Music speaks to the soul...

... in a language all it's own. As a matter of fact Music uses a different language for each of us. No song says the exact same thing to two different people. We listen to what we like; Something we can relate to or something we can move to. It's what gets us up in the morning and it is what sings us to sleep at night. Maybe it all starts with a mother's or father's lullaby. The comforting voice of someone we love whisking us into dreamland. It is a very spiritual thing in a lot of cases. We hear a song and close our eyes as we are transported back to our proms, first kisses, or the first time we saw that girl that we just had to have. Think about it and I am sure you could make an album of songs that, no matter how many times you have heard them before or since, always bring you back to one moment; one memory in time.

I'll start by listing a few songs that make me think of my father. Tony Bennett belting out "Rags to Riches", Jerry Vale's "Pretend You Don't See Her", and the piano coda from "Layla". When I hear these songs I can close my eyes and see his face. I can hear his voice as it was when I was five years old riding on his back to the gruff tone it took after his first stroke. I remember shadow boxing in the hallway. Very vividly, I remember his limped swagger (even with a limp he had a swagger to him) as he climbed out of his Lumina and approached me in the driveway as I worked on my truck. I was supposed to be in school and he was supposed to be at work. He drove me to school that day and escorted me into class. It is not that these were some of my father's favorite songs. He did like Clapton but that's beyond the point. The reason these songs remind me of him is that they are in the movie "Goodfellas". He, my sister, and I literally wore the tape out so much that we bought him another copy for Christmas. I say we because my sister bought one copy and I bought another. We did not know this until he opened the first one. My sister and I have since worn those copies out as well. Thank god for DVD.

Let us move on now to "Bullet the Blue Sky" by U2. I am well aware that the song existed before this moment but, as I mentioned before, that has no bearing on anything. I was sitting in my bedroom at the age of fifteen looking over some algebra and figuring that I would blow it off until morning. I turned my attention, instead, to a hockey game with the sound turned down. The Dallas Stars were playing the St. Louis Blues. I couldn't tell you the score or who won but I know it was on. I was feverishly penning a love letter to Heather Berringer as the song came on the radio. It was one of many such letters that I would write to one girl or another and never deliver over the years. It is a practice I shy away from these days although the admiring in secret habit is alive and well. It is more the spoken verses of the song that strike me with this memory... "So this man comes up to me, his face as red as a thorn bush; like all the colors of a royal flush and he's peeling off those dollar bills and counting as he slaps them down. 'One hundred. Two hundred..."

Then we have songs or particular music styles that bring us to a different realm of reality. Classical music to relax by as I lie with eyes shut imagining myself a tree. I stretch my arms and legs far out like branches and let negative energy flow through them and out of my body. It's a sense of flying through clouds. Then there is irish instrumentals that seem to trigger my souls memory. I've talked about this before in a previous blog so I digress. Nigel Kennedy playing his violin brings me to Christmas of 2001. Jessica and I had just become really serious as opposed to kinda serious and it was our first Christmas together. WIth all the people living in that apartment, it was a little like having a large family. Everyone was buzzing around decorating and shopping in the weeks leading up to the twenty-fifth. I had a great job that I loved, great people around me, and it was cold outside. Cold is important to me around Christmas time. I'd go shopping with Trish, dinner with Jessica, drinks with Brad and Amanda. Speaking of Brad and Amanda, they were engaged that Christmas season. On Christmas night the apartment hosted a dinner for all of the families. Twenty some-odd people around a table eating Christmas dinner. That is what it's all about. It was all and all a great Christmas. Maybe we were all just sentimental because of 9/11 and we felt closer to each other. I don't know. It was the best Christmas ever, though, and I would bet a lot of those people would agree with me. Jess??

