondered is she was projecting her youthful tactics upon my situation with the car? Even if she didn't believe me, witnesses could attest that I wasn't seeking "extra attention." Not in this way. No how. I was a vitcim of misfortune. We rang off the phone and tabled the beef for later analysis.

Mike Fiffe came by and erased my latest inked pages and filled in the blacks. We scored some Chinese lunch and picked up laundry. We drew to CYPRESS HILL's "Temple of Boom" album and I schooled Fiffe on the legend of Eric B. & Rakim.

I was at SBX's home by 7:PM where The Haze and Ola-Bola [and their 6-year old pal Christian] serenaded us with "Dean and Sarah sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!" SBX and I twinkled with glee and they looked at my bandaged left hand with a sideways glance. I got them hip to the car accident and Ola-Bola tilted her head and said "That is quite annoying." Indeed. SBX set them up with a video [BIG FAT LIAR] while we talked about the rules of engagement between lovers. I told SBX how hard it is to be constantly working on our problems in the forum of our relationship. That, it was becoming the most tedious romance I had ever known and I wish we could sally forth and get on with the magic years sans perpetual analysis of our emotions and actions. I proposed the "we can't change your stripes" philosophy. That maybe we are fundamentally different. That, our emotions are so crazy layered and complicated, that it's nearly impossible to teach somebody how to play piano at age 35, when you should have learned it at age 4 for the keys to make any sense. SBX argued that no one is perfect, and that, if you love somebody, you can work things out. We agreed that we always find a way out of the bag.

An so it boiled down to this: I call and tell you "I am hurt," you have only two ways to respond. A way in which to reveal gut feelings. You can say "Are you okay?" -- showing pedestrian concern, or, you can take a proactive position and ask "Where are you right now and how can I get there?" One employs criteria, the other, instinct. I've always followed my balls, never letting circumstance get in my way. Everything cheerio, Cupid found a free arrow and gave SBX and I another chance to make it right.

After the movie ended, the girls gave me a Roy Lichtenstein art set. We talked about having "art day" once a week and the couch got comfortable with everybody lying on SBX.

Mike & Marie picked me up @11:25PM for Cooly C's Luau party in Williamsburg. I finally got to meet Cooly's new girlfriend, Pagan, and I hung out with Blazm, Raf, and Finster. Drank whiskey and danced to old soul and disco music. Cooly C was deejaying Anita Ward, Thelma Houston, Peaches & Herb, James Brown, and the theme to SUPERMAN THE MOVIE, for the whole night. He was dressed up in full Hawaiian regalia, hay skirt, loud shirt, and straw hat like the Hawaiian Punch Drink guy. Cooly gave me a copy of his solo project: TORTURED SOUL, house music CD that's making a big hit in Europe. Fiffe came by with his pal and chicks. Raf got buck nutty, SUNY Purchase style, and got too high on cannabis sativa, and wound up humping a hoolahoop. Later on, I saw Raf sneak out the front door without waving goodbye. The next day, I got a phone call telling me he'd vomited in four public places before reaching home. I think I cried laughing.

Woke up Saturday morning to a call from Jonathan Ames for a coffee at the Fall Cafe. Ames shot a Comedy Central Special called "Confessing It" with Patton Oswalt, Marc Maren, and a few other comedians. We caught up and discussed the pros & cons of being sober and social anxiety disorder. He's writing his next novel WAKE UP, SIR and told me a little be about it. A wonky tale about a rich artist type fellah who has a man servant based on the P. G. Wodehouse icon "Jeeves," and their relationship. A black comedy of sorts.

