Chapter 4

Surfing The Free Waves Radio Stations

Press Play To Listen To Modern English "I Melt With You" For The Soundtrack

"The Future Is Open Wide"

(Surfing The Free Waves Radio Stations)

“Shot through the heart and it’s too late. You give love a b….”

“Don’t worry, about a ting, ‘cause everyting is gonna be alrite….”

“Dancing with myself oh-oh-a-oh….”

“A ya en el rancho grande, a ya onde veviaaaah….”

“Get me a ticket to an airplane. I ain’t got time to take a fast train….”

 *Start to “Melt With You” by Modern English*

(Parks on KCBS 93.1 Jack FM L.A. Traffic, He’s Thinking)

Friday, August 24, 2012

3:31pm

Michael’s Truck

Driving Home on the 5 FWY (Censored) From The Henderson’s

{It’s just coffee and donuts. We’ll get a sugar high, that’s it. I wonder how she’ll dress. Coffee and donuts, buy a Lotto scratcher, and a pack of smokes--In East L.A.--Yeeeeeah. It’s just coffee. It would be nice to smell her hair again. I would blend in? How?}

“I’ll stop the world and melt with you. You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time. There is nothing you and I won’t do. I’ll stop the world and melt with you. The Future Is Open Wide.”

  Michael thinks that he should dig out his old dog tags for Sunday—in case the cops need to identify his body. That and well it was evident I would enjoy listening to a few sea stories or two. “Yeah, you.”

  There is the window; he wonders what I’ll see if perceptive I was with such candor. He decides he’ll stick with his scally this round, he considers it for good luck. I did let him put his cover on me and he stylized. I remember studying his face as he adjusted his hat on my head.

{Will I fumble this? I won’t fumble this. I’m gonna fumble this. What will we talk about after moto time is over?}

1.       Kids

2.       Work

3.       Education

4.       Hobbies

5.       Sense of Humor

6.       Sense of Play

7.       Philosophy/Faith

8.       Causes

9.       Dreams…?

10.   Intention Plans For The Future

{Thirty four, she doesn’t look it, well not right away. She doesn’t look like a girl. I mean she’s a girl, but more grown up. Shanghaied? That’s a first. What did Doc do? Or was it her fault? Or both? Fucking Stumps and she missed it!

  Nah, Doc fucked up on this one, I could already tell. She asked me if I was doing okay now with like a sad sincerity; someone that has been hurt would ask something like that. That’s something someone knows up close, and survived to tell the tale, unless she was faking. I wonder how bad it got.

  That’s a grunt base she was at and Docs are already twisted motherfuckers, more so after a few pumps; and then it doesn’t help how quick a dude would go Jody on a Bro. Four years, that’s 2-3 deployments at least, stranded in the middle of bum fuck Egypt. I wonder how back she is from there.}

  Michael tunes out from tuning in. This number exchange has been the highlight of his week. Actually make that more like month. ("I don’t really give a sh*t. I’m going out in style!”)

  He knows he shouldn’t be doing what he’s doing right now which is looking back and forth from the road on the freeway and his phone to pull up my number. He does at least have an ear piece he also let go one hand off the steering wheel, to pull from the compartment between the front seats.

{Gina Pic Chik—Nope, call her after your nap or you will ramble.}

Friday, August 24, 2012

My Apartment/The Lighthouse

Boyle Heights, CA

9:22am

(send)

  Well here goes it folks, this could be the start of today’s chisme (gossip). Man, this was not expected and yet for the surprise, it was pleasant. Normally when I get dragged out as back up, I’m distant and don’t really engage with the guys that look to be there to score.

  Last night was a fluke. Man even dressed like a guy I got asked out; but am I jumping the gun thinking this is the start to a fairy tale ending prayer come true?

  REEL IT BACK!

  He’s cute. What am I going to wear to this?

  I’m on my second cup of diet green tea and I’m settling in to my day. Today I see Diana my psychologist and I’m sure something will be triggered in a delayed reaction because I give it the power to be…

  F*ck That!

