Tall Ed was so very pathetic Saturday night. If you have to call and beg for an invitation to a party, as Tall Ed did, it’s just sad. As soon as he found out at the Trinkets and Baubles show at the Red Cup that I was headed to Baker St. for a party with the lovely Juliet and the Elastic Cafe crowd (by overhearing a conversation between me and The Gary) he was on the phone to Juliet asking for an invitation. Oh, I know what it’s like to feel pity for someone who protests so loudly and so long that they are cool (never a cool move). And, certainly there are women who are still willing to kiss Kermit, hoping for a prince, only to find Tall Ed is, well, Tall Ed. It’s sad, it really is. I know how hard it is to imagine that a man of his age would still be comparing penis size with all and sundry, just as if he were still 12 years old, but that’s Tall Ed. He even proposed a “contest” between us out loud and in front of people at VZDs the other night. Oh. My. God. I was shocked and amazed by such crass and juvenile behavior, but I really think he just doesn’t “get it” — and I mean both that he doesn’t understand how idiotic that sounded and that he doesn’t seem to “get it” from the women he tries to womanize. How else to explain such behavior?

Ah, well. If you are or have been or expect to be a woman in my life, you can apparently expect Tall Ed to come sniffing around hoping to compete with me. If you’re cool enough to be in that category, you may also have a problem knowing what to do with Tall Ed when he clumsily follows up. So, here’s some help from dating experts about what to do when that happens:

‘Stop hitting on me!’
By Matt Christensen

Facing some unwanted attention? We canvassed single people like you — and dating experts — for their strategies on how to dodge those advances. Plus: 3 signs someone is trying to give you the slip.

So you’re at a bar or party and someone has taken a shine to you. Unfortunately, the feeling isn’t mutual and you want to quickly end the exchange. What to do? Sometimes the truth (“I’m not interested”) is too harsh. Listen in as experts share their advice… and as single people like you reveal the more original ways they’ve given people the slip when conventional methods don’t work. (Caution: Some of these earn points for creativity, not kindness.)

Our panel of expert advisors suggest the following:

Bring things to a quick close. Wait for a tiny break in the banter and then say, “Well, it’s been fun chatting. Please excuse me but I think I see my friend. Have a great night.” Then walk off purposefully to another area out of view. Yes, it’s abrupt, but it gets you out of there. You really don’t need an elaborate excuse.

Introduce him or her to a friend or an acquaintance—then quickly slip away. Granted, it may seem underhanded to pawn off your unwanted goods onto a pal, but who knows? You know the saying: One person’s blow-off, another’s budding relationship…

Say you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but there’s a reason it’s withstood the test of time: It’s totally plausible and therefore lets your suitor down easy. Worried that news of your phantom squeeze will deter someone you have your eye on? Don’t worry, news rarely travels that quickly. And even if it does, anyone you flirt up a storm with will take it with a grain of salt.

Grab your cell phone and say, “I totally forgot, I was supposed to call a friend of mine and tell her where the bar/club/party is. Can you excuse me for a sec?” Then you can just drift away and begin circulating again in a minute or so.

How other singles give people the slip

We’re not saying you should try these moves exactly, but they sure do win points for originality…

The undercover cop excuse

“This girl kept hitting on me at a club one time. I wasn’t interested in her, but I didn’t want to be rude. So, I told her I was an undercover cop, and that I had to concentrate on looking for people breaking the law. When she asked to see my badge, I told her that I didn’t want to blow my cover. She persisted, so I told her that if she didn’t leave me alone, I’d have to cite her for obstruction of justice. It worked, and she high-tailed it outta there.” —John South

One sick scheme

“One time I was at a bar and a girl wouldn’t leave me alone. To drive her away, I told her that I had mono, and that she might catch it. She’d been hitting on me all night, but that was enough to get her to stop. I wound up trying to talk to another girl at the bar who asked me, ‘Aren’t you the guy who has mono?’ Turns out the first girl had spilled the beans about my excuse to some other girls. Serves me right, I guess.” —Chris LaFleur

Touchdown!

“Two of my friends had to run interference for me at a party when this girl just wouldn’t leave me alone. It was like we were diagramming a football play: The plan was, my one friend would walk by and get her attention, then my other friend would pretend to be drunk and stumble into her from behind and they would keep her occupied until I was out the door. It worked like a charm. Thank you, NFL.” —Luke Somerville

Pet tricks

“A girl came up to me at a party once; she was cute, but all she talked about was herself, so I wanted to bail. I shuffled around in my pocket and made my phone go off by pressing the “ringer choice” button. Then I picked it up and said, loud enough for her to hear me, ‘My parrot escaped?’ I told her that my roommate called and that there was an emergency at home. I think she was too dumbfounded to argue, which gave me enough time to get out of there.” —Johnny Sember

You snooze, you lose (your suitor, that is)

“A guy started to make a move on me at a bar, but after talking to him for about five minutes, I knew it was going nowhere. So, I pretended to fall asleep for a few seconds. When I ‘woke up’ I explained to him that I was just so tired and had had such a hard week. I’m not sure if he bought it, but after another few ‘quick naps,’ he moved on.” —Jane Dryer

(Tall Ed! Pay Attention! This part is for YOU!!!)

