Okay, so now, from where I sit, it looks as if there is no very attractive young woman in my world who has been really shitty to me since, say, last April, who now has an interest in getting to know me better.  Okay, that means I'm free to continue on with the concepts in my last post speaking purely in hypotheticals.  So, IF there actually existed a very attractive young woman in my world that actually did want to get to know me better as of this writing, here's why I would vie for a platonic friendship with such a person.  I would trade an "opportunity" to get with such a person intimately, and by extension, romantically for being treated in a kind and loving manner by such a person in the context of a platonic friendship ANY...FUCKING...DAY.  Any day, oh yeah. You betcha. If the only way I could be treated like an actual human being by such a person more likely resides in the sphere of a platonic friendship, I'll take the platonic friendship over the supposed opportunity to get with such a person in an intimate, romantic way.  Absolutely, no question. 

If some really attractive young woman who has been shitty towards me in the past few months wants to now get to know me better, I would say yes to that.  Here's the catch, this hypothetical attractive young woman would have to accept getting to know me better on MY TERMS.  My terms are, I will accept being platonic friends with such an as-of-now hypothetical young woman.  I mean by "platonic friends" the following:  they can date whomever the hell they want except me.  That's right, it's the same deal I was willing to offer that former cashier from that grocery store I still patronize.  She never showed.  What I'm saying then, is if anyone out there in my world wants to step up and take that former cashier's place, then by all means, be my guest.  We can be platonic friends.  

​

Back in the 2010's, I had to deal with that virgin girl.  That virgin girl worked at that grocery store I still patronize.  The first shot across my bow from that virgin girl came during the summer of 2014.  I stood in the checkout line, and this other young woman, another employee of this grocery store, looked at a her cell phone and said something to another coworker about how "this is my first time."  I knew she was referring to that virgin girl in an out-of-context way.  Before that young woman made that remark, I'd never even thought about whether or not that virgin girl was a virgin, but there you have it.  That virgin girl was such an uber-babe that I knew that remark that the fellow coworker uttered half to herself, half to someone else, referred, somehow, to that virgin girl.

I was very, very frightened at the prospect of having to deal with that virgin girl on the psychoverse level.  I was having trouble staying compliant on the antipsychotic medication I was taking at the time. I would skip doses with ever increasing frequency, due to the way the medicine would sedate me so much it made me feel terrible.  Add to that the fact that this was THE GROCERY STORE(!) THE FUCKING GROCERY STORE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?  I figured that virgin girl heard about my mental illness through one of her coworkers who knew me socially.  The guy who talked about my mental illness did not have any bad intent when he talked about it to someone at that grocery store, but there you are.

Long story short, I busted that virgin girl in January, 2015 after a long, arduous mental ordeal.  I thought about this friend who looked at her phone and talked about "first time" during the summer of 2014.  She seemed like the nicest young woman one could ever meet.  She often had this emotive, expressive facial expression that seemed to reveal her as a careworn young woman who felt TOO MUCH and worried about any number of things under the sun TOO OFTEN and with TOO MUCH INTENSITY.  She seemed really sweet.  And you know what? She WAS really sweet.  She thought she was doing that virgin girl and I a big favor with that "first  time" remark.  That had to be it.  She was hoping to bring me and that virgin girl together in a romantic way.  She thought that virgin girl had a genuine, sincere interest in me. Little did she know.

A long time ago, I realized that it would do me well to always serve as the last line of defense when I find myself dealing with the virgin girls of this world.  I've had friends, a family member, and a therapist as people who would vouch for, or otherwise give me the thumbs up on whether or not to take the wrong woman seriously in a dating/romance scenario, and boy, could these people be wrong, often.  I've had trusted friends do everything from be fooled by someone such as Wanda, or, in one case, just flat out lie to me about the nature of their relationship with a woman in hopes of getting me to "take her off my hands."  I've definitely taught myself how to be my last line of defense, and a BIG turning point in achieving that goal came from my dealings with that virgin girl.  I still feel bad for that virgin girl's friend.  I hate having friends like that. 

Yeah, maybe I’m shooting myself  in the foot with statements that begin with, “I don’t think that former cashier ever cared for me,” but there you are. I don’t think that former cashier ever cared for me, and I don’t think she cares for me now. Am I shooting myself in the foot? Perhaps. I see my current position, the position that sees me prepared to say that this woman doesn’t care for me, and that she never cared for me; I see myself as walking out of yet another bad scene, again. The bit where I said we could be platonic friends? That’s one stage. The next stage could very well see me making statements such as, “She never cared for me.”

