hey man-

It's late. I went to a hip-hop show tonight. I'm a little drunk. At the club, when I was arriving at this state, thought about how I gave you my opinion earlier, and how email has a huge bandwidth reserved for misunderstanding, and since I'm nervous and guilty anyway (relate?), I feel bad for criticizing your essay. I personally like direct criticism, because I hate trying to figure out what people mean, or even worse, suspecting that people mean nothing. But I'm in a different place than you; I send my unpublished writing to people, hoping for their criticism. So, sorry for giving mine, just in case you didn't send that to me wanting advice. Anyway, to repent, I'll write you an essay about what I did today.

I went to that show. I drank. That was after six hours of working at PIZZA DIVE (and the newspaper for 6 hours before that). Between jobs I went to the Tampa Bay Brewing Company to drink and work on laying out my book (with the aid of my dope new laptop), and I had a conversation with the waitress who was kinda cute but she had an amazing mouth, so after talking for a while (she did most of the talking) about her recent move to Tampa, and youth hostels and traveling, I asked if she wanted to come to Costa Rica with me.I do this to every beautiful woman I talk to these days, on the off chance one might say yes, cause I wouldn't mind doing something stupid like going off with a stranger. That'd be fucking great, wouldn't it? Or maybe it'd be hell. But that'd be great too, in some weird way.

Anyway, she said yes, just like every other woman I've asked. These yeses are so meaningless; they're no better than nos. So I asked her if she wanted to hang out before I leave. She told me to come back and talk to her more later, she'd love that; and then she'd decide, but no exchange of phone numbers right now (though I hadn't asked), "It sketches me out..." She said. Which sounds reasonable. But as I left the bar to go to work with my buzz, I thought about how every beautiful woman (my friends, my sister) is asked out once a day, so I didn't feel bad deciding I wouldn't come back to the bar for her.

After PIZZA DIVE, I worked more on my book. Then I went to that show. It was a whole different crowd, younger kids. I stood near the front of the stage watching the band and a girl with a crew cut grazed against me as she danced and I obsessed over her and her neck for a half-hour. I talked to her later but she was more interesting when I knew her (or didn't know her) under the din of the band; talking to her was lame. And then I was drunk and I went across the street and I don't know if I ever told you about that woman I went home with a year ago, the one who'd just had a baby, but I finally spoke to her again tonight. I hadn't talked to her for a year 'cause after that night we had, I thought she might think I was slime.

But despite that weird night, and the fact that we haven't spoken in the year since, she remains one of my half-dozen, visually ideal women. She has dark skin and seems to blink in slow motion, which reminds me of sleep, and sleep is always sexy. God, my insides wilt thinking through my eyes about this woman whom I've seen bare and beautiful (When did that happen? Why don't I remember it like I wish I did?) Anyway, her and I talked tonight and I bragged about Costa Rica and then we went about our separate social situations. But at the end of the drunk night I went back to her and asked her to walk me to my car. She was mid-conversation but she said yes and dropped the conversation and ran out with me like she'd been waiting for it. As soon as my doors shut and ours ears popped in the sealed cab of my truck I kissed her. Then we drove and laughed.

Back at the bar I'd told her I would cook her dinner and she was thrilled, but in the truck she said it'd have to be after Thursday when she didn't have THE KIDS. The last time I'd talked to her she only had one. Somehow she has two now. And while normally this would depress me (I don't know why - but it undoubtedly says something negative about me, and not procreation), after I dropped her off back at the bar, I drove home with the fantasy of bringing her and her kids to PIZZA DIVE, and feeding them all for free, and how much she'd adore me for it, and how fucking beautiful her little babies are, I'm sure, because she is thoroughbred Spanish perfect. And while I don't frown on the bodies of woman who've given birth, I must say that you can't tell she's had kids, she has a perfect body and I'm going to feed it. I'm going to cook it dinner when her kids aren't around. But I'm caught up in this fantasy of going out to PIZZA DIVE and being this pale head bobbing among their dark family, and I'll feel inferior and wish I were dark, but I'll still feel good. And this fantasy built up as I rounded corners in my truck (hoping the cops weren't creeping around in my neighborhood) until I wanted to ask this dark woman to be my girlfriend for the last weeks I'm in Tampa. "Let's be in love for three weeks". Anyone could sustain love for three weeks. And we could both go into it knowing it would end, so it'd be blissful and perfect and passionate and momentous, fucking A man, I'm going to ask her to jump in with me for three weeks. And I'll take her and her kids out to eat once a week (three times). And we'll have so much fun and I'll be in such an extraordinary environment; the middle of this family, giving all my love to this stranger with PERFECT sincerity, which seems as alien as me running off to Costa Rica, but I want this with her. I feel like I love her already and I'm definitely being dramatic, but I am gorged with hope and while it feels kinda gross, it's also exhilarating.

So, as soon as I arrived back at my apartment at like 3:30 a.m., I called her. She didn't answer and I picture her seeing my name on the caller ID and thinking I'm calling to try and fuck her late at night. Maybe I blew it; she probably thinks that all I want is her pussy. Man, if she only knew…

I'll keep you posted.
mpw

the response

… Back late . . .good advice: thank you . . . I had originally not had the first paragraph, I cut it, then put it back . . . I'll just cut the whole first graph . . .

over and out,
S.F.A.