Caterwauling

Editor’s Note: I try not to let Brat cross my mind too much, but tonight, I’m letting out one of my “draft” blog entries that I’d written about him not so long ago.

I am glad I finally reached a point in my life where I could fuck someone and not feel anything emotionally. But in a way, when all I really want is to feel someone with my soul in addition to my PC muscles, it’s like getting fucked over is a parting gift … a “thank you for fucking me … now fuck off” kind of booby prize.

And just as I was prepared to either fall back into Brat’s arms or slap him senseless, I was prepared to guard my heart more tightly than security at the Pentagon. And that’s so very sad, when you think about it, because as I was preparing to get fucked in the literal sense, I was also expecting to get screwed in the emotional sense. So I didn’t hurt one bit when I left his place, his space, his arms and his city. It’s not mine anymore. And maybe it never really was.

“He doesn’t believe in anything

It’s not given to him to believe

He never sleeps if he can help it

He doesn’t waste time on such things

I saw his face and I lie awake

Waiting for him to see me

I followed him home and into his bed

And that’s as close as I’ll ever be

I do not have the key to get into his heart

It’s shut away where I can’t find it

And I’ve torn this place apart.

— Red Delicious, “Want Me” —

Oh, Brat. He was all hot to trot when I was heading to Pittsburgh, as well as when I was there but not with him those first 24 hours. And then when it was over, it was over. I hated him so much when I went back to his place (at the end of my weeklong stay in the ‘Burgh), only to be rejected when I was the one making the moves. I was good enough to sit around and watch TV with, but not to fuck? I wasn’t looking for a goddamn marriage proposal — I just wanted his cock. And when I didn’t get that, I was frustrated and angry and out for blood. For a moment, anyway. Now I’m just too tired to feel much of anything.

I wasn’t mad about not getting laid again *per se,* but I was mad that he still could call the shots, despite what I wanted. What I wanted never really mattered to him. Sure, we went to the places I wanted to go, and when he was in the mood, I got what I wanted sexually. But cripes, is this what men go through when they’re dating a woman? I swore I knew what it felt like to have blue balls that night.

But that’s the shit that keeps many guys coming back to girls — when they can’t have what they want, they try try again. When they get what they want (i.e., Dawn goes running to Brat when he gets a hard-on), they don’t need us anymore. They’ve conquered us. They’ve made us want them. And they are satisfied with the concept alone.

So now, I don’t want to imply that my entanglement with Brat has ruined me and has made me callous toward other men. But it has made me feel comfortable with being unattached, as well as with wanting to be chased. Damn it, I have chased after enough men in my life to last me 10 eternities. It’s okay to desire someone who really wants to win my affections. I’m not opposed to this, by any means. In fact, the harder he works, the more I will appreciate him. All Brat ever had to do was look at me, and I would fall in love all over again. And again. And to have him kiss me and hold me and penetrate me … well, damn, I was smitten. To have him awaken from slumber and have him start trailing kisses up and down my back, well, fuck, I was addicted. I wanted more, more, more.

But like the song lyrics say, I ripped his world apart, looking for the key that would open him up to having me in his life permanently. But maybe this is where I take a good, hard look at the disaster our relationship always was, and still is, and realize that he is not the one. And he never was.

He’d made a comment on my way out, something about timing. And it stayed with me all this time — our timing sucked. And apparently it still does. And I don’t expect it to improve in this lifetime. So it’s time to move on.

So goes the epitaph on that entanglement. But I just can’t guarantee right now that, if he’d turn up on my doorstep, I’d tell him to spend the night somewhere else. Not yet, anyway, but in time. I know it.

Who else thinks Josh Gracin looks like George “Dubya” Bush?

I just received the “American Idol, Season 2: All-Time Classic American Love Songs” CD. It was released today, but thanks to the wonderful world of the pre-order, I had it in my mailbox this morning (and I’m just as surprised as anyone that Mailroom Dipshit didn’t lose it or ship it to Oklahoma, which he did with a CD my mom sent here for me — which I got six months later).

Anyway, you can just tell who has star quality and who got lucky to be involved. Granted, the CD producers obviously picked everyone’s strongest songs (like “Three Times a Lady” for Josh Gracin and “How Do I Live” for Carmen Rasmusen), but my boys Clay Aiken (“On the Wings of Love”) and Ruben Studdard (“Superstar”) brought chills to my flesh with their haunting and powerful voices. And I will always love Julia Demato’s rendition of “At Last,” and it’s a shame she couldn’t get any farther in the competition than she did. And you can just hear the potential in Kimberley Locke’s voice with “Over the Rainbow,” so you can only be happy when you look back and be glad the American public ensured that she had an opportunity to grow and flourish in the limelight.

At any rate, while the CD is definitely worth a listen, I fear it’s not worth more than five rounds in the CD player. I am in love with the show far more than I am in love with any of the songbirds’ voices. My suggestion to the producers at Fox and American Idol Music is to just tape all of Simon Cowell’s comments and release them on a CD. I’d pay twice as much and get five times the use out of that!!!