Frustration Anger Hatred

      Okay, it’s Saturday night and I’m sitting home alone like some loser.  I’m a young woman; if I’m not having sex right now, I have no one to blame but myself.  Fine.  I accept this.  It’s just me and my birds, watching last night’s episode of Real Time with Bill Maher.  James Carville is still kinda Hawt, and he used to be one of the best hired killers in Washington before he became just another partisan hack.  He’s lazy and sold out, but in the 1990s, he was absolutely lethal, and you never completely lose that sort of talent.  While he does not qualify for Imaginary Boyfriend status, Carville could still beat me with a coat hanger whenever he wanted to.  Call me, Mr. Carville.  I’ll provide the coat hanger.  All you have to do is show up.

      Just me and Parrot! Yup!

      Fine, out with it, out with it: I am pissed.  Pissed I’m lonely right now, pissed that I still want to lose weight, pissed that my leg looks like it was beaten by a rank amateur (not too far from the truth), and I am EXTREMELY PISSED about the B.S. experience I endured today at my secret job.

     How can I discuss this experience on my blog without risking fucking myself over….?

     I cannot.  Oh well!

    Man rolls into the Superstudio high as a kite (this is not unusual, or necessarily alarming).  On a bender and out of his mind.  He wants to see Miss Margo.  Okay, he’s not threatening, he knows what he wants, he’s not trying to violate any of my boundaries.  Miss Margo is not here to judge you about your drug use, so long as you mind your manners.  You are apparently an established wackadoodle.  So, okay.  Let’s rock.

     I tell management: I’m going in.  They KNOW this man is nuts.  They gave him vodka to calm him down.  Think about that.  “Here, have three vodka-cranberries to mellow out!”

    I was left in that room for thirty goddamned minutes OVERTIME (unpaid) before I could get out of there.  He didn’t try to hurt me, he did not violate me.  If he had, I would have run for it or tasered him or called the K9.  I knew the time was running over, but I couldn’t prove it, because there are no clocks there, and I cannot wear a watch.  I was waiting, waiting waiting–knock knock, please!

    If this was a normal job, I would be suing, or at minimum filing a formal complaint with HR.

     It was dead–no other business–and management was SNOOZING on me for no reason, and I had to handle this batshit high individual who was bouncing off the walls.  Forget the fact that I wasn’t remunerated for my time–I should not have been neglected or unattended by the management.  I have NEVER had a person this bad at the Superstudio.  Never.  Give me Jackass John any day–ANY DAY!  John is nuts but sweet as cake.  Give me Jame Gumb.  I mean it.


      They manage my bookings.  If our relationship becomes tense or hostile, I won’t make a dime.

       Never again, never again.

       That’s the sad thing about learning boundaries in this life: unfortunately, you rarely recognize and enforce your own until after they have been violated.  Like Depp’s character said in that film The Libertine: “Every lesson worth learning in this life in invariably learned at your own expense.” (That’s the quote as I remember it; it may be inaccurate.)

     10:40 PM   P.S.  On a happier note, I went to verify that quote from The Libertine.  Unfortunately, the film is not free online at YouTube.  Oh, the injustice (I am being sarcastic).  Anyway, if you haven’t seen this film, you ought to see it.  This is not a costume-romance period piece.  Nothing corny or breezy here.  It is serious, serious as a heart attack, and the writing and acting simply cannot be improved upon.  The people making this film were trying to make a  point.  Several points.  This is a serious actors’ film; the type of project an actor would commit themselves to just for the character and dialogue they could play.

Okay this is a misleading POS from Youtube; it is only a trailer, please only watch the only 1:06 minutes.  Sorry.  I couldn’t find anything better.  The Libertine wasn’t a blockbuster, you know.

One of the sexiest movie scenes EVER.  In the scene, Depp’s character is re-seducing his (intelligent and rightly disgusted and fed-up) wife in a carriage.  This movie is fascinating for many reasons.  Depp is a cynical alcoholic, but he is not insensitive, and he acknowledges the people who have emotionally contributed to his life (like his wife.  Note, though, his cold hatred towards his mother–important).  He is not a sociopath.  Could be a terrible person, though, as active addicts typically are.

Power.  Power, here.  She was worth a ton of cash, he took her, he was imprisoned for doing so (it goes without saying that women had to be from super-important families before accosting them merited legal action in those days), and she insisted that he be released to marry her.  POWER.  Electric.  On both sides.  Why else would she put up with this philandering junkie asshole?  And what would be he without her money–not that he was poor to begin with.  He’s got a noble title and creative talent, but practically, BFD, right?  It’s output which is crucial, not potential.  She had to put up with his awful husbandry because culture demanded it, but she could have checked out of the relationship emotionally.  Found a lover to be close with (maybe she did).  Someone to give her children, if she wanted them.

    But she is there, there, there with him, till the very last.  Her “Dear Abductor.”  She cared about him, and he hit the jackpot with her in every meaning, and he knew it, even though he neglected her terribly.  There is a scene in the film in which Depp’s character is dying of syphilis and alcoholism and he’s pointlessly infuriated the King (his boss) again, and his long-suffering wife shouts at him: “I am ever your last resort!” 

     I understand.  Sweetling, I know you are a fictive character in a film, but I have to wonder: what sort of person was your father? 


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