Out of the Blue

For better or worse my social life has been in high gear the last few weeks, so much so I am having troubling chronically things in a timely fashion (no doubt things will be settling down soon), even so I have a bit of preamble to get out of the way first.

I am aware that my journal has some small number of readers now, though most have not been offering comments. Some of my earlier entries had a couple of courtesy replies after commenting on other blogs, but now my blog has become an object of some minor curiosity at work. Definitely a case of be-careful-what-you-wish-for. This undoubtably will have an impact of how much I wish to disclose about any given situation. I am also dithering over whether I should be using real names. While I haven't used any actual last names, I worry about how well someone might react to something I have written if they are the subject. Perhaps I should have started off with a completely new account other than DumbSwede, which has several links back to my true identity. Perhaps the knowledge that there are people I know reading this will center me to an appropriate amount of discretion. I do have a number of personal demons to deal with that may be illuminating on my motivations and how I've come to be where I am. Someday, most likely here, there will be a full accounting of what these are, but for now assume you are not getting the whole story.

One last thing before getting started with this week's events. I apologize for any obvious and glaring problems with my writing. I am trying to crank these out rather quicky and I find I do not like the grammar-checker that comes standard with Word Perfect. I will be switching back to Word sometime soon. In the mean time (and beyond) any and all are invited to leave grammar or typo correcting comments. I suspect even if I go back to Word, it will not enforce a consistent tense usage from sentence to sentence. A word to word-processor writers, I would like to be able to color code my sentences by tense.

And now... on with the Show!

Tuesday
I had called Yolonda on Sunday, and we had agreed to a Tuesday dinner date. I call her at about 4:30 before leaving work, she had told me to call before after 3:30 which is when she gets off work.

"Oh shit, I forgot," she says "I'm at Midas right now getting my car worked on, I'll give you a call when I'm done."

I go home and putter around the house a little, I call her number again at 6:30, but just get the answering machine. I leave some message about calling me so I know what the plans are, but I am already not expecting a return call.

Sometime latter in the evening Ammie calls. I don't think I have mentioned Ammie before. Ammie had wanted to be my girlfriend on two previous occasions, and I was more than willing to be her boyfriend, but things went bad. Maybe the problem is in going from zero to committed in less than ten seconds.

I met Ammie at The Canopy Club on a Hip-Hop night when I was DJing. Ammie is young, real young, like 19 years old young. She was hanging along the back divider area of the club by the sound booth and video booth areas. I was just finishing up my set, and was free to roam about a bit. My friend Bennet was working the sound board next to my video both and he was more than amused when I moved in to talk to this girl less than half my age. I will have more to say about Bennet and some complications with another recurring player in the drama my life has become, but that is as the say "another story."

Ammie is cute, and flirty, and pleasant. I think one of the reasons I can't seem to give up DJing is the fantasy that something would happen like...well just like what happened in this case. Ammie no doubt thought I was a cooler guy than I feel by virtue of my DJing in one of the more successful clubs in the Champaign/Urbana area. Now it has been something like six months since I last heard from Ammie, and I don't remember how long we actually dated the first time (it wasn't long), but I do remember one extremely wearying weekend that ended it. I could give long drawn out details, but won't, maybe some time in the future when the present is a little less interesting. In retrospect I probably should have worked harder both times to make things work, not because it was a great relationship, but because I was soon to learn relationships are not necessarily easy things to come by, and while there are women who are willing to trifle with me, Ammie seemed to be the only one really interested in me.

The conversation with Ammie isn't long and has a weird deja vu feeling: me apologizing again for hurting her, though not promising that things will be different.. She gives me her new phone number, and I'm left wondering how badly used by others she is, that a man twice her age, who has dumped her twice and gives her no real promises, seems to her like the best bet she has for happiness. Maybe it's like the old Groucho Marx quote "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member." I'm not sure which one of us is Groucho.