Met up with SBX on the F-train and rode in to 34th street to drop of Christian [Haze & Ola's 6-year old pal] w/her mother [SBX's co-worker]. We went shopping at OLD NAVY where SBX needed to exchange a pair of pants and insisted I buy new socks and boxer briefs. I scored a cool yellow and blue zip-up fleece, and then we went to the comix shoppe for a SPIDER-MAN comic. We walked down towards the Flat Iron building and ate a late lunch at LIVE BAIT. SBX relayed a crazy story about legendary body builder, Jack LaLanne and how healthy he is due to an exhaustive work out regime that keeps his heart pumping like a 21-year old. She told me of his amazing feats and the crazy challenges he meets every birthday. I derailed the subject and told SBX she was too skinny. I got tit for tat as SBX complained that I don't look at her when we converse over food. I told her that food is like wine. You know why a wine glass is shaped in a way to encapsulate your nose? Because half of taste is smell. The wine glass is designed to take your olfactory into consideration, allowing your tongue and nose to enjoy the full experience. I told her that I felt the same way about food, only employing taste and SIGHT. I like to LOOK at and TASTE the food at the SAME time, rather than just shovel it my mouth and wonder what makes up the concoction of flavors. If I taste a nugget of corn, I want to see that corn. Same with meat. Greens. Vegetables. Poultry. Starch. Etc. Of course, there are a few exceptions: If watching a movie and eating, I will rarely look down at my plate for I don't want to interrupt the seamless experience that the movie purports to furnish. If I am to eat during a movie, I often pick a menu that I am familiar with [like pizza] so that I can rely on palette memory and enjoy the cinematic narrative while satiating the stomach. Plus, I told SBX that I often look to the side when enjoying a one-on-one parlay as a subconcious precautionary tactic, especially during debates, because the eyes are incredibly seducing orbs and I sometimes don't want them to influence the argument. I have advised SBX to look directly into her clients eyes so that she may influence them to the best of her abilities, for I fully appreciate their power. SBX wouldn't buy it and I wouldn't cave in. All she wanted was that I look her in the eye more than I already do when we sat across each other at the dinner table, is all. I ate akimbo, unyielding.

Our differences nose-dived into a shitty lunch and terrible subway ride back to my pad. Tears and sniffles turned into much needed love-making as we, once again, made a pact to discard this antagonistic nonsense. The stuff that thickens our blood and casts iron upon our hearts. We napped for a bit and Mike called. His two brothers, David and Colin, were in town and visiting. We all watched the William Goldman/John Schlesinger 1976 thriller, MARATHON MAN, in my living room and ate Thai food, as Sir Lawrence Olivier asked Dustin Hoffman "Is it safe," only to get a mouthful of open nerves. Due to Japanese jet-lag, David snored, Colin batted eye-lashes, and Mike yawned, as the Hueston Brother's sleep induced curse almost made shut-eye out of suspense.

Woke up slathered in SBX's Sunday loins and walked the Red Hook trek to HOPE & ANCHOR and chowed on brunch. After surveying the windy east river and Statue of Liberty, SBX [sans bike] caught the bus and I rode my bike to our Park Slope rendezvous. We got her jogging gear and she went for a run around Prospect Park while I rode around twice and we met up for frisbee. Went back to SBX's house where I swept the front and helped rake the back. Owning city property means you're responsible for some sidewalk. The Winter yields leaves, hence, a possible slip and fall. Ergo, lawsuit. Which is something homeowners try their best to avoid. SBX and I met up with Mike for a late afternoon show of DIE ANOTHER DAY [007's 20th foray], and enjoyed the hyperbolic melodrama and Halle Berry's eye candy. We three decided that Pierce Brosnan had walked his dog and become the second best actor to play James Bond [bumping Roger Moore to third place, w/Sean Connery still reigning #1]. Mike split and SBX cooked a delicious pesto pasta dinner with roasted red pepper garnish and red wine. I lit her golden lava lamp to resemble that camp fire vibe and SBX decorated the living room with candles. Red wine led to Strip Gin Rummy and I was completely nude within five hands. We brought the fire back up to SBX's bedroom and snuggled the rest of the night until the Sandman knocked us out, swift and hard.
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