Now we get to songs tat just plain flat out describe us. I am talking those songs that, during a happy time or not so happy time, you turn up and say, "Fuck yeah!". While having warm fuzzy feelings for someone I seem to turn up "Crash" by the Dave Matthews Band. In fits of anger "Judith" by A Perfect Circle does the trick. In those many times that I pine for someone like a little school boy with a crush and never ever tell them how I feel? (yeah.. it happens quite a bit. I am, as it has been so delicately put in numerous occasions, a pussy. Sue me) "With or Without You" by U2 rings in my ears. It doesn't hurt that I am a self acclaimed professional in car/shower singer and this happens to be one of the songs I sing well. Of course I would never know because I don't sing when someone is with me either in the car or the shower. I only have my own judgment on this. If you have ever known someone who was just hot as hell and, for whatever reason, every time you were around her, you wanted to rip her clothes off and make passionate love to her right then and there but instead just sit silently and laugh at her jokes while hoping she can't see what's going on in your head because you wouldn't dare let her know that you are uncontrollably attracted to them physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, "Add it Up" from the Violent Femmes is your ticket. How about that one song that sums you up. The one that fits you to a tee. You know, the song that if you took one of those quizes on the web would always pop up as YOUR song. For me it is "Creep" by Radiohead although I like the Jeff Buckley version better. For me it is about having such high standards in who you have feelings for that you can never measure up to them. In essence, no girl I like would ever have anything to do with a guy like me. It's a mix of egocentric arrogance and low self esteem all in one. You see, I know what I like and what I want in a woman and I refuse to settle for less than that. However, I don't think I am good enough for any woman who measures up to my standards. It's hell to think this way but it is what it is and I doubt it can be changed. Most times it is misleading. I often hold her up in a light and on a pedestal so high that no one could reach her. Let alone me. Whatever... it's hard to explain. I am sure of myself and I think I am great. It's what everyone else thinks that I am not so sure about.

And... there is nothing wrong with a little bit of Stones. Mick wrote these lyrics and they are speaking to me today. They are telling me that nothing is as bad as it seems and no matter how fucked up we are, there is someone who is just like us.

Monkey Man

Im a fleabit peanut monkey
All my friends are junkies
Thats not really true

Im a cold italian pizza
I could use a lemon squeezer
What you do?

But Ive been bit and Ive been tossed around
By every she-rat in this town
Have you, babe?

Well, I am just a monkey man
Im glad you are a monkey woman too

I was bitten by a boar
I was gouged and I was gored
But I pulled on through

Yes, Im a sack of broken eggs
I always have an unmade bed
Dont you?

Well, I hope were not too messianic
Or a trifle too satanic
We love to play the blues

Well I am just a monkey man
Im glad you are a monkey, monkey woman too, babe

You're going to reap just what you sow.

I wake up screaming and in a cold sweat some nights. I keep having those dreams, the ones where I am backed against a wall by an army of masked gunmen. They shoot but I can’t feel the bullets hitting me. I know they must be but I do not feel the sting. The pain in my dream is more mental and emotional. I even have my own gun but I can’t seem to fire it. It just sits in my hand no matter how hard I want to spray the assailants with a spread of gunfire; I can’t will my hand to squeeze the trigger. I look at my hand occasionally as if to make sure it is still there because it fails to respond to my wishes, my brain's commands. I can’t do anything to get out of this corner, to get away from this wall. I can’t fight them off and suddenly a clock starts ticking somewhere. The pounding ticks and tocks are much louder than the gunfire. I have a sense that I am running out of time and the only way to get away is for, somehow, my hand to squeeze the trigger of the sub machine gun in my hand. Why can’t I shoot? I have all the tools at my disposal to get out of this spot but I can’t shoot. My mind is blocking me. I am thinking about it too much perhaps. All at once the gunshots stop and the ticking ceases. A man approaches slowly as I stand motionless in the corner. He removes his mask just as he strolls into a shadow. As he nears, light slowly crosses his face. It is my father smiling at me. He says, “Hey, boy,” before the smile fades into an angry glare as he continues, “Time’s up.” Then he raises a double barrel sawed-off shotgun to my face. Click… I wake up screaming.

