Last week I sent a postcard to that famous person's fan club address.  I had sent four previous cards to her old fan club address, but two got sent back as undeliverable/ unable to forward, and I caught wise to the concept of Google initially providing me with an out of date address.  I've pretty much decided to just send this one card to the current address and leave it at that.  I think there's a strong possibility that any more postcards to the current address would just prove that I really don't have any way of credibly approaching this famous person, because this person would never personally respond to such an entreaty no matter how many or how few postcards I sent.

I have a strong feeling that my effort to reach out to this person will just prove that she's the wrong person to reach out to for social purposes.  Whether this is a "lesson" the she, the real person in real life, wants to teach me, Richard Alexander, or if this is "the universe" trying to teach me this lesson, it doesn't matter.  I can make intelligent decisions about the wrong person all day.  In my mind, at least, this famous person could have seen my expert handling of that unrequited love situation involving me and that former cashier at that grocery store, and decided that she wanted whatever attention drug I doled out to the cashier with my approach towards the cashier.  Weird!  Welp, at fifty-nine, and since the age of about fifty, the wrong person and persons have been lining up outside my door in force.  When life gives you lemons, as they say.

Do the words I write constitute me shooting myself in the foot in regards to my chances with this famous person?  I think not.  I'm not a big believer in sympathetic magic in the sphere of romantic love.  Believing with all of my heart in someone or something won't make it so, and skeptical inquiry, respectfully and tactfully done, won't make it not so.  If this person ever wanted to actually be anything to me, she'd find a way, just as I tried to find a way with the postcards, and she'd be the first person I could find sympathy from with my tortured skepticism. At least that's the way I see it. 
 
If  the women in my world don't actually find a piece of their own struggles, past and/or present, in the words I just wrote, then I have  people all wrong in general, and women I find attractive all wrong in particular.  In other words, will I encounter blowback for expressing these sentiments?  I hope not, but I'm prepared to fight it out if I do.  I didn't sense that much moral support in regards to that former cashier, either.  That is, until I delivered whatever it was that so many attractive women in particular, and so many people in general, want some of in life.  I hope this famous person feels cared for and regarded well by me, no matter where she's coming from.  If this is all in my mind, well, I can make intelligent decisions in that kind of scenario as well.

I had a therapist appointment Friday, but the online therapist canceled the appointment a couple of minutes after it was scheduled to begin.  I booked another one, and I plan to go through with it.  I decided my goal for therapy is to keep going until I feel that this situation regarding this famous woman I've gone on and on about feels sufficiently resolved.  That's a tough call, because one often doesn't know whether these situations are over at many different points.  However, that's the goal I've decided to shoot for with this decision to see a therapist.

I feel pretty good about my positioning in regards to this famous person whom I've never met.  If my last post regarding her-the one where I mention Kinky Friedman- indicates a frame of mind TOO willing to let someone I care for slip through my fingers, then so be it.  I decided today that if the cost of living my personal life in a sustainable, viable manner means that romantic love eludes my grasp, then so be it.  I'm not going back to the old ways.

The old ways seem insane now.  Any given moment of my day to day existence saw me looking to connect with women, whether in my head or in the world.  This may not sound like much of a problem to some people, but for me, yeah.  The mindset reflected in my Kinky Friedman post has worked wonders for my health and well-being.  If, as I sometimes fear, this mindset does NOT work THIS ONE TIME in regards to this ONE (famous) PERSON (whom I've never met) to the point where my whole approach to these dilemmas becomes invalid and wrong, well, how was I to know that?  I'm only going by what has worked so well for me in the past.  And no, not working well in the sense that I've found true love everlasting, but rather, that I don't have those crash and burn episodes due to my ceaseless quest for love everlasting.  Nope, not going back to those old ways.

Here's the original cover art for the second issue of my new comic book.  The two stories, in original artwork form, reside behind the pay wall of my Patreon page.  One may link to my Patreon page via the link on the web site, www.richyvegas.com.  

In late December, 2018, I saw Kinky Friedman perform at Stubbs.  Before the show, he went out to the patio by himself to smoke a cigar. I walked up to him, shook his hand, and told him that my mom was friends with his dad.  I talked to him a little about that, told him it was an honor to meet him, said I'd been a fan, but that I'd never seen him perform, and I ended it with a finger wave and a, "Break a leg, buddy!," and walked off.  After I said, "Break a leg, buddy!," he lit up into a big smile and said, "Thank you!"

When I had my long, extended bout with psychosis in 1995, I had a "recovered memory" hallucination that featured Kinky.  In 1999, I drew up a comic book that illustrated the gist of this hallucination, and sent a copy to his dad with a request to pass it along to Kinky.  I enclosed a note to Kinky explaining to him the nature of the story in the book, and how it came about.  Kinky's dad called me to tell me that he got the book, and that he would pass it along to Kinky, but I never heard back from Kinky about the book.