3 signs someone’s trying to avoid you

Be a more aware dater: Understand the clues that someone just isn’t that into you by heeding these signals.

The person you’re chatting up uses the word “but.” For example: “I’d love to dance, but I’ve got two left feet.” “I appreciate your offer for a drink, but I’m feeling under the weather.” “I’d love to hang, but my friends and I might leave soon.” Never take “but” statements at face value. If this person is interested in you, he or she will dance, drink, and stay for awhile—no ifs, ands, or buts.

The object of your affection doesn’t maintain eye contact. Even if this person is yakking up a storm with you and laughing at all your jokes—if the eyes are elsewhere, the mind is, too (most likely trying to figure out how to get unglued from you, sorry to say).

He or she will answer your questions—but not make inquiries into your own life. Few people will be so rude as to ignore a question asked of them, but if they’re not returning the volley with “so what about you?” or “what do you think?” that’s because they want to cut the conversation short rather than keep it rolling. Stop wasting your breath and head to greener pastures.

Matt Christensen writes for Maxim, among other publications.

Jesse’s most recent communication….

Still no address.

Rebecca

—– Forwarded message —–

Last night we arrived and were immediately escorted to our temp housing. CPTs
are sharing conexes converted into rooms. Tiny little bunk beds! Barely enough
space to get dressed. This will last until the unit we’re replacing goes home.

I have not seen the entire base. We get a tour in about 30 min. But this MWR
tent is huge and has all sorts of stuff for me to get involved with. There’s
plenty of little paved roads for me to run.

Flying over Iraq last night I was surprized by the amount of light. I don’t
think it’s on a grid, so there must be a billion generators going. It was
better lighted than many US suburban areas.

The TV show must have referred to Camp Beuhring, where I just left (aka Camp
Boring).

I had a Big Mac meal. The sandwich was the same, but the fries were far less
salty. Billy Ray poured some more onto his, but he complained that they weren’t
greasy enough for it to stick.

He’s sick this morning for some reason – dizzy – went back to bed after
breakfast.

We have clean bathrooms for the first time since we left Ft. Bliss. What a
relief that is.

I love Parrish’s x-mas list.

I’m going to go wake Billy Ray for the tour. I’ll write more soon. I love you, J

CPT Jesse Ballenger
153 FA BDE (RAOC)
S4

Yesterday was the anniversary of the assassination of JFK. I was just a lad back in 1963, but it’s a vivid recollection for me. I’m always a little nostalgic and sad on Nov. 22.

There’s a song with the following lyric: “If you see me coming, you better step aside.” Maybe you recall the lyric from another song: “don’t tug on superman’s cape, don’t spit into the wind…”

I am in a damn foul mood.

I don’t really mean to be rude and obnoxious, I just am.

It’s the wind shift from the fruity south and gulf to the grainy, cold north. Especially the gusty high winds.

It’s the full moon. The full moon has affected me my whole Cancer/Moonchild life.

It’s the change of the clocks from daylight savings to standard time

It’s the change from summer to fall.

It’s the asphault. It’s the San Andreas fault. It’s my fault, my most grievous fault, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

I’m cold to the bone and can’t get warm.

I can’t put down the top on the Miata.

The cash flow in my law practice has been disrupted by events out of my control and that stresses me out.

Bitch, whine, snort and fart, I’m having a temper tantrum and I’m taking it out on the world.

I’m not getting as much nicotine as my addicted body wants.

I’m having such a big snit that I don’t think I could be satisfied even if BKMDANO did win the lottery.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

That is all. At ease. Return to your posts.

Interesting weekend…

I’ve already blogged below about Friday — went to see “Capote” and really liked the performance of Phillip Seymore Hoffman, although I found the film itself to be a little slow.

Saturday, went with Oz and John X to shoot film for their movie. Always a fun time. We went to Untitled and filmed some shots of me and a former student of Oz, Sydney, at the Ken Little exhibition. I wrote some dialogue and Sydney “nailed” her line. It’ll be a fun part of the movie. Then, the four of us went to the huge ass cross at Lifechurch in Edmond to film a dream sequence wherein Sydney runs around in a diaphonous gown and I chase her, but can not catch up to her. The church folks busted us and quizzed us about what we were doing, but Oz told them some crap and they left us alone.