Then I listen to soothing music…

Just a perfect day
Drink sangria in the park
And then later, when it gets dark
We go home

Just a perfect day
Feed animals in the zoo
And then later, a movie too
And then home

Just a perfect day
Problems all left alone
Weekenders on our own
It’s such fun

Just a perfect day
You make me forget myself
I thought I was someone else
Someone good

It’s such a perfect day
I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
You just keep me hanging on

You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow

Number 5

If you haven't read the post before this please do so. This is the second part of a two part post.



5. Jessica Brown (2001-2005)

I trudged as a waiter in what had to be the slowest low-volume restaurant in the history of eateries when I first met Jessica. I was always pining over a nameless girl for quite sometime when Jessica came in to fill out an application. I looked right through her as I often do to one girl when I am pining over another. It’s not meant as an insult and should never be taken personally. I just seem to have tunnel vision when it comes to such things. This girl I was head over heals for will remain nameless as I don’t see her as worthy or important to the issue at hand. I am here to discuss the greatest love of my life to date. I am here to talk about Jessica Brown.

I left Steak and Ale (previously mentioned as the slowest low-volume restaurant in the history of eateries) when I was twenty. As a matter of fact I left Dallas and even Texas altogether. I had decided, rather abruptly to move to New York City. I packed my bag and boarded a plane just hours after informing my family of my departure. The other girl knew earlier as she was the one who helped with the little planning that took place. I was going with no job, little money, and no idea where I was to sleep once I arrived. I was thrown a going away party with generous amounts Cuervo Gold consumed out of super big gulp cups stolen from a nearby 7-11. Jessica was at this party. The other girl was not. I lost touch with the other girl while in New York. While I knew her number and talked to her, I no longer wanted her. I did find myself missing Jessica though. This was something I never could understand.

Eventually I found myself back in Dallas and back at the restaurant I hated so much. It was even slower than before but it was no matter to me. I lived literally fifty feet away. My first night back, Jessica came to see me and we sat at one of those twenty-four hour diner type places and had breakfast. Well, I had breakfast. She had some sort of cheese blintz with blueberry compote on top. We argued that this was a dessert and not breakfast. At any rate we started seeing each other on a regular basis out side of work.

Jessica, at this point, wore her hair in a rather odd way. It was a little more than shoulder length but was shaved in the back and along the sides. It was also dyed jet black. She had a pierced nose to match her tongue, nipples, ears, and other parts I am not going to mention here. She had recently had a labret piercing done which I thought was very hot. Normally I would run from this girl. Run fast and far away. However, on her, this just all made her very sexy to me. Once she came over and her hair was in pigtails and her black eyeliner was painted on thick. I can’t help it. I thought she was hot.

It wasn’t too long before I moved in to her place. Well, her place, her roommate’s place, and just about any other stray friend’s place. These girls were like an old cat lady taking in all of the feral cats only they collected feral friends, like me. There was Trish and Maia who officially lived there. I misspell Maia’s name I am afraid but it is her own damned fault for not spelling it like a normal person. Among the strays were Tim, Adam, Julie, and Alasdaer. Another name I am going to always misspell. They were, by large, an unruly group. Once, while surfing the Internet, Jessica and I looked over to see Julie’s bare ass in the air while she gave some random guy head on our couch. We quickly scampered back to our room.

Jessica was from Dallas just like I was but her parents, who are divorced, had relocated to Las Vegas and Missouri respectively. Jessica had a very strong bond with her father and, after a trip to see him, decided she as moving out there to be near him. Being in love with the girl I decided I was going to. What the hell, right? What was I doing anyway? What reason did I have to stay in Dallas? Besides it was Vegas, baby, Vegas. She did insist that we take a trip to make sure I wanted to do this. I was sure and early in 2002 we loaded up and took off in the pouring rain at five in the morning. Our dear friends, Brad and Amanda, took the trip with us. As per the wish of Jessica and Amanda we purchased walkie-talkies to communicate between cars. It was a fun trip through the great American southwest.