So, I decided to not bother Kinky about the book when I went to see him at Stubbs.  I don't know if he made a connection to me, and that's why he smiled so brightly when I displayed a willingness to let it all go, or if he just thought my showbiz version of "good luck" was really cool, or that I displayed an overall willingness to not bother him in general.  Whatever.

I've decided to extend the same courtesy to that famous woman I've written about these past several months and not bother with her anymore.  I sent one postcard to her CURRENT fan mail address, sent her one "break a leg" message on one of her social media accounts, and now I just want to leave it at that.

Yeah, there's always a "reason" to extend these deals with these unavailable women beyond, sometimes way beyond, an appropriate stopping point.  In high school, it was because this girl flashed me her titty when she talked to me, I went on some dates with her the following summer, and she was one of the first girls I'd ever kissed.  We didn't even kiss passionately, but more as a goodnight kiss.  Whatever I've mentioned about this famous woman in these past several months, plus whatever I've kept to myself, seems to fall under the same category of  "much ado about nothing."

I shouldn't get any blowback from people, especially women, in my world for this declaration of my decision, and for this description of my current mental state regarding this woman.  First off, define "blowback."  Since I can't read minds, what I might consider blowback might just reside in the eye of the beholder.  What if I could read minds, and I did indeed get some blowback for my decision to let go of an "A" list celebrity I've never even met?  What then?  Really? Blowback for that?  Yeesh!

I did this one in 2003. I think it's called, "Dummy Test." The central female figures represent the spirits of indulgence that lure one into driving while impaired. The border image depicts me getting the "Dummy Test" (field sobriety test) in 2002. They let me go, and that's the only time I took one. The reason I don't do paintings anymore is because they don't sell, and storage becomes a problem. I guess I could rent a booth at an art fair and sell something like this for thirty dollars in a "you can't take it with you" spirit.  I do that with my books and paper plate drawings now. I sell my books for a dollar each at fests and cons, and I sell my paper plates for fifteen dollars each at the same events. 

The answer is: "His tongue."  I had the second of four postcards I sent to that famous woman sent back to me as undeliverable/ unable to forward.  I googled her fan club address again, and got back the, hopefully, NEW fan club address instead of the, I guess, OLD fan club address I sent the four postcards to.  I have lifted the moratorium on writing about this person to convey this bit of news.  Of course, I sent my last "planned to send" postcard just now.  It should go out tomorrow (Wednesday, 7/26).  Don't know if I'll send any more postcards.  Maybe in a while from now.  Maybe.

 The three pages below come from issue 13 of Richy Vegas Comics: "The Consequences of Bringing Light, part 6."  They illustrate, a little, the romantic outsider role no one who's ever really found oneself in such a role covets.  In issue 13 I fixate on "Gwen" while I attend SVA.  Issue 13 serves as the second prequel issue to the twelve issue "Legend of Richy Vegas."  I can do this all day.

Instagram and Facebook have prohibitions against references to suicide and self-harm, but not this here blog.  At least not in this context, but I don't know about the sensitivity to context of Facebook and Instagram.  Patreon has actual humans look at the pages, so they should have a clue about context here.  I should finish this story in about a week,  I will put it behind a pay wall on Patreon, like I said.  One dollar a month will have stories such as this one, plus somewhat lengthy excerpts from previous works.  

This plastic bad boy is the first recipient of my current songwriting genius.  It sounds great, and it will probably last me the rest of my life.  It was Martin's least expensive xxx model when I ordered it from Guitar Center in 2021.  It was also the only xxx model they had to sell.  I like the modest body size, because I'm not really interest in projecting my sound to an audience so much as I use it to write and practice.  I can hear myself think on this guitar.

I'm practicing twelve songs from my latest album.  I hope to practice all fifteen by summer's end.  Some of the songs are, "Pardon Me Young Lady (But You've Double Parked Your Broom)," "Asshole Woman Lake," "Tastes Like a Penny," "I've Got Your Easter Egg Right Here," "Fuckface On Monday and Fuckface On Friday," and "Better Than Fritos."

Some of the songs I still have to memorize are, "Cat and Mouse," "Bad Woman Note," and "When the World Runs Out of Bad Women (I'll Stop Writin' Bad Women Songs)."  This might be my last hurrah for songwriting and making albums.  I can't seem to write anything BUT bad women songs, and it's getting a little tired.  "Better Than Fritos" isn't a bad women song.  All it took for me to write that not-a-bad-woman song was for someone cute to flirt with a LITTLE.

This is more of what you will see on this blog.  I will adopt a more personal, informal tone.  I will eschews the general rules of writing if it pleases me.  I'll use "you" a lot when addressing my audience,  I'll use the passive verbs when it pleases me, and I'll just hype, hype, hype my stuff that appears on other platforms, especially, but not limited to, Patreon.  There's a Patreon link in contacts/social media page on this website.  I'll post a LOT of free content on Patreon like this one.  Hell, the first tier is a dollar a month.  Why not.  But yeah, Instagram, Facebook, whatever, will also have this kind of content polluting your feed, should you choose to follow or friend me.