Pauley's Tavern and Pool Hall

Daydreams to cope with sometimes take on lives of their own....

al·le·go·ryˈ (aləˌgôrē) noun

plural noun: allegories

   "A story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one."

   “An Allegory is a form of extended metaphor in which objects, persons and actions in a narrative, are equated with meanings that lie outside the narrative itself.

The underlining meaning has moral, social, religious or political significance of abstract ideas as charity, greed and envy.

Thus an allegory is a story with two meanings, a literal meaning and a symbolic meaning.”

   Yes, I looked it the f*ck up and with that you know what is needed to be known to understand what the Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall book series is about.

  Oh I should add that the censor is pretty much off most of the time. PG this story is not. PG13 neither. R yes; but beyond that?

Shhh....

Now some background info on the place ”The R*tards" go to play.

(Pauley’s term of endearment for his patrons that don’t act their age, especially when sh*tfaced.

Think about what "r*tarded" means, then how it's used in every day language to be an insulting description.

Just like calling a child a "b*stard", some words should be questioned as too f*cked up to use like they're whatever.

"Wh***" is another one with an edge, and yes these words among others will be questioned, but you as readers decide the fate of these words as they apply to your personal vocabularies.)

   Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall is a sort of 'speak-easy' name for The Iron Horseshoe Tavern established back in 1974 by Paul "Pauley" Kelly.

It’s called this to keep what are now known as 'hipster' invaders away, and its whereabouts only known by word of mouth.

Is it elitist?

Perhaps.

Or it is about self preservation and preventing as long as possible, their haven from being taken over by those that do not honor tradition, nor would uphold Pauley's Code of Conduct.

  New folks are welcome, as long as they can respect the School House Rules and don't complain when Lucy gets unplugged; otherwise foos are getting their a*ses expelled!

   Over the years The Tavern has become a home away from home club house for old timers and mostly blue collar roughneck man children with its latest motley generation currently in their 30’s, give or take.

Some married with children or divorced with visitation on the weekends.

They have bills to pay, money to save, jobs to not f*ck up in order to do both.

Occasionally these a*sholes may brawl and Pauley’s shotgun Grace taken out to dance, with Jukebox Lucy playing the soundtrack; but overall the place is mellow on a weekday afternoon.

   The crowd that made The Tavern its watering hole is loyal and there is a sense of kinship between the boozer drunks.

Stories this tavern has no lack of thanks to the antics of the patrons, which also include my own.

   I wrote myself in as a character using my real name because all this stemmed from a daydream I had, to keep me company while I went for long walks with detours, in my new town of residence;

Boyle Heights, California.

   Though home for me will always be my beloved

East Los Angeles, Califas

   One day I thought of a man that didn’t exist to help me move on and let go of the past, by focusing on the existing hope of the present and lessons learned.

  Perhaps it was my way to prepare myself mentally for the future because I don't have much to my name other than my imagination.

 “Mikey, Jacob, Bobby, Joe, Paul, Davey, Alex, Dennis and Lou”

   Names of made up men that are a close knit pack of pals I will never forget.

They all represent an aspect of the men I have known, both in the good and bad; but they are human, even if fictional.

They are part of the details to the symposium full of zanies.

   This story experiment at times is a sort of open love letter to men that have shown their integrity even as they also try to get things right.

These men are strong but also weak.

Happy but still stressed.

Hopeful but discouraged at times with what they feel is out of their control.

It’s a mix we all endure, but with them; I feel how unequal men still are when it comes to expressing their feelings on it all.

How do I know?

I'm a daughter of one that expressed them regardless.

   The women in this saga also are shown going through their own life roller coasters and attaining their triumphs for they too are strong and capable.

It’s just with them, the way their stories are told is different.

How different?

The goal is to show we could use a little bit of understanding from the fellas.

With their stories, I hope to tell men that not all of us are their enemies or psychos, that more often than not, there was an issue with communicating and emotions go on edge.

We can be worthy of trusting and also respecting.

I hope to tell, we can have our bad days too, even if our hairstyles look nice; and we don't always know what the f*ck we're doing either.

We do know we could be wrong also.

No really.

Women are capable of knowing they can be wrong. Getting us to admit it, now that's something else.

*cough*

I want to show the men I was able to reach through to, women can be their friends as well, and shoulder part of the old burdens that say a man must bare these alone.

Even as women, we can relate and be more than arm candy hood ornaments, "Honey can you bring me a beer?".

  But this is to reassure the males that are willing to read, they'll have a place in what is usually considered female terrain.

  Yes this is a quirky soap opera Spanglish novela, for a subculture of those that bought in to what a friend called:

"The Rockabilly Retirement Plan for Punks, Skins and Goths".

And what was surprising, the guys did get in to it as much as the gals. I mean, how can I write an open love letter to men, if I don't include what matters to and interests them?

  From the serious like Erectile Dysfunction or even the car not starting and being already late for work.

To the "Are you f*cking serious!?!" and the latter said in two manners.

One with enthusiastic glee like they scored, and the other in BOHICA despair.

Espeakin' of which....

This is a bedtime story dedicated most of all to Our Troops and 'Docs' green side or civilian; for I do know the power of a reality break, if not reading oneself asleep.

And this because I want to "Play It Forward" and yes I do mean play.

