A couple of months ago I refrained from posting this one.  It's about a gal at one of these food service places that I used to patronize.   See, "Approachable women and the road less traveled," from October, 2016, for the reference to her.  I speculated that she was the type that always had a boyfriend.  That's not true entirely for  these types.  From my recollection, if they had a serious boyfriend that lasted like three years or some such, they could go without a boyfriend for like six whole months after the breakup.  

For me that's like $100 to $150 dollars worth of porn.  Six months?  'Pshh.'  I can do six months standing on my fucking head.  But enough about me, a six months window was never enough for me to hop on board, and more typically it was like a month, month and a half.  I never really got into the real fun ones who never seemed to have any daylight between boyfriends-the ones with the over lapping boyfriends.

I never really got the hang of catching these women at the precise right time, I guess.  I also never learned to hop a freight train going ninety fucking miles an hour, either.  Hell, I was doing good to remember to always wash my hands after wiping my ass, which I maybe mastered by the age of 40.  By the way, something about these women and how they would relate to me always seemed to have something more to do with someone wiping their ass on something or someone rather than anything about anyone catching any old freight train.  I was just never their guy, I guess.

Without further ado:

My Girlfriend Is a Hatesong
by
Richy Vegas
C:F:G:Am:Em
 B∇∆B∇∆                                              


Chorus:
G
My girlfriend is a hatesong
Am                    
I lub it, lub it, lub it.
F
I’m going up on stage now
              Am
Don’t flub it, flub it, flub it.

G
My girlfriend is a hatesong
Am
Composed of blood and bile
F
Ghoulie girl leggo my heart
G                    C
And rest with me a while.

Verse:
C
The world’s too big a place        
    Em
To feast on living men
F
There’s birds and trees and flowers
G                    C
Why spend it in the pen.

C
It’s weird to think but think of it
          Em
Onan’s sin makes me a man
F
A ghoul like you has not the love
G                        C
Better spent with my right hand.

C
You think yourself a demon
    Em
You think yourself a witch
F
Me I’m like some deli stooge
G                    C
I’ll make this song a sandwich

Chorus:
My girlfriend is a hatesong
I lub it, lub it, lub it.
I’m going up on stage now
Don’t flub it, flub it, flub it.
My girlfriend is a hatesong
Composed of blood and bile
Ghoulie girl leggo my heart
And rest with me a while.

Verse:
Here’s the double decker layer
‘cuz you’re a wolf who wears sheep’s clothes
you served me eggs, you had nice legs
(faster)            (slower)
it’s time for me/ to bust out those.

A wholesome fetching thing you were
There cure for just what ails me
But the same to say for all your kind
(faster)              (slower)
A case of barking/ up the wrong tree.

What more goes on this layer
Perhaps another slice of scorn
How ‘bout I load up on Green Giant
(faster)            (slower)
Take a shit/ you eat the corn.

Chorus:
My girlfriend is a hatesong
I lub it, lub it, lub it.
I’m going up on stage now
Don’t flub it, flub it, flub it.
My girlfriend is a hatesong
Composed of blood and bile
Ghoulie girl leggo my heart
And rest with me a while.

                        Richy Vegas

                        10/2/2016






 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

This morning I talked to this guy about believing in Santa Claus.  He guessed that I believed in Santa Claus until the age of sixteen.  I said, "That's not my poison.  Some people have televangalists-"  He laughed and said, "Everyone has their own Santa Claus!"  For your consideration: this relates to the post "Playing out," from earlier this month, Richy Vegas: a psycho memoir, parts 2 and 3, on the homepage of this site, and "Three Days In the Tickle," and ,"Nineteen Years Since the Tickle," from the someday release, Self Portrait of Me.

We All Got Our Santa Claus
G,C,D
B↓↑B↓↑

G
We had the Easter Bunny
         C
And he was quite a treat
G
And we had Santa Claus
           C
Now that was really neat
             D
When I was a twelve year old
                     C
With that girly magazine
    D
I prayed those women would jump out
                  C
Give me knowledge I could glean
G
Now did that boy become a man
            C
‘cuz little did I know
               D          
those good good lookin’ women
            C                     G
toxic waste tied in a bow.


