I met the bitch
on a dating site
never thinking or believing
our meeting
would ever turn into
anything worthwhile
maybe friends with benefits
who doesn’t like a piece of ass
when it’s cold and rainy
every single day in December
the beginnings of our
banter was electric enough
to peak my interest and
perhaps give me an erection
she appeared to be genuine and
used the type of words
one would associate
with a kind soul or kindred
spirit which was her first front
to lure me in
saying she felt like she
had known me for years which
was a smart con move
on her part
considering I had already made clear
my desire for deep and
meaningful connections generally speaking
because I’ve always been
one to keep smaller social circles
high walls with few keys
she was drawn and attracted to
my writing aspirations
intrigued by my dedication
my drive to pick up and move halfway
across the nation
to Portland from Indiana
despite having only
seventy-five dollars in my pocket and
sleeping on a futon cushion
in my brother’s walk-in closet
in a house full of non-bathing hipsters
a sink often full of dirty
dishes and maggots
which reminds me we also had
some tree hugging hippies
who used patchouli oil to cover
any foul scent instead of cleaning
the condemnable habitat
but I did what you do
when you need new faces
a fresh city
with a clean start
unfamiliarity specifically
everyone at email
phone or social networking
distance and no
distraction in my new
personal space where I could
concentrate on the novel
so I plopped down
in the moldy closet in
the house full of fruit flies
got on food stamps
shared my food to pay my rent
stayed drunk and wrote
poetry and short stories
like the one of me pissing myself
after a much too-long bong rip
during a night of heavy drinking
the spins followed by vomit and piss
then the new job came along
only a month of job searching and
there it was a third party company
supporting Apple products and
that was about the time I met
the deceivingly talented cunt and
the moment I laid eyes on her
in that dark dingy bar
only a couple of weeks after
she made contact on that god forsaken
dating site and going on and
on and on about how
talented she thought I was
she was amazed with how my writing
could keep the attention of
an Adderall addicted
mental health patient
who lived in the suburbs with her
rich mommy and daddy while
trying to repair the long term damages
caused by her methamphetamine
addiction and not to mention
her involvement with lab operations
eventually ditched by her husband
because of long periods of her
being unemployed and
the inability to keep her legs closed
stay off the dope
which is why she ended up
with only limited visitations
with her daughter
she was back in the burbs
age twenty-eight and living off her parents
mending fences and
trying to earn back the lost trust
win the approval of her father
hate her mother less
both of which was an ongoing quest
beginning her years of adolescence
but who discloses such truth
on a first date
the baggage comes into focus
when we start
shitting with the bathroom door open
but there in JOQS bar
in North East Portland
as we sat there
our first time together
my pitcher of beer on the table
along with her
nine-dollar fru fru drink
despite her claim to love
straight up whiskey
early as then I could see
through her bright forest eyes
ear to ear smile and her
inability to shut the fuck up
a personality she described
on her dating profile as bubbly
but my description a person
who is uncomfortable with silence
which is probably why
she enjoys the worst of the worst
reality TV programming
hour upon hour upon hour of senseless
drama and chitter-chatter
all her pop culture crack
yes I knew upon our first meeting
that I was dealing
with an aspiring whore
a hustler on the rise to success
obviously at the expense of anyone
who gets in her way and
she’ll take you out if or when
necessary
but there are times
when it’s simply more convenient
to play along
sing along with the bouncing ball
let the bitch take you on
the rollercoaster ride built for fools
but then jump off
drop them before they get the chance
to make a sucker out of you
but the problem
is knowing when to jump and
as the great Bukowski once said,
“there’s nothing worse than too late.”
she was the kind of pretty
you have to ease into
I got reeled in by her charisma
enthusiasm overload
she was curvy and tall with too much
makeup and perfume
gorgeous black locks but thinning
in the back
a symptom of some type of
glandular thyroid disorder or something
which also made one eye bigger
than the other and her emotions were erratic
we’re talking Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde style
she had a mouth that never stopped moving
yet she would ask me
“Why don’t you ever say anything, Randy?” and
my infamous response always
“I’m just waiting for my moment
to be clever.”
however those moments
were few and maybe
that was my white lie
to cover the fact that she
could never shut the fuck up
long enough for anyone
in our circle to speak a word and
it’s almost impossible
to have discussions with those who
instead of listening
are constantly waiting for their opportunity
to talk and therefore
my words over time became
background noise
like an old school box fan or 747
a dripping faucet
an easy dismissal of her
perceived irrelevance
I became someone to ignore and
I was always thinking
fuck that cunt I don’t have to
put up with her bullshit
but I took it and continued
to love unconditionally
but the more I caved the more
I noticed the spin she put on me
on my intentions and
what she called my unnecessary drama
the strongest case of avoidance
I had ever seen from anyone
eventually
being the introvert that I am
I pulled back completely
every passing day
another day full of misunderstandings
confusion
her lies and misleading information
raging arguments
her accusations of me being crazy
despite her being the one
on meds that without she couldn’t achieve
the simplest success of making a sandwich
taking a shower
yet I was the crazy one
time heals blind eyes and although
I saw her intentions then
I see more clearly now
how I got wrapped up and
bought into an ideal of companionship
a faulty product that she was
immensely talented at selling
but more importantly
her intent to make some cash
on my writing
it was never truly about me or us
she spoke of love but
it was all about the hustle
her cosign was only ever on
my writing and on what she
might gain from it
she saw dollar signs and
apparently did believe
in the work I was doing
enough to devise
her unjust plan
she played the romance card and
despite my resistance at first
my questions and concerns of mixing
business with pleasure
I eventually gave in to her incredible persistence
believed the love-words
spoken by a tramp
invested and trusted
only to later recall the dialogue from
years ago
“Hey, Randy.” she said. “You should do
a PR write-up on that dude
who creates the handmade vests.
What’s his name again; is it Nolan?”
“Yea…” I said. “His shit’s
pretty rad.”
“You could feature his work.” she said.
“Put it in that zine you’re doing. Make him
pay you three hundred bucks or
something like that and
I could lay out the photos.”
“Eh..” I said. “I’d probably do
a trade of services
you know an artist-to-artist
exchange. Dude is barely
getting by on his art these days.”
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” she said.
“A vest won’t get us an apartment!
Jesus, you’re killing me. YOU NEED
TO GET PAID.”
“I know.” I said. “I know. But not like that.”
“Randy…” she said.
“You should let me sell your shit.
If we left that up to you
we’d be broke off our ass and wearing
really awesome vests.
You have the worst mentality
lack of ambition or
motivation for selling your art.
What the fuck do you need
with a vest, anyway?”
“I was half joking, dear.”
“Randy, please let me be
that guy for you like that guy was
for Bukowski.”
she was no doubt talking about
John Martin
Black Sparrow Press
arrogant to put herself
among that group
although I did trust her
ability to move a product
she had proven
to be untrustworthy as a person
friend or girlfriend and
I refuse to do business
with anyone like her
besides
my words are more than a
fucking product
a little rich bitch from the burbs
reading psycho babble and
self help books
could never understand that
the last night we slept in the same bed together
also the night she passed out drunk
I remember her mumbling before dozing off
“Randy, this is it
I’m not kidding
you’ve got to write that fucking book
we need the money
your time is running out.”
two weeks later I
was out on the street
that’s the condensed
version of how I
got involved with a crazy bitch
on an internet dating site
a year and a half of life
that I can never get back and
days I would like to forget
but can’t
love games are simply
unforgettable
Copyright © 2013 – Bobby Travis – All Rights Reserved.
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