I want to stop the story here for a moment to express something to my readers. I loved Jessica. I mean I really loved her. I picked up my life and moved it to Vegas to be with her. The important thing to remember about this is the fact that I wanted to go to Vegas. Sure, it was to be with her, but I wanted to go. I would have gone to China with her if she asked and I would have loved every second of it. All of this just to be with her. Love, unfortunately, does not always last. Sometimes, especially at an early stage of adulthood, we grow in two separate directions and find ourselves looking back at someone whom we truly and deeply love but can no longer be with. This is what happened to Jessica and I. We grew up and apart. Sure there were problems but nothing that couldn’t be worked out.

I grew selfish during our relationship. Actually selfish is an understatement. I absolutely refused to do anything that I did not want to do. I was going to have things my way and I did not care who I hurt on the way. That was the monster I grew to be. Jessica? She grew tired of being hurt. It was not my intent to hurt her. I just wanted to do what I wanted to do. We stayed with each other because that was the way it had been. Towards the end she had her friends and I had mine. We rarely spent any time with the each other. She would go out after work and be gone until six in the morning. I would do the same except I would stay out later to spite her. Not only would I stay out later, but my eye would wander to girls I was spending time with. One night it went too far.

I went out after work and purposely failed to call home. I knew I was going to upset Jessica and I did not care. I went out with some people from work and drank like a fish. I pretended as if Jessica did not exist in my life. I did not cheat though. I never did that. I wanted to but could not, no matter how drunk I got, take that turn. I ended that night in my Jeep asleep. I woke up around eight in the morning and drove home. Jessica was waiting on the couch for me. After a few minutes of yelling back and forth, I told her it was over. I told her all about this other girl. I broke her heart and never shed a tear about it. This was the cold, heartless person I had become. She deserved more than that and I wanted out. A little while later I packed the Jeep and the dog and I made our way back to Texas thus ending my relationship with number five, the greatest love of my life.

Having a High Fidelity Moment

So I am reading High Fidelity by Nick Hornby and I figured, “What a great idea.” So, with no flashy introductions or any long preface to bore you to tears, here it is: The Gilligan’s Island, All Time Top Five Break-ups of My Life. These are in chronological order.


1. Becky (1986-1987)

I know what you are thinking. How can this have any impact at all? You were six, right? Well it really doesn’t have that much impact. We were in the first grade together in Mrs. McKinney’s class. For whatever reason we were drawn to each other. We would run and play together during recess and sit by each other at lunch. Her mom and my grandmother were good friends so we even played together after school. They joked that we were boyfriend and girlfriend so, naturally, we said we were too. Of course six year olds have no idea about any of that. We just wanted to play tag or hide and seek.

Just before the Christmas holiday, as in most classrooms, Mrs. McKinney had us draw names out of a hat and we played secret Santa. I drew her name and, being the six-year-old boy I was, I bought the girl a toy gun. Mrs. McKinney took it away from her shortly after but, during the time she had it, she loved it. I was not the name she drew but she bought me some sort of G. I. Joe something. We spent the rest of the school day sharing crayons coloring Christmas trees and whatnot.

One day during the summer break my grandmother took me to Becky’s house and something did not seem right. We played as normal and had fun but something just seemed off. At the end of the day we were informed that Becky’s mother had a better job waiting for her somewhere and they were going to have to move away. I was crushed. Even going into the second grade, I expected to see her there. It did not happen this way, but I always imagine one of those movie scenes where the kid is in the back window of a car waving as her friend who is staying behind runs behind the car crying.


