"THE CATCH"

Before I tell you about my holiday weekend, let me issue a challenge.

You call yourself a blogger? Yeah, right. I can outblog the whole lot of you. I can outblog you with my eyes closed. I can blog more in one post than some people do in a whole week.

You say you're busy, you say you're life is too complicated right now to allow you to blog. Notice how people throw in the towel when their life becomes "too busy"-- THAT'S THE TIME WHEN YOU SHOULD BE BLOGGING THE MOST, YOU DUNCE!

Pussies.

I say, if you can't take the heat then stay out of the kitchen. Give up your blog right now-- delete that motherfucker and go on and live your pathetic life, the one that you deem too good to detail online. The sad fact is, you don't deserve a blog. It's wasted on the likes of you.

Shit, or get off of the pot. I dare you. But what's worse: none of you will rise to my challenge. You just don't have it in you. So stop pretending you are a writer and trash your blog right now. You make the rest of us prolific motherfuckers look bad.

Hell, I accidentally deleted two years' worth of blogs, and still kept it up. Half a million words? I piss on that. You can take your National Novel Writing Month bullshit and shove it up your ass, for all I care. What makes you think you have a whole novel in you, if you don't even have a paragraph for the day?

Spare yourself the indignity, as soon as possible.

I'm not here to encourage you-- I'm here to get under your skin.

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The night before Thanksgiving, I went out on the town with Down Low and KD Long. We ate sushi at Shiki in Studio City, then made our way over to The Chimney Sweep, a bar I used to frequent when I was a full-time Sherman Loc. We were getting tossed when Low came back to our table, holding the change from the tenner I lent him.

He gave me a One and two Twos. Yes, a pair of two dollar bills. How rare is that? Very. And if you read my post about Dick and how he lifted some two dollar bills out of Eve's glove compartment, then you will know what this meant to me last Wednesday-- this was proof that Dick had been at the Sweep, and also a hint of where I might be able to find this prick, should he test me in the future.

I told Low and Long about the whole situation. They knew Eve back in high school, but Long had never known that she and I once dated. They both told me that Dick, if he is really stalking Eve like I know he is, would most likely kill me if he had the chance. These two guys used to be friends with Dick until he tried to set them up with bad drug deals.

"I hear you," I said, downing my 7 & 7, "but it looks to me like I have the advantage right now."

I was more correct than I thought: the next day, right before my older brother picked me up in front of my apartment, Low called me from his own brother's cel phone and informed me that he saw Dick standing by the Coldwater Canyon on-ramp of the 101, panhandling. Low said he was 100% positive that it was Dick, and he was standing with some barely-legal blonde girl by his side.

That told me all I needed to know. Yes, he may be desperate and consumed with mania, but he won't last long if he has to beg for money, and he certainly isn't going to get anything over on me in the state he's in.

I eventually told Eve about these details, and I think it reassured her of a few things. She felt a little safer.

Thanksgiving dinner was satisfying and drama-free: my stepfather is currently reading The Catcher In The Rye for the first time ever; my mother cooked up the best fixins under the sun; my older brother was hungover from attending my uncle's 50th birthday party, one that I was supposed to attend but lost track of time; my younger brothers were hanging out with their friends, and my sister was making the rounds with her baby's daddy; she brought my niece and nephew, and I had some quality time with the tykes, throwing the boy in the air, giving the girl bear hugs and kisses...

My older brother told me to watch out for this Dick character, but he also told me that I was wise to not go out and start shit myself. He said he had my back if I needed any help, but I told him that it probably won't be necessary.

Then my sister and her dude drove me to my dad's place, where I watched movies and ate more food before passing out from too much holiday turkey. Later on, he gave me a ride home. When I got back to my place, I called some friends to see if anyone was stirring, but no one was around. I finally got a hold of Sharky and had a long talk with him, telling him that, as far as I was concerned, the issue over Eve was buried for good. Now that I am back in her life, all is forgiven. He seemed startled to hear me say it, but at the same time I think he was relieved.

The next morning, Eve called me up and asked me if we were still on for making a trip out to Glamis, where Purple Paulie and the whole crew were camping. After a few phone calls and some arrangements, we grabbed a 2004 Ford Explorer from the hook-up at Avis and packed our gear. Eve had to borrow a tent from her mother, which gave me an opportunity to say 'hello' to her family for the first time in almost a decade. They remembered me alright, and they were happy to see me with Eve. They always liked me.

