I saw a movie titled Don't worry, He Won't Get Far On Foot  today.  It is a biography of the late, physically disabled cartoonist John Callahan.  The movie inspired me to have a desire to take a course of action that I don't know if I will be able  to take.

John Callahan had a serious drinking problem, and he became an Alcoholics Anonymous member and quite drinking.  A key dramatic highlight of the movie depicted John taking the ninth step, which reads something like, "Made a list of all the persons you had harmed, and were willing to make amends to them all, except when to do so would injure them or others."

I'm not currently an AA member, but I do participate in a support group from time to time.  If I were serious about making amends to EVERYONE, I would have to start with kids I teased back in the 6th, 7th, 8th grades, and higher grades, come to think of it.  Who knows if I could find such people.

If I were to limit my amends to those most directly affected by my love addiction, I might be able to narrow the list a little.  Since I'm not really working the steps with a sponsor and all of that, I would, if I had the balls, make a unilateral apology to just one person from back in the day who seems to still be around.  Actions speak louder than words, so I will have to just be patient and see if my willingness intersects with my opportunity to do so.

I think following my Buddha will help me maintain the willingness over the period of time that I think it might take-if I even have an opportunity at all.  The last post about the fork in the road has to do with following my Buddha.   Specifically, to make a move away from all of my traditional pursuits of love interests from among the women in my world.   I guess I'll have to see if I can even pull THAT one off as seriously as I want to right now. 

 

Well, the Invisible Woman must have got in her black helicopter and flown off to the Illuminati convention, because the last guy who came out to fix my A/C fixed it, and it stayed fixed.

In other news, "When you come to the fork in the road, take it," Yogi Berra.  I see a fork in the road, and I am going to take a road less traveled.  It's a simple enough move, but that doesn't make it easy.  I will see in a month and a half to two months if I am serious.  Until then, it's one day at a time. 

My stated goal, as I said in a couple of posts ago, was to not have any love interests from amongst the women of my world.  That's still my goal, it's just that my solution is kind of radical.  Oh well.  No crazy, obsessive men, or their potential love interests, will be harmed by this procedure, whether I meet with success or not.

Anyone out there read The Idiot, by Dostoevsky?  There's a scene where a young girl rages at the Idiot, and her parents conclude that she's in love with him.  There's other parts of the book as well, but this scene came to mind as I wrote this song just now.  So, Dostoevsky's got my back, En-vis, who's got yours?  What are ya gonna do about it?.....Punk.

It Must Suck Bein’ You
A, D, E
Bv^, Bv^

Verse :
A
Oh I ain’t got no pretense
   E
no I won’t put on airs
      D
it’s ninety-one degrees
          A
in my apartment upstairs.

A
You got nothin’ on me baby
       E 
six posts I can count
         D
each one rather bland
      A 
on your Facebook account.

 

 A
you can snarl you can gnash
    D
caterwaul caterrage
        E
you won’t find your name
                    A 
on my any web page.

A
Each day I dispatch
       D
the part of me that is you
     E
it swirls ‘round and ‘round
          A
on its way down the loo. 


Chorus:
D
Baby oh baby
           E
it must suck bein’ you
    A
to love an animal
         E
who prob’ly eats his own poo.

D
Baby oh baby
               E
what are you gonna do?
                 A
Gotta mile of crow to eat
                E
between me and you.


D
Baby oh baby 
               E
see the big man hit the curve
             A
knock it out of the park
                  E 
work your very last nerve.

A
Baby oh baby
    E
it must suck bein’ you
   D
a gal with no game
                     A
has to face what is true.


Verse:
A
Now dearest now darlin’
      E
can it be all that bad?
        D
You got the comfort of love
                  A
from your look-alike lad.

A
You got them loyal fans
       E
you could sick them on me
     D
it could save you the pain
     A
of havin’ to deal with me.


  A
To feel a thing for your lesser
  D
oh babe is it that bad?
   E
After all there’s your boy
           A
your look-alike lad.

A
When you tried to dick me over
          D 
babe was this in your plan?
        E
Now how does it feel
     A
to lash out at a man?



Chorus:
D
Baby oh baby
           E
it must suck bein’ you
    A
to love an animal
         E
who prob’ly eats his own poo.

D
Baby oh baby
               E
what are you gonna do?
                 A
Gotta mile of crow to eat
                E
between me and you.


D
Baby oh baby 
               E
see the big man hit the curve
             A
knock it out of the park
                  E 
work your very last nerve.

D
Baby oh baby
    E
it must suck bein’ you
   D
a gal with no game
                     A
has to face what is true.


Richy Vegas  7/19/2018

I've got a bit of a situation here at El Rancho Richy Vegas.  As the A/C repairman was out here for the FOURTH time in ten days, I couldn't help but think, "Ol' En-vis is back."  That's the Invisible Woman to the uninitiated.  So I  thought I'd write a song as an offering to my recurrent nemesis.  I'm going to keep an eye on this A/C situation regardless- it's not as if I have a choice.






