Thursday, July 05, 2007

Woulda, Coulda, and Shoulda
A Tale from the Bottom of the Bottle

*Overlook poor grammar as this has not yet been proofread. Preston, head in the game, bud.*

I am not really actively persuing anyone at the moment. I am interested in a few people right now. Well, I am legitimately interested in one guy for something real, henceforth known as Woulda. Another is a guy who is officially straight, dubbed Coulda. The last is a girl that I am pretty good friends with, of course named Shoulda.

Woulda is a really awesome guy. He is a guy that I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past two years. I say that because I knew him vaguely from a few years ago at which time I was also interested, but he was unavailable. He is down to earth for the moment. He shares similar interests with me. Though, I will admit, I believe that my very eclectic interests make it difficult for me to find people with whom I do not share several common interests. He actually thinks. He has that really cute pseudo nerdy wit that I love. After my last dating blurb, that would be a nice trait to see in someone I am dating. Physically, he is gorgeous. I let him know I think so too, which I am sure was a big mistake. It does not change the fact. I need to learn when to shut up, I know. I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality he has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all as of yet. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Woulda is the one I woulda had if the timing had been different for him.

Coulda is another awesome fella. His official story is that he is straight. He is a guy that I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past three years. I say that because he and I have worked in the same place for the entire three years I have been here (it is a big hospital so good luck narrowing it down). He is down to earth. He shares similar interests with me and is Woulda's polar opposite for the most part. This helps to prove my eclectic interests theory. He also actually thinks. He is very sarcastic and funny. Physically, he is handsome and works out quite a bit. I have not let him know I think so, as I am sure that could be a big mistake. I need my job. It does not change the fact, though. I need to learn how to imply, I know. I coulda gone out with him a few times now had I not chickened out of going alone. Again, need the job. I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality he has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all as of yet. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Coulda is the one I coulda had if the situation had been different, and I were not such a chicken shit.

Shoulda is an amazing straight female friend. She is a girlie I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past year or so of the two and a half I have known her. I say that because she and I worked in the same place in the past and are now pretty good friends (it is a big hospital so good luck narrowing her down). She, like the others, is down to earth. She shares similar interests with me and is Woulda and Coulda's lovechild basically. Eclectic interests theory. She is one of the most intelligent people I know. She has a dry, quick, schtick, sarcastic wit that keeps me laughing and plays perfectly off of my own. Physically, she's just a beautiful chicka, and she knows I think so. I tell her every single time I am in contact with her. I shoulda asked her out way back when we were still getting to know one another. Now, we have become too close as friends to risk losing it. Still, she is the girl/guy I say I would easily get married to if I found the "right girl/guy". She's wifey material. Like with Woulda and Coulda, I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality she has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all due to time constraints. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Shoulda is the one I shoulda dated had the situation been different, had timing been different, had my gay friends been different, had a ton of things been different.

So that's what has been on my mind lately. Three very different people who are all very much the same. Three different people that I would, could, or should be with for their own individual qualities. Three people I would, could, or should be able to be happy with were it not for certain forces that are outside of my control. It is irritating, but such is life I suppose. I'll eventually find that best friend/soulmate/girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/whatever that is out there. I suppose I will. I may not. But really, at this point, I guess it doesn't exactly matter. I mean, seriously, I've been fine thusfar with the status quo. It'd just be kind of nice I guess. I mean I have been single since Eeyore and I broke up which was just before I began writing in this thing. It is time to get back on that horse, well, donkey. Not that I am trying to get back with Eeyore. I just want to start dating again. I think I have forgotten how one goes on a date. Almost. Woulda and I had a pleasant one recently. I almost feel like I am back at square one. Back where I was in February of 2004 at Consuela's beginning. Actually, that predates Consuela. Back then, it was just "blog" (I really hate that word.) Actually, I think I did a Bette Midler Hocus Pocus yell of, "BoooooOOOOOOK!" No comments thanks. Alright moving on.

Recently I was talking to this lesbian couple I know who enjoy the sauce a bit, imagine that. We were exchanging old drinking stories, so I pulled out one of the if not the worst one from my past. It is disgusting if not at least mildly entertaining. As I am a humiliation whore apparently, here ya go. Though I am fairly certain that I am the only one who actually reads this anymore which kind of makes it even better. At any rate, here is what happened on

The Night of the Deadly Mudslides

In West Philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground is where I spent most my days. Wait that is someone else's story. Many moons ago I spent a lot of my time in a place known as "high school." On weekends, most of my days were spent with my Italian friend Cenzo. We would spend our evenings and weekends smoking the devil weed and drinking the nectar of our Russo brethren. It was also the time in my life that I began saying, I don't remember last night, so I know I had a good time. Eat your heart out Spicoli.

