This is something that was totally inspired by an old friend and Master Poet, Kosmogonic.

As my thoughts go numb to the silence that transplants the old, fog-horned days of glory, fingers randomly closing on memories floating by in the air, I am a sitting duck, without you.

As the poisonous swirl of clearing smoke winds its way into my lungs, a snake wrapped tightly ’round the limb of a lone tree, my bite is venomless without you.

As the sun slips behind the warmth I once buried beside you; your essence courses through my veins, but quickly dilutes into my own, I am pondscum without you.

As the smirking distance tears and chews up the many miles between where I am and the salvation of your fingertips touching my deepest and most sensual parts, I starve; so hungry without you.

As dewy drops roll down the leaves of fuzzy memories and recollected tendrils of smoky laughter fade and reshape into the ends of the world, any strength has abandoned me, utterly, muscles turn gelatinous without you.

As my words and their lack of meaning shoot like darts from the mouth I have come to regret and disdain, that open sore that won’t heal no matter what I do in attempt at affecting a salve, a festering wound, without you.

Do Your Part.

Recently, as a white woman with countless privileges that I have, admittedly, always taken for granted, I’ve obviously been deeply pondering where my place is in all of the chaos and suffering that my fellow human beings are (and always have been) enduring as a result of their’ heritage. I am not playing the “black friends card” when I say that several of my best and most deeply cherished friends on this Earth are Black; it’s a truth of mine that I have always had with me and never really had to think about too much, for whatever reason. I have cousins who are half Black; my Aunt is Black. They are my blood relatives; we have the same blood coursing through our veins, truth.
Now, as my family, close friends and I are miserably trying to compartmentalize and process the sad and hideous truths violently seeping through the fabric of our shared culture here in the United States of America, I see for the first time in my life that despite the innate acceptance and truly pure bond present in my mindset, personally, in terms of the many Black People that I know and love, there’s a dauntingly larger population of hateful, dis-informed, self-worshiping white people who harbor the most ill of will towards my loved ones over such a subjective factor as the pigment of their’ skin.
And while I, as an experienced lover of ALL people from ALL backgrounds, ethnicity and cultures, can sleep at night, knowing that beneath the skin of every human being, lies the uniform and universal genetic material that makes us each Human siblings, I’ve also realized with a sobering certainty that we are NOT all Human any longer.

There are those among us are no more advanced or refined than vicious, wild animals.

Pretentious white moms driving through Starbucks in minivans; nurturing brainlessness in white-priviledged broods of sadistic bigots who represent the unceasing entitlement complex that defines 5 out of 10 white people in this country, sadly.

White men who claim to be accepting of others in public, while snickering at the idea behind closed doors; making horribly unfunny jokes at the expense of those who look different from them and their’ beloved corn-fed roots.

I realize that who I am, have always been, could not be any more disparate from these lowly creatures, despite the shared physical appearance between us. I realize that I would no sooner stake any kindred claim to these beings then to cut off my own arms and send them down the river. The relationships with my Black loved ones have become strained; as I am very aware of the cold, hard fact that the actions and lifestyles of racist whites naturally reflect on me, in turn.

And that shit hurts.

As a longtime underdog, the Americanized version of the word “Liberty” truly disgusts me beyond description. And, that’s coming from a white woman’s mouth. Beneath my own experiences with the unfair judicial system, multi-faceted corruption and perversely incentivized social service programs, I can also hear the muffled whispers of generations worth of Black Lives in this country desperately trying to get a deeper, much more ever-present terror across the boundary of judgement.

That age-old haunt of:

 “I am just one person, what difference can I honestly make?

comes screaming to the surface of my mind everyday lately; and, unbelievably, it stills seems to hold at least some sway, even in these crazy times when, yes: one person’s staunch support, one person’s quiet voice, one refusal to look the other way when so much unjust destruction is consuming our fellow human beings, can indeed make all the difference in the situation…one person at a time.