Fuckface Fix My A/C
Chorus: D, A, B7
Verse: G,C,D,Em

B v^ Bv

Chorus:

D
Fuckface fix my A/C
    A
I admit it babe you got me
                   B7
They won’t let you in the JayCee’s
       A                       D
so Fuckface fix my A/C.

Verse:

G
It’s the middle of July
            C
rather than sit here and fry
         D
and piss and moan oh why oh why
         Em
and curse the clear blue Texas sky

Oh babe I think I know my sin
I must have got under your skin
Oh I must be a perfect ten
I might fit in your cooter pen.

you’re a lady on the go
but I hear your tale of woe
but if it’s me you gotta know
it’s really suck babe it’s not blow.

Baby blow’s just an expression
and lick my balls in our love session
my hair is short I ain’t no Hessian
let me put this one request in...

Chorus:

D
Fuckface fix my A/C
    A
I admit it babe you got me
                   B7
They won’t let you in the JayCee’s
       A                       D
so Fuckface fix my A/C.

Verse:

G
Babe you got such style and grace
        C
and baby such a pretty face
            D
here’s my entry in your race
           Em
you’ll admit it sets a pace

how ‘bout a puppy for the road
with peanut butter and a toad
in your hand one dumps a piss load
while Rex licks Jiff from your wee node.

See babe I’m thinkin’ for ya’
those nights I can’t be there with ya’
and on a notion and a whim ya’
call that makeup girl named Kimya.

Kimya puppy peanut butter
should keep you off all of the others
I promise not to tell your mother
but baby if I had my drothers...

Chorus:

D
Fuckface fix my A/C
    A
I admit it babe you got me
                   B7
They won’t let you in the JayCee’s
       A                       D
so Fuckface fix my A/C.


Richy Vegas   7/18/2018
 

I said in my last post that I didn't thing any women whom I'd busted with their hands in the cookie jar should feel bad about it.  Well, maybe I'd like for them to feel a little bad.  I don't want them to do anything really shitty to themselves because I may have hit a nerve, but yeah, I wouldn't mind if they felt a little bad.

A lot of my maneuverings I talk about in these recent posts have to do with not allowing women I find attractive to treat me shabbily.  I'm stating the obvious, but if one were to go with the conciliatory, magnanimous tone of the last post, it might not have been so obvious to me when I wrote that.

I've cut ties with a male friend recently whom I felt didn't treat me well over the years.  It's precisely because I've taught myself how to not allow women to treat me the way they've treated me in the past that I've also severed the ties with this friend.  It's been a long time coming for him.  I remember first talking back to him not long after my dealings with Sara in 1988.  Since I took up that baton again this go 'round, I've made decisions about him that are long overdue.

Also, I'm not obliged, I think, to particularly like any women who have tried to treat me in a shabby manner.  I have a great problem with trying to come off as a great guy all the time, and this allows people in my mental space that don't belong there, if the past is any indicator. 

In my last semester at SVA, a fellow male student beat up his girlfriend in the graduate fine arts studios one night.  The cops were called, and he was expelled.  His roommate had this to say: "It was 15 percent her fault, but it was 85 percent his fault."  His roommate was from Taiwan, while the perpetrator of the violence was from South Korea.  I only mention where Chin, the roommate, was from to say that he might not have been so constrained by the bounds of political correctness when he attributed 15 percent of the problem to the offender's girlfriend.

I've  thought about his statement often over the years.  In my last post I go into some instances where I believed that women went adversarial on me.  If I went along with the usual role I would play in the obsessive pursuits of such women, maybe I would have to own 85 percent of the responsibility for any shit that went down.  When one appears before a judge and that whole system, 85 percent would mean that I would be the one to go down.

I see all the coping tactics I outlined in the previous post as something akin to taking my antipsychotic medication; as a way to manage my symptoms.  One of the major points I want to bring across is that I make it my stated goal to have no love interests amongst the women in my world.  I'm not against the idea of having a love interest under any circumstances, but in my current situation I don't want any woman in my world to have the feeling that I'm trying to make them over into a love interest.

I think in the examples I gave in the last post of women who started in on me, they were all playing to the notion that I was someone who could become obsessed with them and thus pursue them obsessively.  I see the various subtleties of interaction they employed as defense mechanisms against such a possibility.  No one has to feel bad about employing such tactics if that truly is the case.  I can only imagine how frightening it might be to have someone stalk one, and for one to feel that one's life is out of control just because a scary guy is attracted to one.  I do not feel as if I am entitled to hassle anyone because I might have caught them out or "busted" them for using subtle coping tactics that are less than on the up and up.

