Last week I threw a book at a guy's head. It was really sudden the way I pulled it off my lap and lunged it at him, it fluttering into his face and ricocheting another fifteen feet past. Fifty Places To See Before You Die, or something like that. I felt really proud of myself at the moment, for having such good aim and reflexes. He had no idea it was because he dropped the book into my lap too hard, and I had no idea he hadn't done it on purpose. Sometimes I don't realize my own strength. I worry I could try to slap you, and then realize I just punched you flat on the floor.
Quoc came back to our apartment again on Wednesday. He called me a KKK member and accused me of starting the war in Iraq. He needed to stay with Huan again. This time Huan made sure Quoc told his whole story in front of Alex and me, and then Huan would feel like he wasn't just hearing things and that he was right that Quoc has grandiose delusions. Quoc immediately told us how he was originally the first choice to replace Kofi Annan as Secretary General of the United Nations. He communicates with Bush and other politicians through the TV, he said, and following this was one of those moments where it transitioned back to seeming like he was probably joking. Then he talked about how he never felt racism until he went to Austin to go to pharmaceutical school. All the white people would go to the parties, and the non-whites would stay in the non-white building together because the whites wouldn't include them. And he thought then-governor Bush was gay at first. He talked about how he went to Camp Pendleton last year to meet with the president (see December 18, 2007 entry), and how all the marines were blond-haired, blue-eyed and beating him up for being some trespassing weirdo. Quoc told us he was back to stay with us so that he could stop the Iraq War. I told him upfront that I don't think he was even considered by the UN, and I may have been kind of forceful in my talking. Later, at night while I had been alone cutting my hair, Quoc left the couch and came banging on Huan's door, yelling "I have to sleep in there with you." While in there, I could hear him referring to me as a KKK member and asking why Huan would ever want to live with me. Eventually I came in, and Quoc told me I should try letting a black man live in the apartment. And that's when he said I caused the Iraq War and that I'm what's wrong with America. The next day he left, and Huan hasn't heard from him since. One police officer friend of mine suggested Quoc could try to kill me.
Today I couldn't remember if it was spelt "nucular" or "nuclear" and felt like a proud American.
Recently being dumped begs questions like: Do I always take too long to order a meal? Do I have my head up my ass? Am I too feminine? Am I nothing like my blog in person? My father suggested said fellow might wish I wanted to fight or argue more, but I suggested my sometimes feisty attitude would be enough for most. This was after I listed the following times when I received disapproving vibes from said fellow, so that we could delineate why he decided to be through with me: when I received a dismal reaction to ABBA coming from my car stereo, when I seemed really indecisive because I was searching desperately for music that wouldn't be disappointingly faggy, when I was wretchedly stomach sick and vomiting and shitting all over myself and barely had the strength to wipe and had to lie on the floor to catch my breath and felt like my abdomen was exploding with disease and pain, during which he told me not to complain so much, when I could barely eat the next day, and when I took too long to order a meal. His reaction to all of these was often barely noticeable, often not communicated in complaint form or in that same moment. When the reality of our future was made known, it was 2 AM and we had been in bed being sexual, and at that point we were still tipsy and wet with saliva, and after the statement he acted like he was falling asleep. I got out of bed and said I wasn't tired and would be back in a bit, then went to my car where I sobbed, ate a pile of pulled pork that had originally been in my sandwich at lunch, and listened to my bad synthy early-80s music. Ten minutes later I returned and he was fully dressed and packed. Annie's car pulled into the spot he had been parked in, dropped off Alex with me, and we got back to LA at 7 AM. I still miss the said fellow and his saliva. Katie just suggested I tour policemen of other Newarks. There are eleven more in America. And what's so wrong with ABBA? He's like a Village People reality TV show.
Otherwise, it was an enjoyable trip to San Luis Obispo with friends. Always visible from town, the hills' contours are like that of a well-toned body, except for the large craggy tumors, more resemblant of the mountains down here in "the southland." The town doesn't seem to allow big business in, but has big unfriendly store chains of its own, so was it even necessary? We spied enough jocks and bimbos to reproduce the population of the whole town in babies. On our last evening before the trip was curtailed, Annie insisted on giving us a tour of SLO's many bars, restaurants and shops. We also strolled through an alley plastered in used chewing gum (see photos below).
No comments:
Post a Comment