This “I am just one person” sentiment has hushed and smoothed over collective urges good white people harbor to bust a grape on racial terrorism and injustice in our society for God knows how long now. All white people are more fearful, uncertain and out of their’ privileged element lately, be they good and sympathetic to the movement or evil racist oppressors.

And lately I see so clearly, that this sentiment is lie.

Racism is a lie. (By that, I mean that the foundations racism is built upon are all lies.)

Prejudice and racially based injustice are long-standing, widely accepted lies.

Generational white privilege is a self-taught lie that white people must stop re-telling white children.

Adorning myself in bad makeup and ranting about my friendships with Black people will not help this issue; this issue goes so much deeper and further back in time to be solved by self-righteous pawns in so-called well meant missions that boil down to those same peoples’ lasting ability to comfortably look themselves in the mirror every morning.

I realize that no matter the blood relation between cousins, the shared upbringing, any family roots between us, they have lived an entirely different existence from mine because they don’t share the privileges I have always taken in stride in my own admitted negligence.

And that is how I feel now, is: negligent…self-absorbed, even clueless in the face such widespread terrorism and suffering around me.

I support the uprising of all human beings who are striving toward a more balanced and culturally intertwined society.

I sympathize with my Black friends who have a hard time looking at me right now.

I support the rebellion against “the man” who forced a group of people to evolve in this country while being hated and mistreated all the while, under an oppressive, invisible thumb.

Lastly, and in conclusion to this scattered mess of personal introspection: I support fellow good human beings – black, white, brown, beige, red and yellow.

I have recognized and banished the lies surrounding racism from my existence, and encourage every person to do the same.

Dismantle the KKK and shame them for being the scar on our society that they truly are.

Stop painting your faces black in attempt to be supportive – it’s offensive and immature.

Do your privileged part to wipe out the cycle of suffering in so many Black Lives. Whether you know any Black people or not.

The destruction and suffering of Black Lives might not ever be able to heal, but it can be shut down as it should’ve been long ago. And every single person needs to be doing whatever they can to usher in a future that looks drastically different from today’s U.S. Snapshot.

Update 3/30/20

I drove 12 hours to Arizona last week to start my new life. It was a gnarly drive by myself with my 100 lb. whining King Shepherd sitting shotgun on top of a car packed full to the brim.

We had our wedding planned for the end of May, however, due to the virus and the quickly spreading panic in the hot zone that was my previous home, we decided that we should jump before I got locked down in California indefinitely.

We got civilly married on my birthday, March 25 2020. It had been quite the whirlwind of emotions and feelings, as I left Boo in Santa Clara, per her decision. That has been the only painful part of my adjustment. She is still on drugs and homeless. She continues to have no self worth or esteem; it continues to be a familiar heartbreak that I know all too well.
I walked into a life in which 4 out of 5 of my husband’s children are hungry for closeness and nurturing. The fifth is almost 16 years old (a boy) and is not as needy as the others, but still very open to my presence. The other four range from 4 – 9 years old and are already boring separate spots in my newly full heart, after only a week.
Needless to say, it’s a busy life all of the sudden for me; and very demanding in a positive way.

I am so blessed. I am so in love. I am so awed by these changes.

Moving (Not quite) So Quickly (Enough).

About two weeks ago, I ran back into someone special from my past. This is the guy for whom I was stricken by with a notably strong case of puppy-love, as a 16 year old girl. And I will say that after 25 long years apart, we truly picked up right where we left off, with our unfinished business as dumbass kids. When he left way back then, I was so sad over it that I cried on a regular basis. My mom used to tell me that “everything happens for a reason” and take me to the movies to help me forget him and move on. He was 22 at the time and worked every waking moment in order to move his mom and brother out of the hood where we lived.
I found out long after his disappearance from my young life that he’d gone to Arizona after getting shot in the back by a gangbanger and dodging the bullet himself.

To me, at the time, our “relationship” was a whirlwind of ups and downs,  highs and lows, teenaged (on my end, at least) longing, angst and rejection.