  I knew it was going to happen! I’m eh again and I feel like I was just complaining. Whatever, I got to get ready for my appointment.

Press Play To Listen To Lucky Marcell & The Ramblin' Three "I've Gotta Keep Movin'" For The Soundtrack

(Hours Later…)

1:01pm

La Cara Book.com

(Update “What’s on your mind?”)

What is on my mind?

“Off to therapy… yes I’m awake. Who’s going to Mariachi Plaza? I met a guy last night that asked me out for coffee. Bye.” (enter). Let’s see how that goes.

  Hair and make-up? Decent, cool… Outfit? It works… Wallet? It’s on… Keys? Got ‘em… {En el nombre del Padre, el Hijo y Espiritu Santo y Su Mama tambien, protect my home and all the children in the building and that no harm comes to us or our homes… Amen} Lock door.

  I hike it to the Gold Line and check again if I have my pass. I’m on the platform waiting for the train and I’m thinking of a few things. I’m awake and not in the apartment sleeping or in a bigger daze. I ate breakfast, took my medication so that’s being responsible and I’m not having a phone session. The train arrives and I walk through the doors and sit by a window. “Please stand clear. The doors are closing.”

  I look at my cell phone and read the screen.

“And you came to the point in life, at which you began telling yourself ‘I need to move the f*ck on."

  I downloaded the pic with the words off of Cara Book. It seemed like it would help me forget someone and let go. It’s gotten better, the worst is behind me and I’ve focused on me. Hmmm… stop’s coming up.

  I get off the train and I’m feeling a bit off in my train of thought. I wait for the next part of my ride to my shrink’s place. I get there, walk in to the office waiting room, sign in, take a seat and wait. I check the time; I got 17 minutes before I have to go in… It’s hitting again. “Move the f*ck on and let go.”

  Yea… .

  There was so much I didn’t talk about to anyone about that someone. I did face some interesting demons when remorse was added to the mix.

{A catalyst. That’s what they were; a catalyst.}

  If anyone has heard me vent about what was “SYMPT-O-MATIC!” of something deeper within, that’s my psychologist, and even I hold back with her. Thinking about it, I mean really thinking about it; it was bad going through the motions, but suddenly it feels like I cried over nothing.

  It wasn’t “nothing” but it was hard for me to express what would be misunderstood most likely. I say a lot, but do I really say anything?

  There was a lot more to the story, but other than the muse--and the annoying reminders—I had been on this trip on making myself forget. I didn’t want to forget, but…. Okay I’m wearing drug store mascara and 99 cent store eyeliner; I cannot be tearing up over this. It is forbidden! I don’t give my tears permission to f*ck up my makeup! Who am I trying to kid?

  I press my dry fingers under my eyes to take the moisture with them and check how much of my mascara got affected. Even waterproof, tears can overpower the formulas meant to avoid looking like Tammy Faye Baker. Ten more minutes ‘til shrink face to face time. I check my face with my mirrored pressed powder compact, cool, make-up still decent enough to be my anxiety lowering mask.

{Don’t make a proclamation please? You already know, and few would understand what you mean when you want to stop cycles; especially in a grand display of blasting. But then again considering your life, how it was, how it’s been, what hope there is for the future; maybe talking about it, just with less details; maybe it’s time your friends know what happened? Maybe; I rather enjoy my little natural high from meeting that Michael guy; fooey on the rest!}

Press Play To Listen To Nick Curran "Women And Cadillacs" For The Soundtrack

  Five more minutes, bleh.

  Five minutes left where I can smile thinking how I am looking forward to meeting up again. I know I have to start relaxation mode starting from today, because I’m sure I’ll psych out closer to meeting up at the time we agreed. That’s natural and understandable. He really was a cutey, I wonder if he knows he is one.

  I know trippy thing to wonder but it is a sign of the times to be able to go there and state most exposed to mass media where there is advertising and casting of TV programs and movies, a lot of folks are down on their looks.