  The man I would spend countless silent moments, wondering about his happiness and safety; he was the life lesson I needed to get me out of a bad place; even as I felt helpless knowing which bad place he was headed back to.

This Army Coptor Doctor ridding one of Anansi's spiderweb threads, tied to the foot of a Dragonfly Dustoff back in Stan; reminded me why being able to control your focus, makes dealing with difficult things, easier to cope with.

The chaos will still be there, it's how you allow it to affect you, that makes a very important difference.

You either learn how to hold on and fight or you don't. That "don't" had been my concern for him.

There was a reason his story began to stand out to me.

"Yet for me that also came from the desert, compassion I also knew how to show...."

  Eyes like his and lack of smile, you don't forget.

He had the face of many that aren't returning all that well; but his face comforted me when it would look silly; but haunted when it was a stoic with unintended, resigned grace.

  So this allegory that aims to be a cult classic, does have its soul, as that odd daydream of mine, found a life of its own.

And it became a Shoretale Fable of Therapy in Motion and thinking up the answers that become the solutions.

It's all just rhyming for the reasons, that carry us through the seasons of change.

Suggestion: Look up Grandiose, Ostentatious, Pretentious, Narcissistic, Delusional, Self Absorbed Motor Mouth, but most of all Ironic Catharsis. Thank you.

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Copyright ©2017 Rev. Mother L. G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Lagrimas Y Sangre"

“I don’t feel pretty enough for him anymore.”

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Press Play To Listen To Doris Day “Que Sera, Sera” For The Soundtrack

I shouldn’t care, and yet I do.

I went to the beach with Bipee yesterday. I had fun up until I seen our pictures. We took great friends hanging out shots but I looked at the full body ones and there was a reason I kept my t-shirt on. I went into another rut and let myself go. I don’t want to go out with any guy anymore until I drop more weight.

There should be no reason to care I gained weight other than for health reasons, and yet, I don’t feel pretty enough for him anymore. Not after him perhaps seeing an old validation picture that I was told made me “intimidating”. I was many pounds thinner even though I wasn’t below a size 12 because of my chest at 135 lbs., but there were those dresses that I was at least a size extra large 14 because of my rib cage being so wide.

I could whittle my waist if I applied myself, and yet “if” is the key word to feel defeated by. I was depressed, excuse me! And yet there’s no one to give me grief about not looking like the other extreme of the spectrum where I was too depressed and stressed to eat and dropped weight fast.

When I was little, my mom would overfeed me the wrong kinds of food and gave me a life long complex by her pet name “Gorda” or “fat female”. When I weighed 110 lbs at 5’2”, she still called me that while my father calls me his “Reina” or “Liza Carcarisa” or “Liza Chuckle" which leaves how I look out of it. My mom cared too much about how her daughters looked.

I could tell you being considered “pretty” didn’t spare me getting picked on, actually it got me more bullied and back stabbed. Being “attractive” is overrated, especially when there’s no substance of character and a lack of integrity. And telling someone over and over they are “pretty” can set them up for a cruel reality check when they stopped being called “pretty”.

My looks caused my ex-husband to cheat on me without caring to hide it well but I was the “cheating, lying, wh*re'“ when I wasn’t a “stupid, f*cking, c*nt” when he was trying to excuse his infidelity by claiming I cheated on him. And after I began to lose weight again, that’s when he wanted me again. I never was attracted to him, our marriage wasn’t the right one to be in, so I got out. The truth will come out about the soap opera our marriage was.

And yet if I didn’t get into that abomination of a union, I wouldn’t have had my son, and I wouldn’t have met “The Pixie King” as he resembled one in the large patio chair he sat like a pixie did with being tall and lanky, if my ex didn’t drive me to the mad house when he instigated a PTSD flashback when he knew the recap of the 2nd episode of season 2 of ‘Sons of Anarchy’ would show the aftermath of ‘Gemma’s’ gang rape.

And even further yet, the stress of his continued abuse led me back to the same place to cross paths again.

It seemed it was still a case of our exes stressing us out. Me as an insomniac with going recluse, in limbo with my son, and him probably falling down drunk he had his moment of clarity, and knew to get himself help. It’s an interesting place to meet someone and yet it was perfect, if he was as interested as I am.

But I got he desires a thinner me with longer hair. He pictures the picture that by how it came out with my lips, its name “Yearning” seemed to fit perfectly. I have an idea of what he pictures my lips doing. I so f*cked up sharing that picture.

I regret now pulling the sex card to make him feel better as I now feel worse. I cried. I actually cried. I gave a f*ck about a guy’s opinion of me. Even more reason to take a break even as I dread the heavy food would make me gain even more weight.

I still remember him using his hands to describe the heavy set chick with the cat eye glasses back at the tree house where we all went to go feed the squirrels. They had more time to talk and suggested I break the ice and talk as being both a version of Kustom Kulture too. I don’t think I’m as heavy as she was, but I seen my full body shot and I’m welcoming the delay.

Even though there was “Jack Sprat” from Mother Goose nursery rhymes, It would be funny to be “La Gorda y El Flaco” where somehow we would thin out or fill out in the middle to average on our way to athletic. But as of right now, I don’t want to go through this feeling anymore where I care about a guy’s opinion of me.

Just 8 more days until I can get a ride to get away. I’m getting sick over this.


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Copyright ©2018 By Rev. Mother L.G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Sangre y Lagrimas"