October 8th, 2005

Fear Factor

Monday,at 2 p.m. Rome Girl and I are going to start looking for our first official place together (i.e. not a place that I rented on my own that she crashes in or a place that she rented that I crash in.)

I am fucking terrified.

Not because I doubt Rome Girl. She is awesome.

Simply because the last time I did this with a woman it lead to my nervous breakdown which was bad.

I made friends with bats that did not exist.

I did not eat for days and weeks at a time.

Spiders tried to stop me from writing.

My heart got broken.

Part of me wants to take paxil and xanax and lexapro again. Other parts of me just want to stay drunk for weeks and hope that she'll just deal with it on her own.

Part of me wants to be strong enough not to need that shit. Part of me wants to just curl in a ball.

All of me is nervous.

I want to be strong.

I want xanax.

Bart

So Very, Very Meta

Today, I'm writing three press releases for a company that outsources writing work for other companies.

They have, of course, hired me as a writer on an outsourced basis.

And I feel like sort of a corporate stooge after writing this paragraph:

“Technology has made onsite creative professionals as obsolete as the buggy whip,” said xxx , founder of xxx. “There is quite simply no reason to keep writers and artists on staff full time when you can get better services at a lower cost by outsourcing.”

Pot. Kettle. Black.

So, every night at Fitzpatricks Irish Pub, this beautiful girl comes in and sits down at the corner. She sips drinks all night - somtimes beer, sometimes vodka concoctions. She's French, but she's so silent it's hard to tell what this raven haired (EDIT: ALEX SAYS SHE IS BLONDE. SHE LOOKS RED HAIRED TO ME) vixen represents.

Her boyfriend tends bar and she passes the evening giving him long stares and waiting for him to have a minute to walk over and say something nice to her.

I want to know her story:

Is she there because she wants to keep an eye out on her very attractive boyfriend and make sure he doesn't take home another lassie?

Is she an alcoholic and just needs the free drinks he pours her?

Does she simply have no other place to go?

I'd like to ask her, but I feel it would be bad form - and besides that I live in a glass house myself.

I love going to Fitzpatricks and drinking alone - sometimes with a trashy novel, sometimes simply sipping vodka and watching ass walk by.

But, I don't think I'd do so at a bar that a girlfriend worked at.

Pot. Kettle. Black.

Bart