2. Amanda (1995-1996)

I really can’t tell you how I met Amanda. I mean, I know where and when. I just am not sure of the how. We had a mutual friend that went to my high school. Amanda went to some Christian school that I had never heard of. We talked on the phone a lot and seemed to laugh and get along great so we decided to meet each other. We did so in a local mall. How cliché, right? I remember gong into Bob’s Sports Cards before seeking her out in the food court. I bought a Mike Modano rookie card to add to my collection of hockey cards. I had, at one time, in my possession a limited edition, full set, still wrapped in plastic, Quebec released only 1991 box of NHL hockey cards. I paid ten bucks for it at a flea market in Balch Springs, Texas. Amanda thought I was cool for having the Modano rookie.
Before long I was inviting her to family cookouts and she was inviting me to her church functions. She was, in the true sense of the word anyway, my first girlfriend. It was a puppy love but don’t try to tell us that back then. To us, we were in love completely. We were going to get married after high school and start a family. Of course we were both going to be independently wealthy and live in exotic places too. Amanda kept her hair short, which still drives me crazy to this day. She was beautiful. Okay, I’ll be honest. She had big boobs. Big boobs that my fifteen-year-old hands could not stay away from and she was more than happy to let them do as they pleased. I should also mention that they were the first boobs my hands had touched. Is fifteen to old for that? I feel as if I should have accomplished this feat at a younger age. She was also my first kiss. I mean real kiss with tongue and everything. She was many of my firsts save the one first I wanted her to be that she would not give in to.

I tried relentlessly though. We’d kiss and I would reach for boob. We’d neck and I would slide a hand between her legs. We’d grind each other and I would go to unfasten her pants. That was the cut off point every time and I was always hoping that this time she would let me. Instead she would unfasten my pants, which I was more than willing to let her, and she would quell my frustration. Don’t get me wrong. This was great and as I grow older in life I realize that this was a perfect situation. I did not have to do anything. It was purely for my own enjoyment and all I had to do was lay back and let her do what she did. Once she was doing what she did and my father pulled up outside to pick me up. He honked, she stopped, and looked at me for some sort of approval. I told her to keep going so he honked some more. I was yelled at on the way home but it was worth it. Well worth it.

Amanda lived with her mother and her mother liked me. Amanda’s father did not like me at all. Do any fathers like the boyfriend before the age of forty? At any rate, Amanda stayed with her father for a few months and it must have been then that her father talked her out of seeing me. She called on the phone to let me know. I did not see, hear, or talk to her for a few years after that. She reconnected with our mutual friend and he brought her around. I have to admit that my heart skips a beat when I see her even to this day. I found out later that, some time after high school, she slept with my friend Chad. Then I found out that, just a year or so ago, she slept with my friend Justin. This pisses me off. When I first met her she wouldn’t even kiss me and after a little less than a year with her she was going down on me. I feel as if I did all the work just to see the new guy get the promotion. My obvious wish is to sleep with her so that I can join my two friends. She has a very serious boyfriend at the moment so this task would be a daunting would to achieve. I think I’ll just leave it alone.


3. Elizabeth (Summer 1996)

What Elizabeth and I had could not really be construed as a relationship, although we called it that. Elizabeth lived in Kansas and I in Texas. We talked on the phone and went through many phone cards before deciding it to be a good idea if I told my mother that I was staying at a friend’s house and drive to Oklahoma City to meet with her instead. This sounded great to me. Let’s see. I could share a hotel room with a hot nineteen-year-old blonde and all I had to do was sneak out of the state? Oh hell yeah I am doing it. I’d love to blame it on youth and hormones but I would do it still today.

We talked about what was going to happen but when we got there I was scared to even kiss her. We went to the zoo of all things and talked as we walked around the exhibits. It wasn’t until back in the hotel room that I ever so politely, and quite childishly, asked for a kiss. She laughed at me for a bit but eventually fulfilled my request. One thing led to another and, since I wasn’t using it at the time, I gave her my virginity. It’s funny. Teenage boys carry their virginity like a plague just waiting to be cured. Teenage girls treat it like a fine diamond that must be cherished and can’t be given up at any price.

I did care about the girl. I still do and I have made it a purpose to keep in touch with her. She has a dry with about her, which I love, and I remember having fun with her. I haven’t seen her in a long while but we talk through e-mails and IM. The Labor Day weekend following the summer of 1996 we met up again in Oklahoma City and spent three days together. I am not sure what it was we thought we had or we even thought about it at all. I know I thought she was great and I hope she felt the same about me.