  The word “perfection” takes on a new ideal. I feel “flaws” can be part of the perfect whole. An evolving work in progress, completed when the apostrophe hits like lightning! Flashing and in your face you learns somethink! “Perfect” has many interpretations.

  Depending on the degree of opinionated a*shole someone is, the happier they are the less they compare their looks with others that are others. Not better or worse if you think down to basics. We bleed the same when cut up for real.

  Two more minutes….

  I wonder if it could feel better than how it was with C.J. from way back when. I was told I had a glow to me, beaming joy. It was nice while it lasted. {Don’t think of C.J.} I hope the bionico lady is at the farmer’s market today, I am in the mood for something sweet and somewhat nutritious.

  One minute…

  I really liked his eyes, almost like Ruben’s, but different. His eyelashes fanned the same, and they both have brown eyes; it was that his were smiling at me with a curiosity in the present while Ruben’s eyes are in the past.

  I know it was more of a nice moment and break to lonesome love bird lament monotony. I survive on these moments when I need to remember I have been given validation about my looks enough times that it should be cool by now. With the lifestyle makeover, I could work a different sort of beauty and have that be the base like clear skin for less makeup coverage.

17 minutes later….

“Hi Lizett.”

  Diana opens the door to call me in to her office. She looks lovely as usual. I wonder if she knows this. I think I’ll post a tangent about this in my blog about folks and how they see themselves and how others have a different opinion, I should text myself this so I don’t forget. (I forgot.)

“Hi Diana.”

  I walk in and see she rearranged the office furniture. It’s different; I like it and the box of tissues is within arm’s reach now. Diana closes the door behind her and I take my seat and she takes hers.

  It’s interesting how my psychologist knows so much about me, actually analyzes for my benefit my expunging, and helps me move onward with my life, mental illness and all; but respecting the patient/doctor professional distance, I do feel bad it is one sided.

  I ask her how she’s doing and how she has been and wish her well when our sessions end, but on the clock, I am her patient so for 45 minutes, it’s about problem solving my issues.

“Sorry you had to wait, how are you?”

“No worries. I’m not doing too bad actually. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you for asking. So what has you all smiling today?”

“Susan and Annie dragged me out of my cave to go meet Susan’s date at this tavern bar place, last night and I got chatted up by a cute to me dude. We exchanged numbers and he asked me out for coffee.”

“Wow that must feel exciting! Did you drink last night?”

“No, had Shirley Temples. Actually that’s not the truth. The guy poured me out a pint of beer, but that was it.”

“Did you feel groggy?”

“Not this time. I didn’t smoke a single cigarette either, but I do wonder if I’ll breakdown and puff, because he’s a smoker.”

“Yeah, there would be that temptation.”

Press Play To Listen To Wild Rooster "Flip Flop And Fly" For The Soundtrack

“I figure carry a bunch of gum and hard candy to pacify the urge.”

“That’s a good idea. So tell me how you two started talking?”

“I got bored listening to Susan and her date she ended up slapping; I don’t know why. Y’know thinking about it, I think I wanted a break of her and her date being in to each other, to be specific.”

“What about it made you want to get away?”

“I would say envy that she has no trouble attracting guys, and I have a harder time; but because I did walk away, I took pictures of the place and the guy noticed and used that as an ice breaker. I did almost walk away from him, but Annie had a look on her face that I wanted to avoid.”

“What look was that?”

“A decided look that she thought Susan’s date was an idiot.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah I called out his name and thought quick to ask him if I could take pictures of him playing pool with his buddies. That was interesting too.”

“How so and before that, what’s this guy’s name?”

“Oh sorry, his name is Michael. Well I noticed their body language at first where I picked up that I was quirky to them, but it was when he asked me if I wanted to go out front to smoke did I see his friends wanting to hear my answer. One choked on his beer. It wasn’t low pro at all.”

“What do you make of that?”

“About them wanting to hear me answer?”

“Yes.”

“I think I may have met a kindred spirit that needs wingmen support.”

“Wingmen?”

“That’s slang for the buddies that help their friend out to get close to the girl their friend wants to talk to and sometimes it gets stupid. It’s like they use strategy with sport references, but I think it actually references fighter planes and formation in the sky.