Also, I honestly don't feel as if I have any burdensome romantic attachment to anyone in my world right now.  Like I said, all the tactics I related in my previous post and posts; the avoidance, the stepping back, the walking back of how things progress, the snarky songs I write, the "turning my back on love," couldn't have been developed if I didn't first acknowledge that I myself had a problem with my thought processes, attitudes, and behaviors that I needed to address in a meaningful way.

I'm going to give three examples from my life of instances where I believed attractive women were "starting in on me."  I must emphasize that these examples represent my own interpretations of what was going down.  I have pretty much jettisoned all of those well-meaning but extremely misguided friends and family who have tried to tell me over the years that this stuff was all in my head and that no such things were actually taking place.  What they basically say to me is that they are right and I am wrong when I try to give my impressions of what I think might be occurring in these scenarios I describe.  Some of these people who have attempted to advise me along these lines I'm still in contact with because they are family members. I just never ask them for advice or feedback of this nature any more.  Others I have told to never contact me again, because their misguided attempts to set me straight on things were only part of a larger pattern of being shitty to me.  Okay, the guy I said to never contact me again flat out lied to me one time about the nature of his relationship with a woman whom he was trying to promote as a love interest to me, and several years later he tried to lie to me about another girlfriend of his who had another boyfriend at the time.  Yet I'm supposed to take his word for it that these women, whom I think might not exactly have my best interests at heart, have no such dastardly agendas in play when these dramas start to unfold. 

You see, in the examples I am about to give, I consider these darker, more paranoid-sounding interpretations as just one of two or more possible interpretations of what is going on.  I try to play to more than one possibility when I make decisions about how to handle these scenarios.  That seems to work for me, and in each of the examples I will give, I am satisfied with the outcome, whatever was or was not going on in reality.

I've talked about the waitress at the restaurant who started in on me in June of 2012.  I had worked at this restaurant in the Summer of 1990.  I made a bad impression on some of the female staff and the owner.  My mental illness was still untreated at this time, and I had put myself on a downwardly directed path the prior Spring when I came to have the conviction that I'd made a terrible mistake when I let Sara go in 1988.  By the time I worked at this restaurant in the Summer of 1990, I was trying to stay true in my heart to Gwen, a fellow student at SVA, and I had hopes that Gwen and I would consummate our true, everlasting love when I returned to SVA in the Fall of 1990.  The disconnect from reality of this mindset was in full effect as I proceeded to give some of the staff at this restaurant the willies.

Another reason this waitress started in on me in the Summer of 2012, I believe, was that I went out of my way to say hi to her a few times in the months prior.  I had stopped doing this by the Summer of 2012.  

Another reason that this waitress started in on me, I believe, was due to a t-shirt that I would wear that read, "I support single mothers," and featured a silhouette of a stripper on a pole.  I'd had a heated argument with a female relative about this shirt just a week or so before I mark the time, I believe, that this waitress began her campaign.  

I sat in the restaurant, and as I sat there in the process of dining, this waitress started talking to another member of the waitstaff about the difficulties she was having with her ex-husband.  She said that her ex-husband told her that he still longed to be intimate with her, even though he had since remarried.  She also talked about the situation with their young children.

I thought that this was pretty personal stuff for someone to talk about within earshot of diners in her restaurant.  The argument that I'd had with my family member about the single mothers t-shirt was still fresh in my mind, so I put two and two together.  I wasn't wearing the t-shirt at the time that this waitress had this very personal conversation about her life with her coworker.  I decided that I would make a point of not wearing that shirt whenever I ate at this restaurant.   I would not call attention to this change.  I wanted to see if she or anyone else would notice this difference on their own.  Ain't I a stinker?

This was a  neighborhood diner type place, so I would eat breakfast there frequently.  I had forgotten all about pursuing this waitress romantically.  As the months progressed, I would sometimes glare at her as I sat at the counter as if to say, "What do you have for me now?"  She looked pretty uncomfortable with that. 

In September of 2012.  I sat in the back dining room to eat breakfast.  I was one of the first customers that day.  This waitress usually didn't come in that early.  A male waiter took my order.  He asked me how I was doing.  I said I was doing fine.  As he walked away, he sings the beginning of the Carpenter's hit, "Close to You."  You know: "Why do birds suddenly appear/ every time, you are near/ just like me/ they long to be/ close to you."  I didn't know enough to connect this to that waitress.  I had shrugged all of that off earlier that Summer.

I never came close to asking this waitress out.  I would still glare at her from time to time in a challenging way, but that was about it.  She seemed pretty frustrated or irked, though.  By the Spring of 2013, another waitress started acting really friendly to me in an over-the-top way.  I responded by not going in there for several months.  When I started going in there again.  This other waitress was still being really friendly, so I asked her out.  She politely said that she was seeing someone, and that was that.

I gave this other waitress copies of my two CDs.  One of the CDs had the two "Richy Vegas, the Blind Assassin," songs on it.  This other waitress quit soon thereafter.  I saw her at a coffee shop not long after she quit.  She was being real surly, as if her prior friendliness to me was an act.  