I was longing for closeness to another human being when I met him; he was yearning for something similar. We clicked immediately and spent countless hours talking and laughing together in his truck. We talked to each other about the things we couldn’t talk to anyone else about. Our connection went deep pretty quickly. I didn’t know it back then, but this bond we were nurturing was the Real Thing. And oh, how I longed many, many nights to stay with him when it was time for me to go inside my house. I longed to be with him more often than I was able to; and unsurprisingly,  I was unable to express my young, fierce and undying admirations to him. I longed to share something special with that shy, super respectable young man in those days, and very badly.

On both ends, there was memorable angst. At the time, there were friends we shared in common (pre-Facebook era, so like REAL LIFE people that we actually ate meals with) dropping like flies all around us, due to collective and violent neighborhood angst that was sadly familiar and accepted, even participated in, by most of the people we knew. He wanted something better for his younger brother and himself so he worked all the time in order to get away from the angst. He loved his mama; he was a good boy in comparison to the rest of our friends. He wanted more out of life for his little brother than violence and premature death everywhere they looked. And eventually, he got himself and his family that break, and they all moved out of state.

My 16 year old heart was obliterated by his decision; but the truth was that I’d known all along that I was too young for him. So, as any right-minded man his age would’ve done, he had to ultimately pass me by; timing was not on our side and we both knew it deep down. He never allowed anything much more than hand-holding and some kissing to happen between us, despite a very powerful chemistry screaming loudly at both of us all the time. He had to let me down; but he did it reluctantly and with a heavy heart.

He used to always say that I was wise beyond my years; probably because he was able to trust me implicitly and talk to me about any and all things that came to mind. Back then, we told each other our secrets, hopes and dreams.
I remember sitting in his truck, listening silently together to Tupac’s ‘Dear Mama’ when it debuted on the airwaves, still and calm together,  somehow at the most peace I recall feeling during my teens. I vividly recall going to see the movie ‘Casino’ with Pesci and Deniro at the theater together, and after Joe Pesci’s character got offed, but continued to narrate the film, he was absolutely flabbergasted and announced it to the packed theater. I loved who he was.
I’ve always remembered his huge hands and mutant long fingers. I never forgot the soft-spokenness, in stark contrast to his imposing stature, scary big bones and naturally arching eyebrows.
I’ve always felt this man’s presence underneath the buzz of every day that landed between then and now…25 years worth of days.
He never turned into a ghost in my heart, either, like everyone else that I’ve ever claimed to love has done with time. I’ve questioned the brightness of his memory many times in my own head.
And, the odd thing has been that I never had a single thought about him that was remotely negative all these years gone by.

To be honest, I’ve always wondered why he seemed to resurface in my head with no bitterness attached to his namesake; especially as I spent long months pining for him after we stopped seeing each other. I mean,  every other dude I tangled with back then was an idiot, a player or just a downright douchebag and I definitely carried around the baggage from each of them on my sleeve. So when we reconnected recently,  and I found out that his circumstances and situation, when compared with mine at present, resembles something akin to the best thing that’s ever happened to either one of us, I left myself open and took the chance on it.
I’m leaving California, where I’ve lived all of my life, to marry the man who used to be the young punk who broke my 16-year-old heart and then disappeared without a trace. 25 long years have passed between us, but we are more in love than we ever could have been as youngsters. I feel as if God has blessed me in like a million ways within a short period of time. My heart is so full of love and acceptance and trust and admiration for this man, I have been rejuvenated and feel like a new woman.
I’m just sharing so that everyone knows where I am in my absence. I am busy sorting, prioritizing, tossing out the unnecessary, packing, saying goodbyes, planning my wedding,  planning our future, and relocating. I am incredibly happy.
And someday soon,  I will be back to write about happiness, for a change.

A Dreadfully Fake Fatmouth.

You know that point in a good story when the bad guy finally shows up? There’s always suspenseful music and poorly done close ups of anxious faces…the terror is tangible, even to the viewer. Well what if there is no music at all? What if the bad guy’s entrance is subtle and incognito? What if the villain blindsided the heroin with a haymaker out of nowhere, knocking her down before stomping her unconscious and stealing her grandmother’s jewelry from her bloodied fingers and clenched fists?

