Speaking of regulars, Joe made his presence known the other day. He wants to know if I'm going to blog this. You're damn straight I am, buddy. It's too good a story not to blog. Besides, you love seeing your name in print.
You remember Joel, right? My dream-turned-nightmare of a regular from last fall? The one who discovered and now reads this blog despite repeated promises to stop?
Joe told me months ago that he wouldn't be coming to see me anymore, and then he e-mailed me last week and said he was coming. You can't beleive anything this guy says, seriously. I asked him not to come, but you can tell he gives a fuck what I think and say.
I was annoyed in no small measure when I walked past the front bar and saw Joe sitting there, so I gave him a titty-twister and called him an asshole. But I was wearing my Saturday-night wig and he had no idea who I was. Or said he didn't. This is the guy who claims I haunt his dreams, but apparently always with the same hairstyle. We were all the way back in the Champagne Room before he figured out who I was, identifying me by my disfiguring abdominal scar. Tah-duh. Dramatic denouement. Then he had the nerve to ask me what I'm doing here.
I work here, pal.
Joe, I have to suspect that you've been finding my blog boring lately and thought you would lend me some dramatic tension. Don't think I'm not grateful. Seeing you again wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I figured it would be. I guess my mechanisms of disassociation of stronger now.
The Satanist stopped in the other night, too. Hadn't seen him in months. I had heard from his room-mate, my co-worker Slayde, that he had a new girlfriend, and he confirmed it. I've actually met her. He brought her to the club last fall when he was my regular and she was just a "friend." He says he's crazy about her and the sex is amazing, but he's sad, cause she won't make babies with him and wants to keep their relationship open. This is so much the opposite of all the other "my lady doesn't understand me" stories I hear on a nightly basis that I had to giggle. He thought maybe he could handle the "open relationship" deal better if he had somebody to fuck on the side as well, hint-hint. I thought he should he buy some dances and give me a large amount of money. We parted on good terms.
While we're on the topic of long-time regulars, Mr. B has jumped ship once again. We went through the regular cycle -- we had a good time for a while, and then he asked me out, and then I said no, and then he said that was fine, and then he didn't answer my e-mails for a few weeks, and then he called it all off. I was prepared for it this time, though. This is just the way it goes.
It was nice to see the old favorites again. Except for Joel. OK, Joel, you too. After a while it's like you're catching up with old friends, except that you don't have any clothes on and your friends resent you for not fucking them.
I've gotten less sensitive over the last few months, I guess. This is the first club where I've ever had what you'd call "regulars"...if you don't count Terry the World's Oldest Paperboy from my days at the Crazy Lady. It's a weird game, and at first I got my feelings hurt a lot. I didn't understand why people who were so keen on telling me how much they "cared" about me would go out of their way to pressure and disrespect me. Then I realized that men are cads, and life was easier.
Kidding. Kind of.