I'm not off the phone long with Ammie when Nicole calls. Nicole wants to know if I have any good movies to watch and I would like a visitor. I ramble on a little too long about how my collection of movies is probably not up her alley, but that we can pick up a movie. She assures me that won't be necessary, and a few minutes later I'm picking her up. It's about 11:00, we go back to my place and are barely there when she asks if I have any porno videos. I don't have many on DVD, but I do have a few. I have dozens on BETA that I recorded and watched often as a younger man, but the internet has replaced any occasional need I have for porn, and by occasional I mean nightly.

I fire up the porn on my ten foot diagonal projection system, we flop on to my water bed and are soon akimbo in arms a legs. I suppose I could give more graphic details, suffice it to say I feel I acquit myself a better lover this time round, but still the love making is clumsy. I have a decent release, her I'm unsure of, it's sometimes hard to tell with some women. I offer to do more for her pleasure, but she declines pleasantly enough, saying she is fine. She has been over only a half hour to an hour and she tells me she has to work the next day. We both dress rather quickly, and it would seem almost as soon as it is started we are done. I take her home a little confused that she isn't staying the night. She'd brought no change of cloths so this would seem to have been her intent all along, just an itch that needed scratching. Oh well I tell myself, it's a work night anyway. I allow for the possibility (large possibility) that she just doesn't find me a satisfying lover, but the idea doesn't bother me overly much. It has been my observation over the years that if a women doesn't care about being satisfied by you, then there is little you can do that will satisfy her in more ways than one.

Wednesday
I get a call from Tawanda, the Tawanda I have known for sometime. She hasn't heard from me lately and wants to know how I'm doing. I tell her fine and suggest we go out to dinner or a movie sometime soon. She agrees, but we make no firm plans.

Tawanda has always run hot and cold on me. Again I could give a long complicated history. I really like being in Tawanda's company, but I don't hold my breath that her on again interest will lead to anything meaningful before it is off again.

Thursday
It's Christmas Day, 2003. No work. I do a little work around the apartment and four loads of laundry. I watch movies most of the day, and finish up my longest blog to date "The Name Game." The day would seem to be over with no thought of elves or jolly old men in red or world saviors being born. My apartment is devoid of any clues that would betray the season.

It's getting close to Midnight when Nicole calls. She wants to go dancing. I express doubt any place would be open or have much business, but she assures me Club Xtreme will be hopping. I tell her by the time we get anywhere, it will be close to 1am, and the night will be just about over. She agrees and lets me go. She calls back about fifteen minutes latter, she really, really wants to go dancing, so I acquiesce. I throw on some clothes, just some jeans and a flannel shirt, definitely not my usual going out duds. I don't even put my contacts back in, but just grab my glasses. It's not so much that I'm in a hurry, but that I am lukewarm on going out. Nicole has also commented on how rarely I ware jeans, so I figure I give a little more gritty Larry.

I pickup Nicole, who is already a little buzzed after Christmas celebrations. We get to Club Xtreme a little before one, and Nicole is right about it hopping, but there is a long line outside, and it is obvious we have little hopes of getting in. I can't help but notice the line, or more accurately disgruntled jumble of people crowding the crowd control ropes is all male. We change plans and head over to the Legion. The Legion is also busy, but no line. We get to the door, but the doorman informs us there are no more entries. Nicole protests a little, but the doorman is adamant, so we again head out in search of some place to dance. This time we try C-Street. C-Street is a self avowed gay club, but has a sizeable straight patronage also. There are a lot of stories I could tell that start at C-Street, but not here, not today. We find a parking space right in front of the club. There are plenty of cars around on the street, but no line in front of the club. So we assume we finally have hit pay-dirt. We get to the door, but there are only a few bodies milling around inside, someone leaving explains that they have closed early, normal closing is 2am, and it is only a little after 1am.

Joe's Brewery, C.O. Daniels, KAMS, we try all the campus bars one after another in quick succession -- all closed. Based on C-Street, and with U of I out of session, they probably all made the smart call. I'm surprised Club Xtreme and the Legion are doing so well, but they have a reputation for having a good Thursday, and evidently their regulars are a good seed crowd for people seeking to escape the holiday or celebrate it in a more nontraditional way.

I take Nicole home, no itch to be scratched tonight.

Phew, that's enough for now. Coming up: A Nicole Weekend.