Weirdness - August 1, 2006

"Well..." he asked, but not said so much as punched, as that's the way he talks. GIMME GIMME GIMME what I want! Now!

We were in my new car, the one he gave to me to replace the damage he did to my old one. We trolled around the universe, back and forth and sideways across the country when we were dating and during the ill-planned year we lived together afterward to "have each other's backs." It was a mess, mostly from him. The ceiling had beer and cigarette burns on it, and whatever seminal and vaginal fluids a black light could pick up. I'm sure they're there; I'm not going to check. One wheel was black, its hubcap knocked off while we spun circles on a highway at 8 in the morning after two straight days of driving. When you drove it, the steering wheel said east, and the car said north, very north. The muffler had been off-roaded to shit, and the passenger side wore a four foot long gash. It had three thousand dollars worth of parking tickets on its head, and my parents still owned it. GIMME GIMME GIMME!

I wasn't driving my new car at the time he asked for psychic advice. I don't drive any car he's in, because it's easier to let him take control than to bear the screaming from the passenger seat. I moved through the world much too cautiously for his taste.

The sun was setting over Griffith park, lighting up the smog a creepy vermillion color. I opened my mouth to answer the question, but had to use it to gasp instead of make an utterance. We were passing an Asian family of four on the shoulder of an off ramp, barreling precariously for a hay block, honking and shouting, GET OFF THE ROAD, CHING CHONG!

When we were in a physical lane, and I had caught my breath, I told him the news, and it wasn't good, or at least, it wasn't as good as it was the night before. The night before, it was "Brunette, cute, sweet, wants to have sex" but tonight it was "Blonde, crackwhore, cocktease, will annoy you."

"HOW DO YOU KNOW?!" was his next retort/punch. It was loud. I had hit again. "She may be a very nice girl...[giggle like Scooby Doo] WHORE!"

A swerve and a honk. There are so many.

"If you're so fancy and psychic, what's her name?"

"Starts with a K."

"DAMMIT."

He hung his head down, poufed his lips out, fat lips they are, and made the pouty face I imagine his mother paid no attention to, for I get to see it so much. I had ruined his plans for excess consumption, for debauchery, for fucking shit up. There I sat, anxious in vermillion, a thirty-year-old mother to a thirty-one-year old man, and plumbing the depths of irrational consciousness to give my ex-boyfriend psychic fuck advice. It was with great intensity that I came to the realization: my life is really fucking weird. There's no turning back. Normal is water under the bridge, through the valley, out the delta, diffused to the very middle of the Pacific and miles down.

If you'll excuse me, I've got a major life decision to make in a way that almost no one makes life decisions. Again.

Posted by The Bunny at 4:06 PM

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Posted by: leftnut at August 3, 2006 11:31 PM

Posted by: Eli at August 5, 2006 03:28 PM

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