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"An Alien Stole My Whisky Blues"


Dads' wife fixed me up with one of her friends last night. We went "out ".

She was quite easy on the eyes; lean, casually sensual, a firm handshake. She was a little bit quarrelsome and possessing of a take-charge attitude no doubt left over from her former career as a nurse in the Philippines.

That she wasn't into me was purely my fault.

My life skills are suitable only for some bizarre-world alternate reality.

If I'd had any weed I might've been able to salvage the night. THC activates my mutant ability to twist time and space around me (my doctor says it cuts me off from my emotions, but she's a quack).

Maybe it was just a bad setup for a date. I have no business going to a Wednesday night Catholic Mass. Really. What was I thinking? How do I get talked into these things? I'm stupid.

As the evening progressed, the realization that I had nothing to offer this woman whatsoever grew heavier; a stone chained around my neck, dragging me down.

Issues of anger, self-esteem... general hygiene... my prejudice against myself; these things grew wings and buzzed, tormenting me like invisible flying gremlins (although it could have been actual flies).

I was literally swatting at them while trying to maintain a semblance of...
I don't know what. Normalcy?

Here's what I learned from this sober and wholesome encounter: I have an understanding heart, but no game. There's someone for everyone, but not for me, not in this lifetime.