I wondered whether any of the staff had heard the "Bling Assassin" songs.  Those songs go into my experience of my breakdown over Jenna, the object of my desire in 1991/92, and Billy Billliams, a serial date rapist whom I came to believe had targeted Jenna, and whom I came to believe that I had thwarted.  As to whether any of the other staff at that restaurant had heard the songs or heard about the songs, I don't know.  I remember one time an older woman who prepped food there, and who worked there when I worked there in 1990, said something to another staffer about how, "You wonder if he is one of those guys himself," or something like that.  

That kind of remark didn't phase me by that time.  Normal people seem to project the worst things they can imagine onto mentally ill people.  That's why so many mentally ill people were subjected to witch hunts during the Counter Reformation.  You see, I saw my patronage of that restaurant as a one man civil rights protest by that time.  I tried not to bother anyone when I ate there, I mention how I would kind of glare a bit at that waitress whom I suspected of starting in on me, but I tried to keep that kind of thing down to a dull roar, really.

During this time that I wondered whether those employees had heard the "Blind Assassin" songs or heard about them, I remember one day when I said something like, "Have a nice day," or ,"See you later," to that waitress I sensed a conflict with.  She stood at an empty table and looked down at the salt and pepper shakers, and the ketchup container and whatnot as she arranged them just so and said, "Have a good one," in a friendly manner.  Some days or weeks later, I sat at the counter.  I said hi to her and asked her how's it going, and she smiled real big as she turned and greeted me.

As I sat there at the counter, she starts talking to this one new guy.  He was young and handsome, alright.  They banter back and forth in a manner reminiscent of those characters in those old thirties comedies  This waitress starts talking about a Texas/OU football viewing party that she will have the next day to some of the staff.  I finish eating and say, "See you later," and leave.

I go to Houston that weekend.  On the following Monday morning, I go into that restaurant first thing.  Another waitress there rolls her eyes as I walk in. I figured that the new guy that my adversarial waitress was talking to was her new boyfriend by the time I first laid eyes on him the previous Friday afternoon, and that I was out of the running as a rival for her affections from the very start.

In the late Winter/early Spring of 2014, another waitress returned to work there after some time away.  This waitress was always friendly with me.  I remembered paying the check at the cash register, and how this waitress glowered at me with the cold, pale blue eyes.  She looked really pissed off at me.  I guess being mentally ill but at the same time able to take care of myself against her adversarial friend really pissed this gal off.  Mentally ill people exist to be fucked over by the likes of her and her friend, I guess.

Anyhoo, some weeks later, I sit at that restaurant for a late breakfast.  The waitress who made the mistake of starting in on me goes 'tsk' as I'm interacting with her in the course of going through the motions of eating there.  Later, her boyfriend goes 'tsk' as well, as he fills my water glass or brings me my food.

The guy who sang a few bars of "Close to You" in September of 2012 emphatically clarifies an order that an older man at a nearby table made.  "You just want plain buttermilk pancakes, no chocolate chips, or bananas or anything.  Just plain old regular pancakes, right?"  the customer seemed taken aback by how the waiter asked him, and he said, "Yes."

One possible interpretation I came up with was that I was supposed to go out of my way to pay romantic attention to the blue-eyed waitress friend whenever she worked there.  I did not do this.  First off, it's true, I can't read minds.  I can only make guesses such as the guess at the beginning of this paragraph.  Guessing is part of the scientific method.  Second, I don't like being addressed in that manner about such a desire.  Believe it or not, friends, both male and female, of women who had taken something of an interest in me in the past would just come out and tell me, "Janet likes you," or, "Mary had this or that nice thing to say about you."  I'm not a fucking animal.  Okay? 

So the adversarial waitress had a newfound respect for me when it became apparent that I dismissed that 'tsk' stuff as the inconsequential bullshit that it was.  That didn't last long, though.  In May of 2014, a mass shooter named Elliot Rodger went on a rampage in California.  He was an emotionally disturbed, white, twenty-two year old virgin who had fairly well-off parents.  He posted a manifesto and a video proclaiming his hatred for attractive young women he felt owed him love and sex, because he was such a worthy, nice guy.  Not long after this, I sat in that restaurant and glared at that waitress as she started her shift.  I glared at her because I didn't really like her, not because I sympathized with Elliot Rodger, but I guessed later that day that she might make  that connection, so I prepared for another round.

Later that Summer, I sat in that restaurant in the early morning, and the guy who serenaded....someone... with a few bars of "Close to You," in 2012 started talking about his cat's vet.  Her name was Dr. Love.  "Dr. Love, heh heh."  The adversarial waitress didn't work at that place that early in the morning, so I usually didn't see her.

