Matters Of Little Consequence

The best way to reach Atlantis is by drowning. So, yanno . . . be advised. 

By the spring of 2007, the blog was settling into a predictable rhythm. I derived zero enjoyment from the notoriety we had garnered after the Britney shot; partly because it was fucking stupid but mostly because it wasn’t my personality. Blog hits were a currency I couldn’t relate to in the least. But rather than dwell on it, I kept my nose to the grind by rubbing more spice into the beast in order to cull that ching. I wrote provocative shit and connected with other bloggers and brainstormed ideas with Dan late in the night.

Dan wanted to schmooze and to get known and I wanted to write and be left the fuck alone, so we were able to achieve a perfect balance. We were vastly different people who found a righteous third pedal with which to ride this duct taped circus tricycle into a flow that had some keeps. And so what if the means to our endgame was polar bear opposite? We figured there’d be insurance for that.

As someone with depression, writing had become a beautiful outlet through which I could invite my inner tempest without need for a visit to the psych ward. When I wasn’t chitting with sports bloggers or chatting with food bloggers, I was commiserating with depressed peeps like me. I treated blogging the way I treat cocktail parties. Fetch a comfortable drink, find a spot on the fringe and then cozy up to someone who fits my perspective.

Unfortunately my love life didn’t follow the same set of rules. In this respect, I always seemed to find the loudest crash. After a few soft landings to break me in to the new old fashioned ways of romance, I’d gotten down to brass knuckles. In the months leading up to my head on collision with the “Dame”, my common sense had gone rogue warrior. A top five mishaps from that most interesting period? Sure why not . . .

5- Tracy loved Jaeger shots and revolvers. Moving right along . . .
4- Lizette gifted me an Irish soccer t-shirt after our St. Patrick’s Day hookup. Her gun toting baby daddy proved to be too expensive for my umm . . blood.
3- Gina smoked weed whilst driving and her hobbies included bar fights and tat collecting.
2- Karen was always there. Like when she needed a place to crash rent free. Or when she needed money. Or when she needed to recover from a bad breakup. Yep, she was there.
1- Maria

How do you solve a problem like Maria? Damned if I knew. The girl was TNT in spaghetti straps, with the ability to seduce a Pastor on Sunday morning. We’d reconnected at her birthday party the previous summer, where everyone had been invited to feel her new boobs during champagne toasts. Months later during a snowstorm, she invited me over for a private showing. She had a couple bottles of wine and smokes, which clinched the summit for me.

I’d been planning an exit strategy ever since, because every moment spent with her brought catastrophic risk. Girl had a posse of ex boyfriends with warrants and possessive ex girlfriends who hated men. Understandably, I never actually slept during the time I was sleeping with Maria. Thank God for Dan’s incredibly shitty judgement, or I might have ended up being immortalized on some after hours cable crime show.

As if Britney hadn’t harshed my mellow enough, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up to a post on our blog written by Maria. Evidently she had sweet talked Dan into letting her write with us after I kept turning her down. So it was that she treated our readers to the specs on her boob job, her crush on Jesus when times got tough. And oh . . sordid tales of sex with Marco.

My brain exploded, after which I deleted the post, changed the password on the blog and warned Dan that I wasn’t planning on giving it back so easily and that if he ever pulled some stupid shit like that again, I’d tell Emie about his recurring dreams. And then I broke up with Maria, which was awkward considering the fact we weren’t actually dating.

I decided to practice celibacy after that. It was a combination crash diet and detox program, with lots of early nights involved. I read like crazy and wrote like a maniac when I wasn’t running and meditating and for about a week and a half I thought I had the stuff of monks. Until Dan, bless his dark, misguided heart, turned me on to a blogger who would end up changing my life forever. She went by the moniker “Dame” and her blog was a literary cutlery set.

I still remember the first time I read her. She was promising to exact revenge on her former beloved in ways that would have had Messalina shuddering in her sandals. And while it was evident this fellow had proven to be a master cheat, the Dame’s punitive measures were, to put it mildly, extreme. Her vengeful anecdote didn’t mention water boarding, since it seemed too lenient a measure. Everything else was on the table, however.

She believed in an eye for an eye- as in, applying a skewer to his roving one. She talked about how she was going to sleep with his friends, his brother and maybe even his old man if it came to that. I was well aware these specific threats were made in jest, but I was also aware there was no jest in her enmity for the sonofabitch.

Her ramble was homicidal, with only trace elements of sarcasm involved, to keep you from calling the authorities; sort of like a tinctured brandy in a whodunit that lets the damsel escape to some exotic locale before a single badge makes the scene. She was straight up wicked in her brilliance, with the kind of cunning that John Grisham couldn’t touch with a satellite. She had two moves carved to a platinum inset before you stepped out of bed, and while Dan called her crazy, I knew she was something more than that. Entirely.

Truth be told, her ode to a lover gone wrong read insanely. It was the kind of beau bounty that should have had me running into the Atlantic Ocean and not coming up for air until I reached a well lit tunnel dressed in cherubs. That would have been the normal reaction, sure. But me?

I was falling.

28 thoughts on “Matters Of Little Consequence

  1. Lawzy, B!

    What a dull life I’ve lead!

    I’m thinking your blog worked as long as you each kept to your sides… Mind you, you both had polar opposite goals so it’s rather surprising you made it work.