We were on the road by the afternoon, excited to be on a road trip, our very first together. Hanging out with Eve as of late has provided us with many such firsts, and we were amazed at how smoothly things were going. Even after we hit a snag of traffic on the 10 East, we were still in high spirits.

By nightfall, we were in the town of Brawley, miles away from the Mexican border, minutes away from the Glamis sand dunes. We found the camp and set up our tent. We drank some beers and smoked some weed inside of the deluxe trailer Paulie had purchased last year... sure, it wasn't anything like roughing it, but then again you can't argue with comfort.

We watched the entire area turn into something from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, a nightmare vision of motorized America, reeking of fuel and bursting the night-sky open with fireworks. Quads, dirt bikes, ATVs, trucks, dune buggies, Confederate flags, Skull & Bones flags, checkered flags, souvenir tees, endorsement-brand hats, big and shiny desert toys... these are the people who voted for Bush, and this is their playground.

Amid the rednecks, we were videotaping the carnage and the pandemonium. There was a full moon in the sky, illuminating the chaos. The night was filled with the sounds of engines revving, motors squealing, gears buzzing and shifting.

Eve and I tried to sleep but we kept being awakened by the hum of power generators, or the train that moaned past us, or the early morning riders who were too tweaked-out to give it a rest. Instead, we started making out in the comfort of our tent. It got very passionate, but since I hadn't planned on getting this hot and heavy (I didn't bring any condoms with me) we eventually had to cool down.

We woke up around 9am and ate breakfast before going out to the drag races. The Explorer got stuck in some soft sand, with Paulie behind the wheel trying to see just how much power the truck possessed. Friendly riders stopped by and helped us dig the truck out, and we were once again on our merry way.

We saw at least five accidents on Oldsmobile Hill, which was more than I expected to see. One guy was even airlifted out of the dunes via helicopter. The biggest hill was swarming with mechanized insects, flitting about here and there, making piercing buzzing sounds. Then we went back to camp, and Eve and I took a nap before getting our gear ready for the trip home.

We had only planned a day trip, but I could tell that Eve had a taste of what Glamis was all about and wanted more. I promised her that, if we ever came out here again, we'd rent some bikes and do some more off-roading. She said she would like that.

As the night drew nearer, Paulie drove us out to Boardmanville, to the most redneck bar I'd ever had the strange pleasure of stepping foot inside. Covering the entire outside of the bar were hundreds, if not thousands, of graffittied dollar bills. You write your name on the bill and staple it to any open part of the outside that you can find. Next to where Paulie and Nona had posted their bill two years ago, I decided to add my own. But instead of a one, I used one of the two dollar bills I had received at the Chimney Sweep. I wrote mine and Eve's names on it with a black Sharpie. When she saw what I was doing, Eve said:

"God, you should burn the other one!"

I looked at her and smiled. She is done with Dick. She may still feel something for him-- who wouldn't, after almost a decade? Overall, though, I think she knows that she is done with him, and her words were proof of that.

We paid some visits to the Vendor Row, where we were mooned by a drunk guy in the passenger seat of a Hummer. Ironically, Eve was using my camera to catch a shot of the full moon up in the sky, and was shocked when she turned to see this guy's ass hanging out of the window. A moon for a moon-- how funny is that?

After a last-minute tour of Vendor Row, with all the souvenirs and products for sale, we loaded up the truck and made our getaway. Paulie and his friends were going to stay until Monday, and we thanked them for their hospitality right before we left. We gave them the rest of our water bottles and beer supply.

Eve and I made it home around midnight, after cleaning up the truck and unloading Eve's gear at her apartment. We took the rental back and headed for my place.

"Are you coming in?" I asked her.

"Well, I really should get home," she said, "but then I have to inflate my air mattress, and it's going to be so cold at my place... okay, I'll come inside."

We opened a bottle of chardonnay without the aid of a wine key-- we ended up pushing the cork inside the bottle, White-Trash style. After being out in those dunes, even an African would feel like White Trash after a while.

We got drunk and watched more X-Files DVDs. I was polishing off the wine, prompting Eve to remark, "Wow-- I really am making you a lush, aren't I?"