I must emphasize, I found this person physically attractive, and I would have hopes from time to time that she had changed her mind about me.  So it was at one of these junctures that I talked to her one day.  It was on this occasion that she shook in a pronounced fashion as she interacted with me. In the time after I saw this from her, I interpreted this shaking as pent up, barely suppressed rage at me.

So the next time I saw her there, I decided to ask her if I could put in a Facebook friend request for her.  I had found her on there using the usual search engine shenanigans, but I thought that it might be nice if I asked her before putting in the request.  She said that it was okay, but then her tone got angrier and snottier when she said that she didn't use Facebook much.  I asked, "But you would be aware if I put in a..." "YEAH, I WOULD BE AWARE," she shouted.

I put in a Facebook friend request for her soon afterwards.  She never accepted it. Some days later, as she stood behind the register as I paid my ticket, her righteous work-boyfriend stepped up and took my ticket as if to make a show that he would protect her from me.  She seemed satisfied with this.  I thought, "Well, she's satisfied that she won our little war, so I guess I will let it go at that."

Some months later, I went into the restaurant, and as I sat down, the blue-eyed waitress friend of my "enemy," smiled and said demonstratively,  "Like your Butthole Surfers t-shirt, Richard."  They had figured it out.  I think it was because the blue-eyed waitress had started working there after I'd decided to quit wearing the "I support single mothers" t-shirt.  My adversarial waitress came up and looked at me wide-eyed as she waited on me- is if she'd seen something of the real me for the first time.

A while back I said that I didn't have any issues with this person anymore, because she didn't seem to have any issues with me anymore.  I wrote that on this blog on the heels of my fantastical dustup with the Invisible Woman, a drama that I speculated was instigated by a woman who still had issues with me dating back to the 1980's.  But yeah, I still have issues with the waitress who took two-plus years to figure out the t-shirt move.  Especially since I ate there one time earlier this year, and a waitress whom I didn't even know decided it was okay to be really rude to me. I ate there soon after the post about how men who don't call themselves feminists and who go through a phase where they call women out on their shit just might be more trustworthy than men who seem to center their moral code and their code of conduct around the acceptance and approval of women. I cited my friend Vernon Hoe as one of the former, and uber-fiend serial killer, rapist, and necrophliac Ted Bundy as an example of the latter, but I don't know who really reads this thing, so I don't know.  I think I made my point with my long drawn out civil rights protest of a few years ago, and I just don't feel like taking any more shit off of anyone when I go somewhere to eat these days.

Speaking of which, that brings me to the next story.  I started eating breakfasts at another place sometime in 2015 or thereabouts.  I would drop my dad off at work and then go eat at this place.  There was an attractive young waitress at this place.  By this time, I had given up on the idea of finding dates with the employees of such places.  I also had started writing on this blog.  By this time I had the sense that people in my everyday-patronizing-businesses world, and especially the employees of these businesses, might actually have found this blog somehow and read it.  I must emphasize that this is an impression that I get, and I have never had anyone in any of these places come out and say this is a fact.  I just got the idea one time that a female employee of a business saw me wearing my Richy Vegas t-shirt and did a web search for that name and found this web site and this blog.  It was that virgin girl at that one business, and I had written a little about how I'd busted a "very young" woman on this blog by then.   She started smiling at me as I went about my business at this place, but that bulge in her belly would have belied any claims that she was still a virgin at that point.  

I told Vernon Hoe of my thoughts about this one time, and seeing as how Vernon Hoe is the head of the League, he might have thought it would a good idea if others in my everyday-patronizing-businesses world knew about my blog as well.  The ways of the League, an organization that maybe doesn't even exist, are indeed a mystery even to me.

So I got the impression that this waitress at this restaurant, and other employees there, might have been hipped to this blog, and so it went from there.  I would be pretty courteous to her and others, but I would kind put up a standoffish front, because I really didn't want to get started with this attractive young waitress or anyone else there.  So I would write on this blog about my struggles, as I am now, and I would wonder who all would read this stuff in my world.

So, sometime in the late Summer/ early Fall of 2016, this attractive waitress started being kind of rude to me when I ate there.  I kind of figured that maybe the gunfighter mentality had come over her and that she wanted to try me.  I stopped going there for a while.  I cooked breakfast at home or ate in other places.  After about a month and a half, I went back in there.  She and the others still worked there.  She remarked that she hadn't seen me in a while.  

She was talking to this one waiter.  A newer guy with a shaved head, well built, tall, handsome, had a manly voice.  She was telling him about how she had moved to Austin when she was twelve, and the year that was, which made her twenty-five or thereabouts.  She said this twice.

I paid my ticket and left.  As I walked through the dining room, another male waiter, a guy I liked, said, "Have a good one," in a sort of a wary sounding voice.  I scowled at this waitress as I walked by and left.  I decided that I didn't want to eat there again in the foreseeable future.  I figured that this waitress, who on occasion would mention a boyfriend when I ate there before she started being rude to me, was switching out boyfriends and wanted to rope me into her little comedy/drama.