  When it gets really crude, a female that is a ‘wingman’ is considered a ‘wingb*tch’; I just call it ‘wing support’ to acknowledge I am supporting, but I don’t want to be called a b*tch. And it’s the compromise with giving the dudes their ‘men or man’ with their bro slang.

  I think it’s also more descriptive and to the point to call it a gender neutral position in helping a friend out. Like with Susan, Annie and I were her ‘wingmen’ or ‘wingwomen’ but that sounds funny pronouncing and it is long like my explanation.”

  Diana laughs. I don’t feel judged opening up and going in depth with her. My friends that are readers dig I’m a writer when I blog and friends I phone visit say besides my voice, I’m a cool chick to talk with; but I have feet of clay on my less tough cookie days. Someone making a remark about elaborating can cut me to the bone.

   I don’t mean to bore anyone and it took a lot of convincing from using rational thought, not everyone will dig how I communicate. Folks are entitled to their opinion and it is an option to decide how I would let the words of others affect me. I’ll get in to this further in, if you’re still reading that is, ahem.

“You said it gets stupid; how so?”

“I got some guys to break bro code and let it out that there is a term about ‘jumping on a grenade.”

“What’s that?”

“If I remember correctly, it’s distracting the fat female friend, so the buddy can have easier access to talk to the girl without her friends being a barrier. But it really is more about hooking up with the fat girl, though I’m sure it would apply to the (I finger quote) ‘ugly’ friend and ‘jumping on a grenade’ is taking a hit for a pal. It’s jacked up, stupid guy sh*t, but chicks are guilty with their own tastelessness.”

“Give an example.”

  I had to think about it, and a song came to mind.

“In the 1990’s, like early, there was a song out on the radio that was VERY popular about a chick not wanting a ‘short, short man’ and saying ‘pobresito’ which is ‘poor little male’. It was referring to a man’s p*nis size. The chorus was 'I don’t want an itsy, bitsy, tinnie, winnie, short, short man.' Or something like that, but the female singer is recorded laughing and I imagine that song gave a lot of dudes a complex.”

“It would seem so.”

Press Play To Listen To Nick Curran & The Nitelifes "Player!"

“Yeah, it’s the cruelty bandwagon of picking on others and making exaggerations. I’m pretty sure I was the ‘grenade’ in the eyes of some guys that wanted to get close to my girl friends and my looks showed I was protective of them by looking like the body guard.

  The guys weren’t bad people, but I know I was a big girl and eh with my hair and wardrobe choices and that’s a turn off for a lot of men, heck turned my son’s dad off.”

“You want to talk about that?”

“I rather get back to Michael.”

“Okay, so you noticed his friends’ reactions. Then you went outside with him?”

 “I met him out front. I wasn’t low pro myself, when I touched up my makeup and put my hair down and took my jacket off. He seen me covered up with my boxy jacket and my hair up in a clip; I would say with my glasses, I looked bookish or mousey. Then Annie shouted out for all those inside to hear about Michael sl*ding in to s*cond by taking off my jacket.”

“What’s second?”

“You know the basic premise of a baseball game?”

“Not really.”

“Well broken down. There are 4 plates that the baseball player must touch after they hit the ball with their bat and the opposing team did not catch it for an out, so the player was able to run towards the bases. When it comes to s*xual relations:

There is 1st Base. 2nd Base. 3rd Base; and finally Home Plate.

  Getting to kiss or m*ke-out is getting on '1st B*se'. A female’s br*asts getting involved by s*ckling on them is '2nd B*se'. '3rd B*se' is *ral s*x and going all the way is ‘hitting a h*me r*n’ which is a baseball term that describes getting to touch all bases with a single hit. When the one up to bat could only get so far, it is said that he is 'stranded on..." which ever base he remained at.

  That’s where I imagine one origin of where the equivalent of having sex being referred to ‘sc*ring’, came from and also using ‘h*t’. Every time a player that makes it to home plate, scores a point for their team. I got to see how far back baseball was used as code for f*replay play by play storytelling that isn’t contained solely to the locker room.”

