Barely Standing

I have mentioned before that I have never been arrested and charged with a crime. That was true then as much as it is now. I respect law enforcement and its place in society as much as I believe Captain Stein respects the library and its place. That being said, I have not always been as honest as I could have been with the members of the local law enforcement. Case in point, the murder of a clown and magician in my library.

More than one of the Bannville Police have fines and overdue books. Just saying.

The particular officer whom I have a great amount of displeasure toward is Detective Parker. He still remembers the time I peed on his leg; I still remember the time he arrested me with little evidence. Ours is a love/hate relationship.

So when Barry and I stumbled out of the Honky Tonk several hours after I talked to Cassidy, Detective Parker was the last person I wanted to see.

Sexy Wave

“Three kinds of men fail to understand women: young men, old men and the ones in between.”

I am not gifted at picking up women. I am not ashamed to say that. All my long term relationships have began with groups of people that paired off until one of the kind ladies clubbed me over the head. Waking up a few mornings ago like I did... Chalk that up to a fluke.

Sorry if I am bursting any bubbles.

I could also say my relationship with Natalie was a fluke as well, except for our shared history. We met, had a rapport, and it developed. Nothing mysterious and heartbreaking about it, which may have been the issue. Maybe love needs a kick in the pants, a passion to drive the motor onward. Maybe I’m over thinking the issue. It has happened before.

My main problem with finding a partner is signals. Laugh at a joke I made? Ain’t I funny. Touch my arm in such a way? Why, yes, I use it for lifting things. Brush your hair back? I am sure we have something to tie back that mess with somewhere around here. Anything short of a lady taking my hand, placing it on her chest and saying, “Take me, big fella, for I am woman and you are man and we should get squishy,” will more than likely go sailing right over my head.

So what did happen the other night with the mysterious Cassidy? Well, that’s what I asked her when she walked in the Honky Tonk. Sort of.

Crushes It

“When I was 15, I had a crush on this guy who was really good at magic, and so I learned to juggle, thinking it would impress him. I spent hours and hours practicing, planning to show him. And then I never even saw him again. But at least I learned how to juggle.” - Danica McKellar

Everyone has high school crushes, no matter what age you are. I once had the honor of hearing Kurt Vonnegut speak and during the two hour lecture on fiction and writing he gave a wistful account of the tattooed, pierced young lady that worked at this local post office. The crush was ignored by his wife who, to paraphrase, knew the old man had no chance in hell with the younger female. Such is life and is the crush.

The crush can become significant when you find much later that the object of your unexpressed affection whom you had long since filed away in the back of your mind had also noticed you as well. What kept you apart? Shyness? Ineptitude? Circumstance comparable to a Shakespearian comedy? Who knows and, honestly, who cares?

See, in a way the crush is supposed to be just that. A crush. The thing that spurs you on, gives you a little hope, maybe causes a little greatness in your day. And when you realize that it's not to be... Crush. Because if it were more, then it would be more. If it were love, well, they already have a word for that, don’t they?

Something New

I bought my first beer from a four year old. I was sixteen and she was learning her simple numbers behind the cash register at Sam's Beer and Bait attached to the Honky Tonk Bar & Grill. Sam Blank, owner and operator of both establishments, had a mind to teach his children math in this way, selling everything from nightcrawlers to whiskey to anyone who could carry them to the counter.

I walked into the bar a little after dark. The usual crowd of working class stiffs sat around the dim space with only a few people standing out in the sea of coveralls and loose ties. Two members of the Bilbo clan were in the far corner by the stage tuning a guitar. Sam, the one-armed piano player, played a rendition of "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" by Hank Williams.

I spotted Dave sitting at the bar to my right talking with a few others. I walked over and only too late saw how drunk Dave was.

Something Old

I am not very good at meeting new people. Oh, I can say "hello" and smile and put on a good impression and help you find your copy of How to Grow Organic Mushrooms On a Shit Budget, but I am not good at connecting with people. Maybe it's the lack of people skills, maybe it's a low level sociopathy where I just do not care about a stranger's issues, maybe I just put off a vibe that says "I don't want to meet you," I dunno.

This inability shines most during social events. At parties I feel most comfortable walking around and listening to conversations or hanging out with people I already know. Again, I can be funny and maybe even a little charming, but only when I try or have enough drinks in me to be comfortable.

So when Dave asked to have his wedding here at the library, you could say I was a little bit apprehensive.