I figured that this waiter she was telling this personal information to, as if she was in the process of getting to know him better, was already her boyfriend, and that she was a putting on some bullshit dog and pony show for the benefit of others. Whether those others were just me or not, I don't know.  

Before I ate at that place that morning that she was going on to that waiter about herself, I had written a song about her, "My Girlfriend is a Hatesong."  Before I ate there that morning, I'd thought about posting the song on my blog.  I thought that she might get a kick out of it, but then I thought better.  These kind of women don't ever have the kind of sense of humor that allows them to laugh at themselves.  Their sense of humor is always at someone else's expense.  Such as a middle-aged, mentally ill man who just wants to eat breakfast in their restaurant and be treated like a human being, but whom they see as a good candidate for playing the role of the guy who loses out on fucking them when they switch out their old boyfriend for a new one. 

So, about a month and a half after I decided stop eating there, after I was sure I had the discipline to not eat there again for breakfast for quite some time, I posted "My Girlfriend is a Hatesong" on my blog.  "A wholesome fetching thing you were/ the cure for just what ails me/ the same to say for all of you/ a case of barking up the wrong tree."  and, "What else goes on this layer/ perhaps another slice of scorn/ how 'bout I load up on Green Giant/ take a shit, you eat the corn."  I really didn't want to post that song and then go in there while she worked there just so I could see if she reacted somehow to it.  For one thing, she disgusted me by that point, and for another thing, she had as much of a right to earn a living there as anyone else does.  That was Fall, 2016.  I finally ate there once or twice in late 2017, and it was apparent that she didn't work there anymore, as well as most of the other old employees.

This last story involves someone I'm still in contact with, so I'll try to be as tactful as I can.  I've posted about this person recently. I wrote about how she works at a food service place I patronize, and how she's young and very attractive.  I've written about how I put in a Facebook friend request for her, and how she never accepted it. I've written about how she would give me flirty looks and gestures here and there in the weeks and months after it became apparent that she was not going to accept my Facebook friend request.

The other day I went in to where she works and she makes a little small talk.  She asks me about my plans for the rest of the day, as she usually does, and I tell her.  As I'm going to a movie at the Paramount later that day, I wonder if she was trying to make some kind of a point.  I wondered if she was trying to emphasize that I might have gotten the wrong idea about her because she asked me questions like this, and that this led me to making the Facebook friend request.  Therefore, because I got the wrong idea about her and made a Facebook friend request, I "started" something, and that made it okay for her to go adversarial on me, and that was the gist of the flirty gestures and looks she subsequently threw my way.

Okay, I put in a Facebook friend request because I was a least somewhat hopeful that she would accept it.  I certainly did not intend to "start" anything with her.  For those of you who find my line of thinking in these stories like that of a frightened alien creature, well maybe so, but I have this way of looking at it: I see efforts to be a loving man in the face of these kinds of interactions and trying to work something out with a romantic love resolution as more of a fear driven impulse than the steps I took to take care of myself.  I see taking a chance on any of the above women and giving my all for the cause of love as a more fear driven impulse than the courses of action that I did take.  The fear that would drive me to try to be so loving in the face of such attitudes and behaviors from such women I see as the fear of not being liked by such women and those around us, and the fear of loneliness and being alone.  

I see my old, admittedly valiant efforts to be a loving man in the face of such adversarial behavior as attempts to manipulate the women that I assigned the role of love interest.  I think I do a better job of actually seeing things from such women's points of view these days, and this ability makes it okay for me to be a bit more of a bastard about this stuff.  What some may see as unbridled paranoia over inconsequential gestures and interactions, I see as my own personal canary in a coal mine, at least in the case of the stories I told in this very long post.

For anyone who does not necessarily see these stories as the merely paranoid ramblings of an unhinged mind, I want to emphasize that I first came up with the willingness and ability to bail on these deals with that Sara in 1988.  Sara was so obnoxious that I just gave myself permission to let her slip through my fingers if it came to that, and it did.  I decided in 2012, after going zero for whatever with the waitresses and baristas of that day, plus coming up empty elsewhere with women in my life, that the experiment to "turn my back on love" that I first tried with Sara, and hadn't fully, consciously employed with anyone since Sara in 1988, might not be such a bad approach after all.  The initial experiment profoundly affected how I related to every woman I had romantic dealings with after Sara, but in 2012 I decided that it was a line in inquiry that could stand a full-on revival.        

My last post had me exiting from a situation that I'd termed a bad deal.  I was supposed to bend over backwards for this person and try my level best to try to come up with a solution to the situation that benefited us both and made it all work as love, and in exchange for my efforts, she got to do whatever she wanted.  At least that was my take on it.  Nothing ever appeared in writing to this effect, or even verbally, but I would routinely sign on for that deal back in the day, for sure.