“Were you angry at Annie for shouting this in public?”

“I didn’t like it, but it’s how we joke around sometimes. We mean no harm and usually we joke about it some more about it after, but I had to walk past folks getting a laugh at my expense. That part I didn’t like but I didn’t know these people so they could laugh, it didn’t prevent me from meeting up with him. He noticed I did a costume change.”

“A costume change? (chuckles) And you weren’t covered up by your jacket which how could you wear one in this heat!?!”

“It’s been chilly in the evenings lately. It came in handy when I was inside the place, the AC was on and it was a big difference from outside. It was a light coat. But yeah, I was wearing my a-shirt tank top that didn’t hide my figure like my t-shirts do. I was more concerned about my wings throwing him off along with my arms.”

“What are ‘wings’ and why would your arms throw him off?”

“’Wings’ is slang for the sides of the upper torso that the tank top I wore, clings to the body, so the sides of my rib cage filling it out, made me have a ‘V’ shape where it tappers at my waist that is still thick. I would have to corset train to mold my ribs to have a less athletic frame. I don’t want to torture my body for the sake to look hourglass and get a wasp waist.”

Press Play To Listen To Restless "Rockabilly Rat" For The Soundtrack

“What’s a wasp waist?”

“You know how a wasp has its b*dy parts where there is the round and extended sections connected by a slim part, like a waist?”

“Yes, but I’m trying to picture what you mean with a c*rset.”

“Well some women that have c*rset trained their b*dies, would get such tiny waists, and I do mean tiny, where it is exaggerated. It’s worse than a Barbie doll torso. Like imagine 36-18-36 for body measurements.”

“Wow!”

“Like I know right? Yeah and well my arms are naturally cut.”

“Cut?”

“The formation of my muscle contours that make my arms look like I am a boxer. Susan’s date made a remark about my arms and I had to not let it get to me.”

“How would it get to you?”

“I’ve been asked if I’m a l*sbian, or it was a surprise when it came out I wasn’t, because I look tough and dress tomboyish, but my makeup and having long hair softens me up so I can look more like a lipstick l*sbian rather than b*tch.”

“What’s a lipstick l*sbian and b*tch?”

“Pretty much how it sounds. A lot of folks hear l*sbian, they don’t exactly flash to a 'g*rl on g*rl' *dult film scene of the Barbie dolls, but rather a masculine female that cut her hair short, and dresses like a man. To resemble a male is called ‘b*tch’ or ‘d*ke’ and the last one is pejorative. A ‘lipstick l*sbian’ dresses fashionable and wears makeup.

  She’s softer in her appearance, and usually men have f*ntasies of seeing these kinds of l*sbians having their private moments. Because my voice is a little deeper than a lot of females that speak high pitch, and sometimes I can’t help but look rigid; I have given the impression I am more masculine than feminine. I don’t get hit on by l*sbians, I think their g*ydar picks up I’m b*curious at best, but I’m in to guys, not other chicks. Annie insinuated I was g*y again.”

“Okay. G*ydar and b*curious are new to me too, but I think I know what they mean. We got to back track a bit. Do you dislike how your body looks?”

“I could see making some alterations like tone up more now that the weight is back off. I still have the extra skin, but changing my nose shape and having larger br*asts that were lifted, would be nice. If I ever hit the lottery, and after I put money away for important stuff, I have thought about plastic surgery.

  I would rather not, but one guy I hooked up with, made a remark that my br*asts are s*ggy, but then again he was used to girls fresh out of High School, actually no; one was just barely legal enough to get a student driver permit, he kn*cked up, collecting his babymamas. Yeah that's an interesting story.

  Whatever; I nursed my kids, so my body conformed to my babies’ needs. When I was lactating, my br*asts were two c*ps larger and I got light stretch marks. After my body stopped feeding my babies, they d*flated and dr*oped.

  Push-ups and other peck exercises help, but I have the body of a 30 something woman that had children. Male friends had to distract me from that remark, so there’s pictures of me b*re ch*sted out there, somewhere; and others got to see in person.