    Writing has proven to help those who battle depression so definitely a good thing you used this particular outlet. Blogging is a great way to connect with those we want to connect with.

    Now free from marriage, of course you went wild (I know I sure as hell did) – none of them were for keeps and that’s not what you were looking for… Of course, when one is living on the edge, one attracts border-living creatures…

    Maria sounds like quite the number and how can one resist such an advance? Guess you didn’t take the time to read the fine print or the see the signs… sometimes we need to see the stuff in bold before we get the picture.

    I think I woulda killed Dan dead if he had done such a thing to me.

    You blow me away with your references. Messalina? Jesus. I’m with Dan. I woulda called her crazy too. Guess you couldn’t see it because you were enthralled (see what I did there?) by everything she represented. Talk about the powers of the demon…

    Another wild ride, B,

    Q

    Liked by 1 person

    • Q,

      Welp, after hearing about one of your many adventures. . I ain’t quite believing you. 😉

      Explosive. That’s what I would call me and Dan. And not the interesting kind of explosive, nah. It was the stupid ass kind of explosive relationship where you look back on things and wonder how you’re not wearing an orange jumpsuit.

      Blogging is a great way indeed. Social media, in spite of all its many ills . . it has much worth.

      Border living creatures is one way of putting it. I think Rob Zombie wrote mine into being.

      When boobs are in the conversation, it’s hard . . nay impossible to resist the advance. Me? Look for red flag or fine print? Hells . . Imma a hands on learner. Which ain’t helping things any.

      I wish I had killed Dan. Right then. Our blog would have been known the world over in that case.

      I told ya. when I watched “You’re Next”? . . I said Messalina!

      Dan was right about that. Sort of.

      Two L’s . . to rhyme with hell.

      It’s about to get stupid. So if y’all wish to sit it out, I would understand.

      B.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh puh-leeze… methinks I can’t hold a candle to you!

        Explosive… as in 4th of July stupid-hicks-fireworks type? Not good at all. You probably were lucky to not end up in orange jumpsuits…

        Blogging sure helped me get through shit.

        Border living creatures was in wont of a better word… but hey, if’n you like it.

        Boobs… the downfall of many a smart man – hands on, eh? That may be the first part of the problem.

        Nah… if you had then you really would have ended up in an orange jumpsuit.

        And here I was googling and finding out Messalina was the emperor Claudius’ third wife. Sheesh.

        Sort of, eh? I think more than sort of.

        LOL! Two L’s, just not stuck together.

        Like I could sit this out. You kidding me???

        Liked by 1 person

        • If by candle, you mean leather? I’m pretty sure you got the same game juicy fruit. And then some.

          Blowing shit up was never my thing. Silencers are the best way to go. Tuck those puppies up and then go feast on Denny’s. After which you sleep for three days. Not that I’ve any idea what that all means.

          Me too. It’s a pill. No pharmacist necessary.

          I relate to it!

          I ain’t the biggest boob . guy. And truth be told, the artificial stuff reminds me of the old Stretch Armstrong dolls. I know . . . TMI.

          I won’t ever end up in an orange jumpsuit. I love cops, but I can always be one and a half steps ahead of ’em.

          She was something. Else.

          Elle Magazine is good reading. I’ve heard. And yes, they go with two L’s.

          Of course you can’t. 😉

          Liked by 1 person

          • We’ll have to discuss this further…

            Blowing up shit is dangerous business – I hear.

            Best pill out there. So glad I discovered it – though I cannot for the life of me remember how it came to be! I’m just glad I did.

            Maybe more of a leg-man… 😉 I will never understand the appeal of the artificial stuff!

            Never say never though I doubt you’re still chasing those challenges…

            Elle Magazine – of course you have a daughter so you’d know…

            Uh huh. I can’t. 😛

            Liked by 1 person

          • Indeed!

            Me too. Wouldn’t hear of it. Any longer . . .

            Imagine if blogging was a drug? An illicit drug? The street value would be through the roof!

            Legs are where it’s at. Boobs ain’t nothing, but this end all game the dudes are making it out to be? Clueless boars . . .

            Done. And done.

            I do know. 😉

            Uh huh. Mmm Hmmm . . .

            Liked by 1 person

          • K. We’ll make that happen one day.

            I like the “any longer” part…

            Holy hell! Thank gawd it isn’t!

            I had a feeling… yep. Clueless boars (bores?)

            You do, no doubt.

            Mmmm hmmmm 😉

            Liked by 1 person

          • Funny you should say that. I’ve been saying for year that the bums that walk the streets talking to all and sundry now have something to hide behind! Their “bluetooth”!

            True dat.

            Nah.

            Liked by 1 person

  2. W.h.o.a! And I thought I had love tracks embedded across my forehead. Your ‘girls’ make me feel a whole lot better about some of the schmucks I tallied during dysfunctional times. As for the Dame’s MO for exacting revenge, I always thought turning off the electricity would be a good idea. In winter. Not that I ever did it, mind you…but it sure sounded like a moment of well deserved pique.

    Liked by 1 person

    • And the thing is, I couldn’t even blame youth!

      Her former beloved in this instance was a neanderthal ex husband she could’t murder or stay with or love . . so let’s just say the enmity made a nuclear meltdown look like a pool party. I actually had the ‘pleasure’ of speaking to him on the phone once, after he showed up to her place to pick up one of the kids without having been invited. That was fun, NOT!

      Liked by 1 person

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