That’s pretty much how this most recent bullshit waste of my time, money and energy has come to represent in my mind.

And even more disturbingly, this sorry fuck actually has himself convinced that, despite the fact that he STOLE FROM ME while he was a guest in my home, he has been victimized. It’s truly pathetic how he comes to my blog and steals my posts then paraphrases them and acts all proud of himself for being the plagiarizing thief he is, in reality. He has proven to be one of the very worst guys I’ve ever tangled with romantically…he’s just such a miserable worm.

And now that I’m looking for it in him, it’s so blatant and obvious that I additionally feel like a complete dolt for not seeing it. I spent over and year with this idiot being totally and completely lied to by a narcissistic fuck.

I’m so over everyone in my life at present besides my friend who’s thankfully living nearby…he has been sanity for me lately, though his trial period with me has been extended, which is usually not a good sign.


I have to be able to take it or leave it.

Because that’s what I have to be able to do.

A Dreadfully Fake Fatmouth.

You know that point in a good story when the bad guy finally shows up? There’s always suspenseful music and poorly done close ups of anxious faces…the terror is tangible, even to the viewer. Well what if there is no music at all? What if the bad guy’s entrance is subtle and incognito? What if the villain blindsided the heroin with a haymaker out of nowhere, knocking her down before stomping her unconscious and stealing her grandmother’s jewelry from her bloodied fingers and clenched fists?

That’s pretty much how this most recent bullshit waste of my time, money and energy has come to represent in my mind.

And even more disturbingly, this sorry fuck actually has himself convinced that, despite the fact that he STOLE FROM ME while he was a guest in my home, he has been victimized. It’s truly pathetic how he comes to my blog and steals my posts then paraphrases them and acts all proud of himself for being the plagiarizing thief he is, in reality. He has proven to be one of the very worst guys I’ve ever tangled with romantically…he’s just such a miserable worm.

And now that I’m looking for it in him, it’s so blatant and obvious that I additionally feel like a complete dolt for not seeing it. I spent over and year with this idiot being totally and completely lied to by a narcissistic fuck.

I’m so over everyone in my life at present besides my friend who’s thankfully living nearby…he has been sanity for me lately, though his trial period with me has been extended, which is usually not a good sign.


I have to be able to take it or leave it.

Because that’s what I have to be able to do.


Wanna see my many painful realities?

my empty, metallic uncertainies,

the way I’ve cooled by fooled degrees,

how I can’t scrub away my memories,

You deserve not one of these,

wishes I’ve whispered silently,

Me, and all my blackened dreams,

my hopelessly unraveled heart strings,

my deeply embedded insecurities,

my faulty hardheaded instabilities,

the saltiness I spit into the breeze,

has all my shit quite ill at ease,

the truth will keep me on my knees,

foretelling handmade calamities,

these recollections that are killing me,

the days I’ve blazed away halfheartedly,

you’re finally dead and gone to me,

carried long beyond my reach,

I’m just waiting for the thing,

the next eclipsed sunrise will bring,

all my sleepless nights foreseen,

all my words with no meaning,

all my deep depressions and misery,

my outbursts and lack of identity,

what superficial, superpowered inhumanity,

constant sense of impermanence and impropriety,

a silence inside the core that screams,

a violence that wounds me perpetually.

Eating Dust.

Americana Injustica

I watch from the dust,

as another tour bus,

leaves trails of red lights,

a cruel form of “goodbye”,

full to its capacity,

with those left to humanity,

jam-packed inside,

while I’m left behind;

see me waving,

truly straining,

both bloody eyes open wide…

I step over fading hope,

toe to heel on the tightrope,

that unravels so fast,

with the weight of my mass,

disintegrating easily,

to remind me constantly,

there will be,

no turning back,

it doesn’t work like that;

see me stammer,

see me stumble down,

once again, against the sound,

of betrayal,

of the final nail,

neatly hammered,

once again, unbroken ground;

mouth full of road dust,

in the wake of,

for the sake of,

the retreating tour bus,

I gave up my place,

for this wasteland I love,

so much that I’ll never escape.