G
Name your poison Richy boy
          C
And boy I sure heard that
 G
Some give to Robert Tilton
           C
Still others good old Pat
D
Some pray the nukes come rainin’ down
        C
To hasten his return
D
Could I then grab one of those women
                      C
And make like a butter churn
G
Some meditate and pray to Buddha
       C
To make them Superman
          D
You gotta stay in the moment
                      C        G
Divine the universal plan.


G
Well those women were my poison
        C
Then one day you came along
G
You were even Mexican
           C
And for you I sing this song
      D
I had visions of your glory
            C
Then I saw you in that store
               D
Then I waited and I waited
             C 
‘cuz I knew you weren’t no whore
G
Over twenty years have passed
                     C 
Since that day you gave me pause
    D
‘cuz like that Black guy Brian said
        C             G
we all got our Santa Claus.


Richy Vegas   12/27/2016
   

I spent the afternoon going around parts of Austin taking photos for the next series of comic books:"The Legend of Richy Vegas."  I hope to start outlining the first three or four issues in February, 2017.  I believe that I am finished with compiling reference for these books, for now.  There are some things that I want to sketch out before I try to render them in the book; mainly interiors of all kinds of buildings from houses, to factories, to museums, to all kinds of businesses.  I think I'm finished taking photos for reference.

There's a lot of things that aren't around anymore.  Not just businesses such as G/M Steakhouse and Sound Exchange, but actual buildings where things were; the factory where I worked, the house where I ran into Gil Wilson at that party (listen to the two "Blind Assassin" songs on my MySpace page for references to Gil).

I found quite a few of the houses where things took place.  For some houses I just snapped one in the neighborhood that looked close enough.  I also snapped a lot of intersections because all the light poles and signs and other urban detritus are hard to recall from memory.

The current book is coming along fine.  I should finish it in early to mid February.  It is not an after thought at all.  I'm at the critical stage where I am trying to make good finished drawings.  I just finished page 28.

On Mondays I play at New World Deli's open mike.  I try to do at least one song I haven't done before.   Tonight I will do, "Nineteen Years Since the Tickle."  It's the sequal to "Three Days In the Tickle."  "Three Days In the Tickle" tells the story of Monica, a Mexican girl I met in Spain.  She's the girl saying, "Oh?", at the top of my web page.  She appears in parts two and three of "Richy Vegas: a psycho memoir," the first web comic on the home page of this site.

"Three Days In the Tickle" comes out to about seven minutes long,  I have to memorize it all over again.  "Nineteen Years Since the Tickle" is not nearly as long, and a lot easier to memorize.  It's about waiting for Monica to show up again throughout all of those years.

On Tuesday I think I will play the Posse East's open mike.  I did it last Tuesday.  That's one where I can do songs like, "Lot Lizard Lolita," and "Blo-hole Acres," and not worry about kids being there or anything.

Last Wednesday I went to San Marcos and played at Cheatham Street Warehouse's Songwriter's Circle.  Don't call it an open mike!  One has to have written the song one performs, or at least cowrote it.

The point of all these open mikes, songwriter's circle and whatnot is to have as much stagetime as possible before I pay to record the songs for my records.  The last time I didn't do any stage performing at all, and I thought I'd practiced enough, but the engineer had to do a lot of editing to make the songs sound okay.

I also want to try to get some gigs so I could have a place to sell my books.  I try to mention them at the New World Deli open mike, but somethimes I forget.  I haven't sold any yet, either.

I'm not going to do the web comic I was talking about.  I had too many irons in the fire with that.  All of those supplies I bought I can use to make flyers if I get any shows someday.

I remember a few years ago when I would patronize this one food service business pretty frequently and how I would go in there looking for a girlfriend and how I would react when one of them would be a little flirtatiouus with me and what would go on in my head as a result: what would I tell them about whether I possessed a desire for a long term, commited relationship or not?  Those women I would take an interest in would be so much younger and so attractive that I actually had trouble even imagining a conversation where I would tell them that I didn't want to date anyone seriously at that time.

Invariably the deal would fall through in some way or other, and I would just be kind of glad that I wasn't so gung-ho in vying for some big relationship with them.  They were the rejectors, but I could at least take away that I put a bigger emphasis on figuring out where they were really coming from than in just succumbing to whatever pretty pictures came into my head about how life might be with any of them as my girlfriend.

