16
Aug
07

a very merry unbirthday to me

Uncle Roger sent me a birthday card today. It’s not even my birthday. I suspect he had a friend or a pet once with a birthday in August. I’m a Pisces; my birthday is in March for chrisssakes. In any case, I’m not a fucking Leo.

It was a pretty eloquent card, if you ask me.

There’s a black and white photo of a kid on the front. It says:
“Hi. My name is Kevin. I am sad. My kitten is gone. Mommy said he ran away. But, I think that’s a bunch of shit and he got shot by that bastard next door.”

Through the span of my conscious existence, Uncle Roger has been the token eccentric uncle, always just on the other side of sanity. He’s been chock full of invention ideas, pyramid schemes and get-rich-quick epiphanies as long as I can remember. He calls himself a Renaissance man, an entrepreneur. But really he’s just bonkers.

“Jolie, baby, hope you have a great day.” Happy face. “You really should come visit, I have a great idea for a business and thought you would make the perfect partner.” Ever. “I don’t want to tell you the ins and outs of it right now, but basically it’s an edgy new clothing company. I could definitely use your help, and we could make lots of $$$. Well, love you, email me and we’ll discuss it further. Your favorite Uncle, Roger.”

This was particularly amusing seeing as he was the only uncle I had.

On a sunnier note, Captain Coke Major Tom left without a fuss the other day. He left his phone number on the mirror, a cute if not somewhat womanlike gesture, but I threw it away. I imagine he will eventually come into the bar again, which is unfortunate but at least I know to be prepared for it. No more Jack Daniels.

Man Ray has been acting silly the past few nights. He’s been doing his best to seduce the cat next door, a mostly indoor black and white Manx. I’ve been catching him strolling up the stairs and cooing at him through the screen door. I would go up there and remove him from my neighbor’s doorstep but I haven’t spoken to her yet and that seems like a truly odd way of meeting your neighbor the first time. “Why, hello, I’m Jolie, and this is my homosexual cat Man Ray. Fancy meeting you here at your front door.”

Maybe I’m not giving him enough attention. I know since Vincent has been gone he’s been a little lonelier. Vincent used to pull him up onto his lap and stroke him for hours while we would have our existentialist chats. And it’s not like I don’t take time every day to pet him and play with him, but he seems unsatisfied. I would perhaps try and get another cat, a playmate for him; but knowing my luck, they’d both disown me and end up meowing on the neighbor’s doorstep, begging the mangy thing to come out for a fuzzy threesome.

I guess I haven’t been in the best mood lately. Not that I ever am in the happiest of moods you know, but I’ve been irritating myself with how broody and self-destructive I’ve become. So very disturbingly emo.

Before, when I would drink excessively, it would be with Vincent, someone who was self-destructive with or without me, and he would put me to shame with how much he could swallow. I loathe drinking alone, but it’s really the only thing I’ve been doing asides from work. I’m not writing. I’m not reading. I feel wretched and most people at work make me feel more so. But there have been exceptions; some light emerges from an otherwise dark tunnel.

I met a man at the bar last night. He seemed shorter than he should have been. However, he had a comforting smile and warm hands. He treated me like a lover although we had just met. I don’t think his intentions are honorable (when are they ever?), but I hope to see him again.
I envisioned a makeshift date under the stars where we would drink plenty of lager or wine and there, in all likelihood, he would take me, just as he intended. Then perhaps I would fall in love with him, only to discover he does not believe in love because that’s how life is—a cold, spoon-fed promise of nothing.

Or I would tell him I am a writer and he would tell me he is an actor, and then it would end suddenly and perhaps painlessly, because we both know better.

The light grows, spreads toward me. Vincent just rang.

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