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Americana Injustica

I told you
didn’t I?
you know
I had to try…
to hold onto
my own
so indeed
and, earnestly
I let the
arrows fly…
loosed carelessly
to describe
my over-tired
and broken mind
there it was…
no doubt
all laid out
to scale
and personalized
to the very
best ability
of me –
yet, it’s trifling,
a novel compound
likeyour loyalty
weighing down
an anchor  
drowning me…
I tried
early on,
to say why
spelled out
in bold lettering…
to emphasize
with clarity
such shortcomings
like to mine…

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More Unsecret Dialogues of S and J – SURPRISES.

The creaking doors swished open and a silence permeated the waiting area as two figures seemed to eerily materialize from nowhere behind the frosted glass doors.
S’ eyes met with those of her partner in crime for the first time in days; this was the first time they’d met since the “incident” took place. As S’ newly deemed co-defendant, J knew she should not be there for the release of her friend from custody, but could not help herself. And, upon the swishing sound, J walked directly toward the figures of a cranky, uptight police officer and her best friend.

“Are you good?”

J whispered as she fumbled with the tangle of keys she nervously clung to. A jingling sound resounded in the vault-like building.

“I’m fucking lovely.”

The monotoned statement was followed by a tight shutting of S’ jaw. Then, S hastily added,

“I’m hungry.”

The officer irritatedly shuffled through a closely guarded stack of documents and handed S some paperwork before saying rather pompously:

“Here’s your court date and miscellaneous information regarding your bail bond, etcetera… don’t screw it up.”
S snatched the pages from the policeman with a sniff of disgust and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

And with that, the noisily chatting women exited the building into the dusky evening outside.

“Maybe we should have thought that through a lil’ better, huh?”

J shuffled through the paperwork as S sped the beat up old truck through the city towards the comfort of the outskirts.

“Give me a light.”

S muttered through the cigarette hanging between her lips. J sparked her lighter and S puffed and inhaled deeply, rolling down the crank window with her free hand.

“It was very well thought out.”

The shorter woman calmly lowered her voice as she inhaled and exhaled the cigarette smoke in her slow, calculated way.

“It’s just that someone went and ran his mouth about it.”

J whipped her head to the left in an attempt to glimpse a look at her friend’s face in the darkened cab. She saw immediately that S wasn’t in a joking mood, and, that she meant what she had just said with deadly seriousness.


The taller woman’s voice held a tone of disbelief in it’s query. She held her gaze steadily across the front seat at the driver’s frowning profile.

“Yes, someone who wasn’t arrested, but who also, knew enough to sing on us like a canary.”

S tossed her cigarette butt out the window as the truck eased onto the freeway. The cab was silent for long moments as they headed for the reservoir.

“Where are we going?”

J had true curiosity in her voice as she lit her own cigarette and toyed with the lighter, sparking it unnecessarily in the darkness.

“Don’t you want to know who that someone is?”

Now, it was S’ voice that carried tones of leery disbelief in her question. The last two words of her sentence, the: “someone” and the “is”, seemed to echo in the truck cab for a long time after she re-focused on the road after speaking.

J quietly bit her lip and thought about the query for several moments before turning her face sharply toward S in the dark truck cab and saying finally,

“I really don’t know S…”

The truck speedily swerved up the misty, foggy mountain road, whipping its hefty bed around hairpin turns and bouncing over deep cracks and dips that littered the length of it. They eventually turned off onto a road known as Cannibal Creek that run adjacent to one of the many creeks running down into the reservoir.

“Why the hell are we turning here?” J’s voice was flat as she asked.

“We’re here because we need to be here.” S’ voice was flatter.