I swigged another glass and looked at her with hunger. I wanted her, and it was a shame that I was getting liquored up to make my move, but if I didn't then my natural shyness would intervene.

When we finally made love, it was groundbreaking, for lack of a better word. We'd been down this road before, traveled this territory many times, but it had been some time since the last coupling (my estimation: June of 1995) and the both of us had learned quite a few things since then. She almost broke me in half with her fury, and I pounded into her like I was holding a grudge. Her asthma kept her from continuing any further, and we took a break and resumed later on.

Afterwards, I had my cigarette, and she put her clothes back on. She laughed at my insistence on staying naked for the rest of the night.

In the morning, she left to go take care of her apartment. She called me up an hour later to inform me that the rug we used as a doormat back in Glamis had caught fire because I had left it on her heater grate when we dropped off the gear. She had come home just in time to put the fire out, but then she had to clean the grate and air the place out. I apologized for my bad.

I slept all day, waking up around 5pm to clean up my own apartment. I got high and listened to the music of George Harrison (who died three years ago this week) on the radio. Then, Eve called me and announced she was going to cook potatoes with a large salad. We went shopping, grabbed the necessary items, and came home to prepare.

I did my laundry as she baked the potatoes. I felt a strange pang of domesticity as I folded my clothes, with Eve opening cans of kidney beans in the kitchen. Then there were the echoes of certain things she said to me over the course of our weekend...

"I'm going to change your eating habits, if it's the last thing I do."

"We should travel more. How about going up north after Christmas?"

"I'm making us a salad, because we've been eating so badly this past week."

"I hope you like the veggies I bought. I alos brought you your favorite-- Honey Nut Cheerios... and some granola bars, even though you don't like them."

I had to reply to that last one. "I like granola bars. I ate one in Glamis."

"Yeah, but you made faces..." She laughed.

She wants to change me.

Normally, that kind of talk and those kinds of gestures scare me, they make me feel like my individuality is being threatened. But this time, there was security in her words, a warmth to her sentiments that I found endearing. Rather than try to resist her gifts to me, I embraced them. I let her shower me with affection. I wasn't afraid anymore. It felt nice to know that she thinks enough of me to want to tailor and groom me. She really wanted me to like what she made for dinner, especially since last week she had a bum night and ruined the potatoes au graten. We ended up ordering pizza that time, but her latest dinner was tasty beyond belief. She knows how to win over a man's heart-- through the belly, of course!

I praised her cooking prowess without sounding like I was overdoing it. The proof was in how fast I cleaned my plate. We laid down together and watched that Adam Sandler movie 50 First Dates (her choice) while my cat Otis curled up between us and purred to his heart's content. No making out this time-- we were both still reeling from our passionate encounter the night before. I was a bit sore, to tell the truth-- she really worked me pretty good, but I reciprocated in kind.

Instead, we held each other, and when the movie was over and she was ready to go home, I kissed her on the lips, no tongue. She smiled as if caught off guard, a blushing schoolgirl who couldn't believe her luck. I was grinning like an idiot, with a stomach full of love and a heart that swelled beyond my ribcage.

Yes, I know what it looks like, what it sounds like, what it appears to be... and all I can do is just not expect too much. I don't want to get carried away. I don't want to put undue pressure on her. I don't want this vibe to end.

I will see her on Tuesday, perhaps Wednesday, but I will call her tomorrow regardless of when I see her again. I will call her and tell her that I am thinking of her without actually saying those words. I will imply it through the tenor of my voice, in the frequency of my timbre... I don't need to say it, because it is self-evident.

She loves me and I love her.

Who knows what the rest of this year will bring? Things are not completely settled, because there is the issue of Dick, and there is the issue of what we are going to call ourselves. Is she my girlfriend again? Is she a 'friend with benefits'? Does she know that she loves me? Am I in love with her or do I just love her?

I'm not going to worry about those things. I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing, which is to try and make her happy. At this point, that's all I'm really good at, and I can't complain at all.

I'm still waiting for "the Catch", but something tells me that there is no "catch"... there is nothing hidden, there is no secret agenda. We are just happy being around each other, and it just seems to get better as time goes on.

Nope, can't complain at all these days...