Eventually we came to realize that we did, in fact, live too far away from each other. We still talked every once in a while but she did her thing and I did mine. I took a trip to Kansas for New Years 1997/98 and spent some time with her. We had fun together even when plans feel through and we ended up on her couch watching South Park as opposed to a party. To be honest, I preferred it. Back in my hotel we sat in the hot tub. Afterwards, she asked if I minded her taking a shower. Then she plopped herself on my bed wearing matching lingerie and proceeded to rub lotion all over herself. I looked and then turned back to the TV. This was the beginning of my stupidity and lack of knowing when a woman is throwing herself at me. This is a problem I have to this day. If you are not naked with your tongue in my mouth I do not have a clue.


4. Kathy (1998-??? It went on long after it was through)

I was playing hockey at an outdoor roller rink when I spotted a small kitten sitting in the goal. This was during a very active pick-up game so I picked the kitten up and placed her on the bench. I told her it was a much safer spot to watch from. After the game she was still there. I took her home with the intent to use the Internet to find someone to take care of her. This is how Kathy and I met. She responded to my ad saying how sweet it was but she could not take the cat. She did, however, want me to join her at Starbucks for coffee. It was raining hard that day which did not mesh well with the absence of my passenger side window on the Trans-Am. That was broken by a girl who would never make any list, even if it were a top three hundred list. I twice thought of turning around and going back home but I made it anyway. She was sitting at a table waiting for me. When she stood up to greet me my heart jumped in my throat. She was positively, without a doubt, drop-dead gorgeous. Kathy is Persian with smooth olive skin, jet-black hair, and eyes that were such a dark brown they too looked black. She was and is exceptionally beautiful.

We did nothing but talk at that Starbucks table for hours. Her eyes twinkled when she looked at me and I am sure my admiration was not hidden. At the end of that night I walked her to her car and, after we said our good-byes, she stood there for a tick looking at me. I suspected she wanted a kiss but, being the stupid guy I am, I was not sure she wanted a kiss so I hugged her. She smiled at me and got in her car. A week later we made a date to have dinner and we ended up at the same Starbucks table until they kicked us out. I walked her to her car again and, just like last time, she stood there for a tick looking at me and, again, all I did was hug her. She rolled her eyes and smiled. Then she stood on her tiptoes (she is only four foot eleven) put her hands on my face and leaned in. She left the rest up to me, which, admittedly, was not much. We shared a long and deep kiss that seemed to last for years. This is when I learned that my kiss has an awful power that can be deadly if not used properly. She fell for me hard that night. I fell for her hard that night too. I left after she did and I went home to change for my hockey game that night. I played better than I ever have before or since.

Kathy came over one night and I cooked dinner for us. We watched some TV as we wrestled on the couch and tickled one another. She grabbed the deck of cards from the coffee table and asked if I wanted to play. I said sure but I suggested we play strip poker. It was months later that I learned she folded a flush just so I would win. It was her way of taking her top off without it seeming like she chose to do it. I mean, after all if you lose a hand of strip poker, something has to come off. Those are the rules, right?

I guess I always thought she was better than what I should be with. Was she really out of my league? I was so jealous of every guy she knew. Her classmates, her coworkers, and even guy passing her on the highway made me crazy. I just knew that at some point she was going to wake up and realize that I was beneath her. I don’t think she ever did. I loved her and this time it was real love. I wanted to be with her until we were crinkly old people talking about better days and whatnot. She had to feel the same, right? She said she did. She gave me her virginity and girls like Kathy don’t do that unless they really love you. My jealousy drove her nuts and I can’t say that I blame her. Eventually it grew to be too much and she ended it.

I sunk into a spiral of depression that I felt would go on forever. I drank too much and ate too little. I was thrown out of hockey games for starting fights or hitting too hard in the corners. There was a period that I did not even get out of my bed. My father died just before I met Kathy so maybe that had something to do with it as well. I was a gaunt, skinny, drunk, pissed off guy for close to a year. I still saw Kathy at least once a week though. She would come over and bring food that I refused to eat. She would lie in bed with me until morning. Yeah, she loved me. I just fucked it up.

To Be Continued
Number 5 will get her own post. I am sure it will be long and will take a while to write so stay tuned.