Category Archives: Stories

Flamingo Stuttering

You came in the first day I worked alone at Raygun. I watched you play pinball out of boredom more than any interest in what you were doing. I remember noticing your tree pose and wondering if you do yoga. My crush was instantaneous and obvious. Also easily dismissed because of the dichotomy between us. Tacit admiration and friendly banter is all I ever expected. That day, you got a ball stuck in Taxi and charmed me into sliding the glass back so you could dislodge it. Assuring me it was a harmless fix, I was chastised for my actions later.

I encountered you sparingly after that. Discovering my own love of pinball in Belltown, I still don’t think I’ve ever seen you at Shorty’s. For me, the game quickly escalated from pastime to hobby to passion. Playing pins is something I do to relieve stress. A form of escapism, if I’m listening to music it literally transports me to another plane. When I’m playing no one can fuck me with me because I don’t care about the rest of the world. It’s my safe space and when I’m there I’m there to play. A long term gamer, pinball is a revelation and no one is taking it away from me.

Which brings me to the part where you completely fuck me over. I’ve seen you enough to consider you a friend at this point. We played in a couple tournaments and you know people that know me. My crush on you still lurking, I know you are a flirtatious person and don’t let you disarm me in casual encounters. Then you show up next to me at Jupiter that night, looking at me like that. I agreed to play with you because I thought you knew better than to mess with me. Was it the dress? Maybe the gin? Perhaps you were just in a bad mood. Either way you decided it was okay to try and get lucky.

Joke’s on you really. You could have used your moves on anyone else and probably gotten action. You decided to waste the impulse on me and start all this useless drama. To your credit, the aggressive making out is more than most people get so easily. Luckily, I’m a fucking lady and don’t go all in on the first date like a goddamn amateur. You are someone I’ve gotten to know for months. That night, you approached me. You kissed me. I deliberately kept a respectful distance before that. I want it noted.

Our moment of passion in the car is only a taste of the beast hiding inside of me. I’m deliberately hard to get to know. Like a tin man in the forest, incapable of interacting with anyone until they allow me to. Everyone approaches me at their own pace. I protect the people I appreciate by not letting them get too close. The friends I keep are curated from equal parts attraction and intelligence. Without heed, your bum rush sorta backfired when I didn’t fall head over heels. Now you’ve landed in the center of the arena with very little recourse. Especially because I met your girlfriend last night.

Gratuity

Surrounded by people that just lost their friend, I’m still waiting. In their mourning, the only important question to me is whether it was intentional. Death we can’t control happens every day and I can deal with that. Suicide feels less random and is much harder for me to process. Classic question, is there anything you could have done? For most people the answer is No. That’s the only solace. In this particular case, I don’t want to believe he died by choice. However, getting along with me is one of the warning signs for depression. I’m gracious to say I knew him for the short time I did.

Just Being Myself

I know better than to engage with the regulars. Especially on a Sunday night when I’m just-off-work sober and cumulatively they’re eleventy sheets to the wind. Bar regulars subsist on a social hierarchy extrapolated from amount of time, money and drama spent there. Usually, only the employees appreciate exactly how the math works out. Earning a job in the Streamline kitchen is one of my more proud moments. It’s the kind of job you only get if you are accepted as part of a family. Getting a paycheck moves me into VIP status so subtle it almost looks like work. Fortunately, I come equipped with elbow grease. Continue reading Just Being Myself

Women’s March

“Maybe we should take a break after this,” he sighs on the third ball of Medieval Madness. It’s about eleven on Friday night. The crowd has thinned slightly and this first date is bordering on bad. Thanks to an excess of 1st dates, I’ve developed intuition for match potential that outclasses any existing algorithm. Especially when it comes to the internet. Communication is difficult even under ideal circumstances and my superpower is filtering bullshit. Meeting amidst the romantic morass of OK Cupid, Allen began with a brick-through-the-window statement, “I want to meet you.” Continue reading Women’s March

Mr. Obvious

“Wow! You’re hot!,” he says, obviously slap-on-your-ass plastered.

“I know,” purring Cheshirely.

Continue reading Mr. Obvious

Saturnalia

The best part of my life is moments like these. Continue reading Saturnalia

Southern Music

North Mississippi All Stars is playing the Croc tomorrow night and I feel conflicted. A group that literally played events for my high school peers while I actively avoided them but I still kinda want to go. Much like the rest of Southern music in the 90s, it wasn’t the quality of artist but their fans that detracted from my experience. If I go see a show in Seattle in 2017 what sort of peers will I have? There’s so much good music I left behind in Memphis. I’m haunted with a need for soul that might make me pay $20 for nostalgia purposes alone. Perfect time to be Memphis as Fuck. Continue reading Southern Music

Perhaps.

The story is complete. I didn’t find the villain until the very end and surprise, it’s not actually me. Shedding the last of my childhood trappings, I finally shaved my head completely. Fulfilling a 21-year old desire, it brought me right back to the center of the wheel. Less of a fool, I’m sure of the magician inside me. The next few symbolic roles may or may not play into the story but I’m going all the way up to the Tower. Everything after that is just sycophantic fluff. Continue reading Perhaps.

What A Difference

Driving toward the airport at 3am, I’m mildly annoyed. Not that I’m driving, but that I spent my birthday alone. Dave was asleep because of this 3am flight. Dan was throwing a fit about some drunk tease I whispered to him the night before. Matt was available but only to have me come to his place – not what I’m into. If anyone wants to get into my birthday suit-pants they have to do the requisite legwork. Consequently, I stumbled home alone at midnight and watched Project Runway quietly while Dave slept in the other room. Born to lose, I’m used to disappointment during supposedly special occasions. I would have had more fun at work. Continue reading What A Difference