As they wound up even higher into the cloudy sky toward the summit of Razor Back Mountain, it began to drizzle lightly; suddenly, water drops were audible all over the forested areas surrounding them outside the truck. It became very quiet and cold as they reached the rickety shanty at the top of the road.

J shivered.
“Who’s in there, S?”

There was no answer. The truck rolled on slowly, pitching and rolling over the bumpy drive until coming to a barreling halt in front of the rain-slick shanty. S threw the truck into PARK and hurried out of the driver’s seat to go inside.

J was screaming after her when the door slammed closed with a loud ‘thwack’.

“Dude, you’ve been in jail for almost a week…how’d you pull this one off from behind bars?!”

She hesitantly pulled the handle that popped the passenger door open, exposing her arms to the cold raindrops that were now coming in a steady stream. Leading to the makeshift doorway of the dilapidated shack were rapidly spinning eddies of growing swirls of muddy foam; each mud puddle was full of pine needles and various sized pine cones awash within its pool. A large owl sat solemnly on a beam that ran across the ruins of what once had been a sun porch connected to the entrance of the tiny place. The bird of prey stared at the women hard; it watched S and J with grey/yellow speckled, quite dilated eyes that followed their’ positions as they approached without a sound.

J was obviously in the first stages of her quite notorious “frustration meltdowns”.

As S’ tiny tinkerbell hand wrapped around the rusty knob, she turned to J and said, almost in a whisper:
“Shhhhhhhh…it’s a surprise…”

J’s eyes rolled upwards with exasperation and her tongue clicked loudly in disgust. She practically growled at S in a low tone now,

“I fucking hate surprises, S…”

The door swung wide.

Pencil Shavings.

From the highest
of heights,
and smitten flight,
everything is feeling right,
Then another round,
of profound hindsight,
a different view,
of your new taillights,
Good for an itty bitty,
pretty shitty pile,
the rusty revolution,
of a rickety turnstile,
a lusty evolution,
hardly worth my while,

wicked smile,
unsubtle grin,
Up and down again,
Push and pull me in,
Noone ever wins,
In this situation,
Light switch lottery,
slip-shift personality,
Which one of these,
faces will you be?
Wide awake and angry,
Sweet and sour and tangy,
Emotional and lazy,
Contextual and crazy,

I pick my cards,
and ride them hard,
in that regard,
the pride is hazy,
a heart carved of stone
droll, cautionary tone,
my heart travels on,
beyond the home I know,
of one face that you show,
to quench the craving,
replacing the stars,
that shine above you,
erasing the hearts,
and lines of “I love you”,

A pencil’s shavings,
greyscale shading,
contrast prevailing,
after-images fading,
slight ideas invading,
this void which binds,
such a vessel of mine,
aware of strict confines,
a bold and hand drawn line,
put there in the sand,
to force a play and
Sway, win the hand,
a hollowed, empty man,

An ancient summit shrine,
dedicated to,
the evening skies,
relecting colors of my eyes,
my state of mind,
with relished time,
At first inquiry,
things seem to be,
well and upswinging,
bright and cheery scenes,
then fire that’s fizzling,

Jokes and giggling,
pokes and tickling,
My mind’s,
alert vigilante,
disparate feelings,
high and fluttering,
soon I’m sputtering,
and the very next night,
someone’s mean and uptight
chasing moonlight,
nothing feels right,

Paranoid whispers,
deluded tongue twisters,
explosive transistor,
in my chest set to blow,
how didn’t you know?
Venomous or jealous,
Dissident and zealous,
Non confident and dim,
Which one will be Him.

Dick Move.


I realize it’s a straight up “Dick Move”, as my brother so eloquently puts it, to wake someone up and snap photos of them next to you immediately, but I couldn’t help myself. My dog TOTALLY wears his sleepiness on his face and it cracks me up. Thought I’d eternalize the moment in the datasphere.