  The issue with my arms, I like them, but I know it throws guys off. One time this one dude wanted to compare biceps, like whose were bigger, we measured and mine beat his. The joke my daughter’s father made was, ‘You have a face of an angel but the arms of a UPS truck loader.’

  Even the Grunt Marines asked my ex husband by also cautioning him ‘Ah, Doc, have you looked at your wife’s arms?’  It helped when it was softened, but not too long ago a male friend told me to thin out my arms because they look like a dude’s. I was bothered he said that because it came out of nowhere, thinking back on it.

   I know he wasn’t malicious but I have been self-conscience about my b*dy before and I had eating issues. Being bulimic to be thin was rewarded by the attention of someone I got in to, and when I was put on Depakote, I ballooned, Zyprexa also added the pounds; and he wasn’t interested anymore.

  I wasn’t ever going to be the girl under the sun with him regardless of my weight, but I was too stubborn to feel self worth and tell him to go p*ss off. Remember Labor Day?”

“The holiday or the guy?”

“Technically both, but yeah him. He was athletic and I suppose it was an ego boost when he called my b*dy beautiful, even though I was 15 lbs heavier then. It was nice to be told this and they way he kissed me all over, I could tell he was *roused in a different manner where it wasn’t a means to an end like it was with The Guy From New York that I h*oked up with prior to Labor Day.

  Thinking back on it, when he said ‘I’m strangely *ttracted to you.’ it was so there that he was putting me down at the same time he was expressing he wanted to f*ol around. I mean what makes it so strange to be *ttracted to me?

  With him it felt like he was knocking I was fluffy and he normally goes for thinner chicks. He’s a jerk, whatever on him. This Michael guy, he made a lot of eye contact, but in a way that was like he was speaking to me as a person, not just female. Oh, and he’s a retired Marine.” I’m smiling again.

“That must have been the cherry on top for you!”

“That and he was from the East Coast; I picked up a bit of the accent.”

“What ethnicity is Michael?”

“You are so gonna give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like ‘Another one!?! Didn’t you learn by now!?!”

“I don’t have that look but I know what you mean, (laughs) so he’s Caucasian.”

“Yeah, but this time my favorite coloring of 'Snow White' combo. He had the light skin, but the dark brown hair and brown eyes I don’t see too often with white guys. He’s Scottish. I mean heritage. He’s in to punk but his hair wasn’t shaggy, he looked really good under his scally.”

“What’s a scally?”

“It’s a type of hat. Think turn of last century newspaper boy and golfers.”

“Oh, okay I think I know what kind. Are you saying you are attracted to him?”

“I haven’t seen him under daylight but so far yes. He’s a little fluffy too, like he drinks beer often and that bloated him at his face and belly. I don’t know really how to describe it; but it was like I wanted to p*nch all his ch*eks. He’s Average Joe beautiful.”

  Diana cracks up and we spend the rest of our session getting in to the *ttraction, because I’ve been guarded since Labor Day went away too. I open up to her about wanting to not suppress my s*xual *rges, but at the same time wanting to try out making a guy show me he’s worth me sh*ring my b*dy with.

  It would seem like jumping the gun, but there’s a reason why I need to feel I’m clear with what I feel and the plan of action is more for my anxiety flaring up. Our session ends after scheduling for next week, and I get a piece of candy when I get my appointment card filled out by the receptionist. It was 3:25pm when I got to leave to head back home.

  I feel I’ve put too much thought in to this, and yet I feel there wasn’t enough figured out. I’m looking forward to that bionico.… I wouldn’t mind a bag of four freshly fried churros. Maybe the churro man will be at the Farmer’s Market.

  I think it has been established, there is a delicate balance with hope because he asked me out like he’s a bit shy, for coffee rather than for drinks. If he wanted to hang out for drinks, he wants me buzzed and that leads to baseball analogies. Coffee leads to…. I don’t want to go there.

 He’s someone else and things don’t have to repeat like before.

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