I'm writing and drawing "The Legend of Richy Vegas," right now in Richy Vegas Comics.  I signed on for that deal, big time, with Jenna in 1991/92.  I'd thought I'd made a terrible mistake by letting that Sara go in 1988, and I was trying to make up for that "mistake" by making it right with my deal with Jenna.  I really have to keep telling myself that as I recount painful episode after painful episode in my romantic pursuit of Jenna.  I mean, I not only have to write about this shit, I have to DRAW it as well.  Fuck!

My psychotic break that lead me to my eventual hospitalization and treatment and diagnosis, in that order, had as its theme the Legend of Richy Vegas.  That whole legend, which manifested itself in a blossoming series of hallucinations that took the form of a "recovered memory" from 1989- primarily, but it spun off from there- came after I let go of Jenna; after I did the right thing by letting her know that we could still be friends, and centered around what I thought might have been going on around us.  See, I came to think that Jenna had to choose between the lesser of two evils: psychotically obsessed me, or serial date rapist Billy Billiams, whom I thought, after my conciliatory gesture to Jenna, had been courting her and, maybe just by his presence, had offered himself as a protector of her's from me.

Got that? Okay, in the days after I let go of Jenna, that theme started blossoming in my head.  Then came the hallucinations about the night I met "Michelle" at the Cannibal Club one night in 1989.  In reality, our little community all found out shortly after I'd met Michelle that Billy had attacked Michelle about a week or so before I'd met her, and so, the Legend of Richy Vegas grew from there.  When I had a lot of trouble with my medication in 1994/95, the legend only grew further, by leaps and bounds.  I was sick for months before I had my medication change.  Lots of stuff.

Whelp, I realized after the September 11th attacks that all of my cigarette smoking, drug use, and heavy drinking was a not-very-constructive way of coping with loneliness and being alone a good deal of the time.  I'd read in the New York Times where there was an article about how single New Yorkers felt especially vulnerable after the attacks, about how they were afraid of dying alone and all of that.  I connected the dots to me, and made a big push to quit smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.  The notion that I was trying to find more constructive ways of coping with loneliness and being alone kept me going through all the relapses of the next year, and it's been over fifteen years since I've had a cigarette.

I quit drinking and drugs, many years later, in late 2008.  I wanted to improve my relationship with women.  One night over at my house, a friend of mine, myself, another guy, and two girls hung out.  One of the girls interested me, until I went into my bedroom and found her naked in bed with my drunk-ass friend.  I thought she was single because this friend already had a live-in girlfriend.

I few nights later, I had a six pack of Bass, watched Blood Freak on Turner Classic Movies, and had a revelation.  "Dude," I thought as I imagined myself talking to my two-timing friend, "This life-style is obviously working out for you just fine, but it's not working out for me at all," and that was my last six pack of beer, my last alcohol to this day, and almost my last drugs.  I had some drugs several times after that night, the last time in February 2012.

I thought the twenty-two year old baristas and waitresses were just waiting for me to quit drinking and drugs, and that they'd line up outside my door just waiting to go out with me at the news.  Well, a lot of them did line up outside my door, but more to just kind of play games with me some.  And so it's continued to this day.

Don't get me wrong, I never once regretted my decision to quit drinking and drugs. It's just that, instead of having my love life immediately start working out the way I wanted, I had to deal with long-buried issues of what I've self-diagnosed as Love Addiction.  I've traced this river of personal dysfunction back to it's source, which I've identified as the "need" to always have a love interest for me to think about and aspire to.  On Mike Judge's animated series Tales From the Tour Bus, those who knew Tammy Wynette talked about her need to always have a man in her life.  Girlfriends weren't easy for me to come by, but love interests were.  

In the Fall of 2012, I decided to revive the "what if I turned my back on love" experiment that I had tried only once in 1988 with Sara.  That's what led me to let her go, and thus, what led me to believe that I'd made a terrible mistake when I let go of the first woman I really said "no" to from the outset.  Funny how that works; the first time I rejected someone in that way, it turns out that she was the one true love of my life (I'm being sarcastic).