Americana and Oso 2020


Americana Injustica

Sick of writing through misery

sick of crying until I fall asleep

I’m pretty damn tired of everything

nothing seems to offer me clarity


Spent like the cash from a weathered billfold

content to at last let my veins run ice cold

strung up and paraded for all to behold

banked on the river down which I’ve been sold


Talking unfailingly frustrates me

blocking my own thoughts relentlessly

walking into the warmth of a blanket party

balking at the shocking way that others look at me


Steady as the tempo of shimmying rainfall

I remain plain and mundane through it all

a statue of concrete built standing up tall

unable to bend at the knees or to crawl


Rain or shine this destiny is mine

to stand tall and keep my place in line

never underestimate the enemies of mine

a newly told joke with the…

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I’m Noticing.

I’m noticing the way that doors suddenly open when one gets closed on something you’ve let go from your Life.

People always said this to me when I had recently slammed a door shut in one context or another, but it never seemed to apply to my personal “hallways”before. This time, it’s actually proven true to my own experience.

I’ve been wearing ‘Man Blinders’ for over a year, as (I thought) I was in a relationship with a (previously unrecognized) lowly worm; and haven’t been open to meeting new men at all. I had stupidly uncultivated the interest in meeting anyone else because I was too busy believing a constant stream of pure, undiluted bullshit for way too long.
However, almost immediately after discovering the true nature of said weasel/worm, anything I ever allowed myself to feel for him literally evaporated from my heart and mind; making it exceptionally easy to close the door that seals him and his nonsense out of my Life permanently.
And, the other doors began to swing open almost at once. I’m not bragging by any means; and it’s not like I have shit-tons of men hammering at my door or anything. But there have been a few who, upon learning the fact that I’ve been set free from what more than one of them recognized as having always been a hoax, resurfaced to offer their varying types of comfort to me.(Not like I need any of it.)
One man in particular, who I’ve only recently met while walking my dog about 3 months ago, has been surprisingly into me since finding out my renewed status of “single”.

Before he finally spoke to me for the first time, I had walked passed his house every day for about 3 months and he only smiled and waved at me on the sidewalk from his garage, never saying a word to me at all. He assumed I was married and I naturally did the same about him.

One day, Oso and I were walking by and he came charging out of the garage down the driveway waving a bag of dog treats and asking my dog’s name. Now that in itself caught my attention because most if not all people are too intimidated by my big boy to walk up with a hand out without knowing him. He later told me that he figured the only way to “get in” with me was through my ever faithful protector, my dog. But even after he told me this, he never said a word about anything romantic between he and I until this week.

This guy rides a badass Harley Davidson Dina, likes my dog (but more importantly, Oso likes him), is a pothead, he’s highly self aware, good looking, not planning to stay in the area for much longer, no ex wives or children, and, he plays guitar very well.
(Something about a guy who plays guitar that gets me everytime).

I’m not quite dating him, we mostly ride around in the mountains on his bike, just hang out, get stoned, and we talk about everything and anything for hours. He even almost had to give me the Hymlick Maneuver once, when I swallowed a wedge of a tangerine whole and literally couldn’t breathe. That was only the second time we ever hung out, it was so embarrassing! Plus, he’s only known me since I began the undertaking of massive dental procedures; and he doesn’t bat an eye when I drop in with a swollen, numbed face and I’m drooling on myself without knowing. He just laughs approvingly and says,

“No worries, I kinda like it when you look like maybe you just had a stroke…”

It’s a good thing right now, to have someone to pass time with in the evenings. After being in a long-distance shit show, it’s very refreshing to get picked up in my own driveway by a man on a loud motorcycle who just happens to live nearby. It’s nice for a change to be able to send or recieve a text or a call and be able to follow up by actually hanging out with that person in real time, like, any time. He is very open and intense and full of a certain charisma. Also, it was his house I drove to and shook and screamed when I learned of my former boyfriend being a conniving thief. So he’s hip to my currently jaded state of mind in regard to trusting and closeness etc. He knows what I literally just walked out of and he doesn’t push anything. I’ve been feeling pretty happy the past week believe, it or not.

He says I can get a new backup harddrive and start over; I guess his outlook applies to more than the harddrive…I think he’s pretty amazing.