Yeah, I wouldn't be adverse to being in some long term deal with someone these days, it's just that anyone who seems to have that kind of iinterest doesn't make the cut.  There have been a few who just don't do it for me as far as an attraction, there have been a couple who looked attractive enough, but had major substance abuse issues and maybe really bad attitudes and personalities, and the one or two who made it through those two guantlets just got arrogant on me.  Years back one girl decided to not return my phone calls to nail down a specific evening we'd made plans for.  I guess that I was supposed to know she was offfended by something I'd said, and that I would be scared of losing her and leave her messages pleading with her to call me back.  That didn't happen.

One time, years later, this same womqn saw me at a comic book convention and flagged me down.  We talked a little, and then she busted out with, "So, are you still an asshole?"  I smiled and said, "Yeah, pretty much."  She commended me for smiling and what not.  Fuck her!  Having that woman call me an asshole was like winning the Acadamy Award for best director or best actor.

You see, at least with me, she fancied herself some kind of a player, even though she looked pretty ordinary, really.  When I first met her years ago I told her a little about myself and she comes out with, "Richard, it's great, because you're the ultimate underdog!"  So she made a pretty bad impression on me from the start.  If I were to ever hang out with her again, the occassion would require that I throw her into my truck and drive her to one of these businesses that I patronize, march her up to one of these young, very attractive women I've had to deal with, point right at one of these women, and yell, "Look, that is a player!  Do you notice any difference between her and you?  Any difference at all?"
 
Man, six months of a mostly-mutually-benificial-deal would count as a successful longterm relationship in my world; it's all relative, really.  It's just that I'm a lot like Brere Rabbit: someone who is dumb enough to throw me in the briar patch as some form of punishment doeasn't really appreciate that, yes, I was born and raised in the briar patch, asshole.  Now go fuck yourself. 

Last summer one of those young women in one of those food service businesses I patronized talked to me a little one time.  I'd since given up going to that particular place to talk to the girls, because some years earlier I'd had some kinds of shitty tease experiences with some young women there.

At first, I regarded this little bit of small talk as maybe something significant.  Then, I remembered something from "Intimate Connections," by you guessed it, Dr. David Burns.  In one chapter he cautions the reader not to glom onto the first person that shows  an interest in them.  He says something about how,"you regard some small morsel of attention as the whole banquet, and you react accordingly."  He encourges the reader to play the field, because clinging to the first person who comes along and seeing them exclusively will likely get the reader a rejection, and they'll feel worse than before.

I remember reading this right after I began a long campaign to quit smoking in 2002, and remember thinking, "You can do that?"  All therapists ever talk about is, "Relationship, relationship, relationship," ad naseum.  In 2007 I told a therapist about this woman I went on dates with, and how I was not interested in a relationship at the time.  Not a few minutes later he says, "You should tell her you're interested in a relationship..." as if what I'd just said went in on ear and out the other.  Great, she was the first person who'd shown any interest in me in quite some time- the first person to come along, in effect- so I'm obliged to vie for a relationship with her.

The first copy of "Intimate Connections" that I bought cost less than ten dollars.  Therapists these days cost upwards of $150 per session.  Comparison shop, why don't we; this book provided a valuable bit of advice that seemed to go totally against the grain of what the therapy industry routinely hands out to shy, lonely people who desperately want some guidance.  Dr. Burns would probably have beeen burned as a heretic in an earlier age, and he is the one who is right.

The chapter continues, "But Dr. Burns, I just want to meet that one special someone and settle down."   Burns says patients said this to him all the time, and he said that it was just not realistic; that one would have to date aroung quite a bit before they were likely to meet someone they could live a while with.

Even though I have not had the success that the author trumpets about for his most succesful patients, I've tried to keep those principals in mind.  I was on a date about this time last year and my companion said something interesting to me.  She smirked as if she was being really clever and said, "I don't compete for men." I remembered her saying this to me over the phone, she said it again on this date, and that was our last date.  I could hear her smirking when she said it over the phone, too,

Pardon me, miss.  While it's true that women are not exactly beating a path to my door to go out with me, you are in competition for my attention: You are in direct competition with a meaningful life that I've built up and enjoy as a single person, and that kind of arrogance won't cut it.