I've made a lot of decisions about women that I'm very happy I've made since I decided to to revive that experiment.  Why, I have to sit up and count at night the number of intelligent decisions I've made about women, intelligent decisions that I believe stem directly from my decision to revive that experiment.  There was the girl who said she'd like to be added to the portraits of problem women in my portrait of my mother as Medusa.  There was the really hot receptionist at the print and copy company where I tried to temp.  I decided to move on to another temp job rather than keep bugging the powers that be at the printer for work that was not readily forthcoming. I decided to move on to another job rather than attempt to make it all about this receptionist, because I realized for the first time in my life that making it about really beautiful young women in my world was a choice, and not something that the laws on the books required me to do.  There was yet another barista that I suspected was trying to teach me an important life lesson about how bad I was to ask out the other baristas at her job.  I  saw her do that phony hug-as-a-resolution-to-conflict shit to another middle-aged fuck at this coffee shop.  She got really pissed off when I started blowing her shit off.  I first tried the Facebook friend request move on her, some months after she'd quit that job.  I did it as an alternative to asking her out in front of God and everyone.  She accepted my friend request. I messaged her in an attempt to start a line of communication with her.  She didn't respond.  I told another former barista of my move about a year later, and this hippie-hugger-bullshit-artist unfriended me. Good riddance.  I figured that this other former barista had relayed all I'd said about how I handled this perp's let's-hug-and-reflect-on-the-error-of-your-ways-you-dirty-old-man bullshit.  There was that waitress in that restaurant who decided to punish me because I was a mentally ill guy who wore a t-shirt she didn't like.  There was that virgin girl at that business that I can still patronize.  There was that virgin girl's friend at that business that I can still patronize.  There were other girls at that business that I can still patronize.  There was the waitress whom I suspected of switching out boyfriends, and who wanted to rope me in as the loser in her little ritual drama, I reckon.  I wrote "My Girlfriend is a Hatesong" about her.  That's the one with the immortal lyric, "What else goes on this layer/ perhaps another slice of scorn/ how 'bout I load up on Green Giant/ take a shit, you eat the corn."   Right on her heels came the the Invisible Woman.  If the real-deal celebrity was wholly innocent of any participation in that whole episode, she can't find her name, even ONCE, on this web site, and she can find maybe six innocuous postings from me on her social media accounts, all told.  There have been others more recently.  And lastly, I will add that I found out the nature of the bad deals that I readily signed on for back in the day.  See the last post, "I'm repeating myself...," or the top of this post for the workings of that deal.

So, fair enough.  I'll trade the Legend of Richy Vegas for all that I've reaped from the revival of an experiment that I, Richard Alexander, first tried in 1988 with Sara.  The games and bullshit only got even more intense and frequent after I started having successes at parrying all the bullshit these women threw at me.  My guess is that a gunfighter mentality took over with a lot of these women.  Also, I often wonder who does and does not read this blog amongst those in my everyday-patronizing-businesses world.   If even a fraction of the women I've interacted with have read some of these posts, they may be vying for my attention in bogus ways for the same reason that so many women get into Astrology: so that they can read about themselves and have someone's insight into what they are like.  If that's the case, they are getting a better deal with me than with any astrologer or psychic. 

Anyway, as for letting go of that Richy Vegas stuff, well, I may never fully accomplish that.  But, my ability to cope with all kinds of bullshit that really, really does go on, at least in my opinion it goes on, may lessen how important all of that Richy Vegas stuff is to me.  Jenna seemed even more happy-go-lucky than ever in the months that followed the incident where I let her go.  I remember in September of 1992, at a parking lot party on Guadalupe, how Jenna held forth with the full attention of about six to eight young men as I stood about thirty feet away.  That was after my initial hospitalization, but before my second hospitalization due to INTENSE depression.  Regardless of what all was real vs. what wasn't, I've never heard about any incident with her and Billy Billiams to this day.  Maybe I had something to do with things shaking out a certain way, maybe I didn't.  Maybe she didn't even know Billy Billiams.  As for me, I was just thinking the other day that I'd better like being by myself, because I've just had to deal with a lot of shit since I've made these major changes, and I will probably have to deal with a lot of of the same kinds of shit before all is said and done.





​

I posted about this same issue earlier this year in regards to the Invisible Woman.  In that post I said I suspected that the reason my credit card went missing and those shenanigans started up again is that the Invisible Woman wanted the old deal back.  I said the old deal was: I bend over backwards to accommodate the notion of this person in my head and see if I can come up with a resolution to the situation that mutually benefited us and all others concerned, and in exchange for my efforts, she got to do whatever she wanted.

In several posts these past few weeks, I've talked about an employee of a food service business in my everyday-patronizing- businesses world.  She is very young and quite attractive.  Earlier this year I put in a Facebook friend request for her that she did not accept.  After I put in this request she would throw flirty looks and gestures my way, such as looking at me with an expression on her face that suggested physical longing for me, or winking at me in a weird way.  I've concluded that she wants the same deal that the Invisible Woman wanted.  She should have been around in the eighties if she wanted me to give her that deal, really.  I know, I know, there's something about that deal she likes, but I just don't feel like giving that deal to anyone at this time.

Don't get me wrong.  She can still do whatever she wants.  I mean, whatever she wants within the bounds of civil and criminal law, I guess.  But you know, she could even go outside those lines as long as it didn't affect me personally or anyone I cared about.  I wouldn't want her to murder someone, even someone I don't know, but that goes for anyone, not just her.  I just have no desire at all to keep my end of that deal up anymore.  I usually don't want to keep my end of that deal up once I find out that it's THAT deal, once again.  Again, she shoulda been around in the eighties.