I don’t see why we couldn’t still be friends. I might be mistaken in what I say in the above paragraph and headline, and she could forgive me and make things right. That is, after all, what friends do for each other. All the time.  I don’t see why some elements of our deal can’t be on her to set right.

Meanwhile, I can look into this notion that, as I said in my previous post, that no pea resides underneath the shell that represents this or that attractive young woman in my world. Will such a realization throw me into the pit of despair? How about I couple such a notion with the notion that the former cashier never, ever cared for me. Will those two notions, together, do me in? Or maybe, just maybe, I’m following my buddha. Maybe the two notions, together, will set me free, again. Add the notion that it can take me, Richard Alexander, YEARS AND YEARS before anyone cool and together takes an interest in me, AND, add the thought that I may be too old for someone I can consider viable to take an interest in me, and we’ll just see. We’ll just see about all of that.

In early to mid-2009, I was several months into my commitment to abstinence from drugs and alcohol. I made this commitment in the first place to try to improve my relationship with women. I remember one night, at home by myself, when I sat there for a long time trying to figure out which of five Thunderbird Coffee baristas would make the best love interest for me. The answer, I realized sometime later, was that NONE of them made for a good love interest. There was no pea underneath any of the five shells that represented those five Thunderbird baristas.

I think about that night now as I think of young, attractive women in my world. What if I just played to the notion that no pea resides underneath any shell that would represent a young, attractive woman in my world? Would I resign myself to an unfulfilled existence if I did so? What if all I did was make intelligent decisions about how to regard someone such as that former cashier and refrain from casting about for a love interest from amongst the attractive young woman in my world? Would I miss out on genuine opportunities to get with someone in my world?

I’ve decided that the most intelligent way I can regard that former cashier would reside in the notion of considering her for a platonic friendship should she show up sometime in the coming days or weeks. Regarding her as that kind of possibility seems to get a load off of my back. I don’t have to bother with trying to make a romantic connection with her. I don’t have to bother with trying to THINK ABOUT trying to make a romantic connection to her. I have several platonic female friends now. One more probably wouldn’t hurt, and it makes it no big deal if she never shows up to be that one more platonic friend.

​

I've been handing out copies of my latest book, which is issue number 2 of "Selections from the Richy Vegas Songbook."  I still have about seventy-seven copies left, which will last me quite a while.  I'm very proud of this book.  I used old school nib pens and brushes to ink it.  I used a micron pen on the masthead and lettering on the cover, but that's it.

I think my batting average as a cartoonist is a lot better than my batting average as a singer/songwriter. I've got my average at about .370 on my left side, my drawing side, and at about .125 on my right side, which is the side I play guitar and banjo with. I came up with some ways to increase my batting average in music to something tolerable, wrote these ideas on a notecard, and put this card up on my refrigerator to look at.  These ideas include more practice, more approaching bookers, and seeking out more feedback.

I started up a playlist of twenty-two songs from my catalogue, which I try to practice several times a week.  I did that because I thought it would be a shame to let so many of these songs I like just die on the vine.  I've also got five covers I want to memorize and get down.  When I'm ready, I will go to open mikes here in town to practice the covers in front of an audience.

I'm fine with being platonic friends with this person I've been talking about in these past several posts.  "Platonic friends" means just what I say.  She can date whomever she wants to date, except me.  I just want to try being friends with this type of woman in hopes of better understanding their end of  these deals I've found myself getting into all of my adult life.  That will require more honesty and frankness in our times together than she, or perhaps I, can realistically offer.  But I'm willing to give it a try.  

Let me be clear, I'm NOT talking about "friend zone."  I will try my level best to accept a potentially meaningful platonic friendship with such a person over any aspirations that might linger on my end about wanting to date such a person.  I hope I can pull something like that off, and I promise I'll try.

As for the parameters of such a deal.  I  think I would feel most comfortable seeing such a person at a public place such as a coffee shop or a restaurant over hanging out at either of our residences.  I have to try to be careful about being around such a person and try to refrain from getting ideas about things, and I think limiting our times together to public places might help with that.  I don't drink or do drugs, so not having stuff like that alter my ability to control myself when I'm around her should help.