On one of these weekends of faux medicinal debauchery, Momma Cenzo took Cenzo and I to his cousin's house. His cousin will be...Steve...why not. We made it to Steve's house. Actually, he will be Stephen. No, just Ste. Okay so we went to Ste's house and began to have a few cocktails. By 'cocktails' I actually mean Mad Dog or something. I think that was the name. All I remember is it was in a big can with a dog on the front and tasted the same as I imagined the pictured dog's urine tasting. But I was young and it was alcohol.

Momma Cenzo didn't mind if I drank or smoked or got high or anything because, as she put it, "I'm not your mom. I can't tell you what to do." This doesn't actually make any sense to me now any more than it did then, but who's to argue.

So basically, I end up hammered off of the dog piss. We eventually leave Ste's house to go back to the Cenzo nest. The door was locked. I was drunk. They were tipsey. I was irritable. They were slow. I was impatient. They were fumbling. I was loud. They dropped the keys. I kicked in the front door. They were shocked. I was confused. They began to giggle. Good beginning for the evening.

So now it is around 10 pm roughly. We are waiting on Cenzo's lady friend to get off work and make it over. I begin on the gallon of Mudslide, my drink o'choice back in the proverbial day, using as much pacing as I do now. Actually, my pacing has gotten slightly better, but not by much. So Cenzette shows up around 1030 or 11. I am plastered. They are laughing at the drunken teenage house guest. I am dizzy. They are playing quarters. I am feeling suffocated. They are getting a little closer to drunk. I strip, run out the door, and head down the street in a staggered run. (I do not remember anything about this night so most of this is based on their joint account of the evenings events.)

It was around this time that Cenzo realized I had "gone streaking" and sent his mother and Cenzette after me. I, having been fueled by three quarters of a gallon of Mudslides on top of the festering dog urine, was able to somehow, magically outrun them while staring at the sky and repeating, The stars are so fucking beautiful, man.

When they caught up to me, about a mile up the road, I was lying down on my Pentecostal uncle's front lawn and staring at the stars, calling out their beauty, penis in the wind.

"Preston, get the hell up! Your uncle is gonna kill you then us!"

"The stars, man. They're BEAUTIFUL!"

Momma Cenzo and Cenzette grabbed me, tossed my boxer briefs at me, and started pulling me back toward their home, praying the whole way that no one had been awakened.

The next bit of the story is a little hazy. Most of the details match up in all three versions. The order of the events varies.

Between my uncle's home and the home of Momma Cenzo there lived a crazy old man with an arsenal. His name will be Old Man Smith. Old Man Smith was the man we were convinced was a retired, overzealous DEA agent who had snapped due to the pressures of the job, moved to the country, set up an unofficial sting operation across the street, and watched us constantly. Every day was our last. That is part of why we partied like it was 1999 in 1999. In retrospect, had we not been partying, he would not have been watching us if he were watching us which he wasn't watching us but we were paranoid...vicious cycle. Catch 22 maybe. Not sure. That term has always confused me. Back on track.

We are crossing Old Man Smith's front yard, I apparently wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet while looking at the fucking beautiful stars, when I stopped to get a better look at them. Momma Cenzo is quietly whispering/beckoning me out of the man's yard as we are all fucked up, he is crazy DEA guy, and I am still underage and nude. I told her that that was unacceptable and threw a handful of my pubic hair into her face and mouth. I did this a few more times as she staggered backwards clawing at her mouth and spitting. Old Man Smith walked outside to see what his dogs were barking at. I threw my hands into the air and ran away like ET followed closely by Momma Cenzo and Cenzette. I then threw more pubes in her face, put my clothes on outside, and came in to finish off the Mudslide. At some point after that, I began puking up all the alcohol and chocolate milk (Mudslide) under their television and passed out trying to swim in it. The next morning was a disgusting, Hills Have Eyes mess that I had the pleasure of cleaning.

The End

So yea. Not much I can say after sharing that gem, so I'll just quit.

Later Consuela.

Labels: , , , ,