In the summer of 1988, the situation I found myself in with Sara had come to a critical juncture.  At the final in early May of the spring semester, I let her walk out the door of the classroom as I sat there and completed my final.  I didn't even know her name at that point.  I calmly finished my final, turned it in, and told the teacher I was graduating at the end of the summer as I handed her my test.

I took the last of my studio art classes during the summer of 1988.  One day in early June of that summer, I stood in an elevator as it stopped on a floor.  The door of the elevator opened on the second floor, I looked out and saw Sara looking at a department post on a wall, her back to me.  I pointed to her, she turned around, she saw me, waved, and as the door closed I let out a laugh.

A couple of weeks later I saw Sara in my studio art class with two of her friends.  I first heard some girls laughing, she stepped out from behind an easel, and said, "Hi-aye!" as she smiled and laughed mischievously.  I got excited.  I followed her and her friends to the elevator in an animated way and wanted to talk to her.  She asked me if I was in her art history class from the spring, I said yes, and she and her friends left at their floor and she told me goodbye.  I thought it was cool that I did not panic at the end of the spring semester.  I just let her go and hoped for the best.  And her she was, I saw her again!  Cool!  I'd never done anything like that before.

My optimism stayed for a while, but then, as the summer wore on and she didn't show, I soured.  Tarashula, a student in my last two studio art classes of my undergrad career, started acting friendly towards me in late July, during the second summer session.  I thought I had options.

So in early to mid-August, I went to the big painting studio to work on my portfolio for graduate school.  Eva, one of the girls with Sara when I saw Sara in my class the previous June, stood at her easel and worked on her painting.  She talked to some girl who was packed up and about to leave the studio.  

I set up my easel and began to work on my painting.  The girl Eva was talking to left.  Eva started coughing in a manner that suggested she wanted me to say something to her.  She continued to cough in this manner, and I took it to mean that she wanted me to ask her about Sara.  This made me mad.  I simulated the sound of beating off with my hands, started packing up my stuff, and started to leave.  Eva got my drift.  I decided I was done with Sara.  I decided to let her go.

Things shook out bad with Tarashula  during the last two days of my summer session, but my commitment to letting Sara go did not waver.  I saw Sara several times in the fall at the art school as I went about getting teachers to write recommendations for grad school for me.  I never said hi to her or spoke to her again.

If I ever again get the impression that someone is trying to tell me in some way that their ability to wield power over me in a romantic love and courtship situation is something that's more important to them than loving me, or understanding me, or trying to meet me halfway in a fragile, delicate negotiation phase of a deal, I will, once again, let that person go.  Believe that.

I'll give this person two weeks.  I'm talking about that former cashier, of course.  If something significant doesn't go down in two weeks, I'm concerning myself with point "A" and point "B" again.  Please don't think me foolish.  Last summer I talked some about how I thought she may feel about me, and someone in my world, a young woman I was attracted to, clearly labeled me as an asshole for even running stuff like that up the flag pole.  I could tell all of this by the look in this young woman's eyes and the expression on her face.  It made me think this former cashier was the wrong person after all.

I've been thought a fool many, many times.  "Jenna" comes to mind.  People thought I should have taken advantage of the "opportunities" she gave me to get with her.  Maybe Jenna, given the personal history I came to believe about her the sicker I got during the summer of 1992; maybe Jenna needed something other than yet another guy unwittingly tripping over that personal history in the act of "going for it."  But hey, maybe I'm the asshole.  Maybe I should've just concerned myself with getting laid.

So yeah, two weeks.  It might not even need to be all that much to buy her a little more time and consideration after the two weeks are up.  We'll see.  While I might not exactly approve of the methods this former cashier possibly employed to jockey for her old place at the table, I have a feeling "by any means necessary" was her and her buddies' credo on that score.  Okay, so here we go.  Two weeks it is.

I've decided that I don't want to knock on doors this fall to get gigs.  I'm fine where I reside with my music.  I'm working on an album, I practicing a set list on guitar, I'm taking banjo lessons, and I play at events such as Kent Finley's Songwriter's Circle in San Marcos.  I have no aspirations to go to any other place as far as playing out goes or greatly increasing my skill set on any instrument. 

My energy of this past however many years now goes more into comics than music.  I bought two more instructional books that I first checked out at the library and decided to add to my collection of books that I study on a regular basis.  I'm totally down with the idea of aspiring to be the Wally Wood or Jack Davis or Robert Crumb of my imaginings.  My latest book comes back from the printer in ten days.  I've lined up people to review it.  I have something of an audience, however small, with my comics that I've never had with my music.