That night was OuiMarcy’s birthday party for the Scorpios, especially including Tammy the ultimate artist’s model for many years around this town. It was nice sitting with a large group of friends around the outside firepit and roasting hot dogs and making s’mores. The Frito chili pie was very very good, especially if one tried some of Deb’s white chili. Somehow, I felt a little agoraphobic and alienated after about 2 hours and sneaked out and went home. I’m sorry about not speaking to anyone before leaving, but it was just one of those things where I was siezed by the impulse to isolate and couldn’t resist it.

Sunday, met the lovely Juliet at Red Cup along with her neighbors Greg and Mindy. A large group of Red Cup regulars were there and they jumped online to see my modeling pictures, or so I’m told. Later, the four of us went to see “Derailed”, starring Clive Owen and Jennifer Anniston. Unfortunately, I guessed the “mystery” within the first 10-15 minutes. It was an OK movie, but when it’s telegraphed like that, it takes away from the enjoyment. No need to tell you how it ends, blahblahblogblah, if you can’t figure it out for yourself maybe you’ll actually like the movie more than I did. Clive Owen acted Jennifer Anniston off the screen.

Today, November 9, is my baby sister’s birthday. Mary E. Marshall is, oh, at least 29 today. All grown up and beautiful. Mary E. is sweet, very beautiful and the source of much wisdom in my family. I rely on her to tell me the truth about my lovelife and give me good advice. I don’t listen, of course, but she does tell me the truth and give me good advice. Happy Birthday, baby sis. I love you.

OK, I’m cranky and I’ve been cranky and I just tried to post and lost the s.o.b. before I could save it and publish and that makes me even more cranky. I’ve been cranky all weekend and I’m still out of sorts and it’s like I’m throwing this big temper tantrum against the entire world because I can’t get my way and you fuckers won’t listen to reason and make me Emperor of the World, as I so richly deserve, so I can set things right. Bastards. And another thing: I feel like I have to write this silly account of my worthless life for your entertainment and benefit and that makes it a fucking chore and I don’t like authority figures and fuck you. Bastards. And another thing: my lovelife isn’t pleasing me and I just wish all you women would just sort of fucking get in line and get those gig lines straight and untwist the knots in your knickers and realize I’m right because I’m always right and I said so, dammit. When I want your attention, I want fucking adoration and hot and cold running blow jobs on demand and when I don’t want your attention, leave me the hell alone and you’re supposed to know which it is you’re supposed to do without me having to explain every fucking little goddam detail every fucking goddam time. Why I oughta …. You’re just lucky I’m a good guy or I’d … bitch. Whew! Feels good to get that little bit of vitriol off my chest without actually having to speak to a real person face to face. Been wanting to say that for the past, oh, 40 year, I guess. Now that I look at it, it’s a little silly, but what guy hasn’t felt that way? Get a clue: we get older, we don’t grow up. I’m guessing I have some kind of hormonal shitstorm going on inside me. That’s the excuse all my sisters use these days. PMS, she pleads, and we’re supposed to unring the bells for all the shit she pulled and said the past two weeks. Why do you think it can’t work both ways? It’s not just women. I’ve been cranky at work last week and this week so far. Fortunately, writing “fuck you” briefs is considered socially acceptable behavior, but it’s just been part of the general crankiness. I not only blame my hormones, I blame the dark of the moon, the change from Daylight Savings to Central Standard Time, the change in seasons and weather, AND IT’S ALSO ALL YOU GUYS FUCKING FAULT!!!

Anyway, so Friday afternoon I went shopping the Foley’s sale with my extra 20 percent off card and bought sweaters, shirts, ties and cufflinks and filled two bags with it. Went to Raffine’s opening on Robinson and it was a hot spot. Saw lots of folks like Willard Johnson of Colonial Art, Phillip and Thomas, of course (Thomas was NOT wearing a ballcap! I gasped and dropped my jaw. Guess he couldn’t find one that went with his black suit and tie and lime green shirt.), all the Sue’s and Suzanne’s you could shake a stick at, and, of course, my hero, Michael H. (who gave me a hearty “fuck you, John” at the Red Cup the other morning). Went from there to Untitled for a show of the work of Ken Little and it knocked me out. There was this empty suit covered in real dollar bills lying on the floor just as you entered and I really really liked it. I also liked a bronze head sitting on its side at the back of the room. The show was made better by the addition of UCO’s horn ensemble and that meant I got to see not only the redoubtable KW, but also her son who I had not seen since March. He looked great with somewhat longer hair, and a little off kilter with eyeglasses missing one earpiece. Didn’t get the story on the glasses because I was too busy asking about grades and girlfriends. Had a “row” of sorts with one of my companions and that made dinner a little uncomfortable, but not too bad. Went to dinner at Flip’s, where the Chicken Piccata was the favorite. Two couples joined us after we got there and we dominated the large round table just as you come in the door, next to the bathroom hallway, and a table in addition to that one, lapping out into the main room. Afterwards, several of us went to my house for coffee and a political ass chewing for the President.

Saturday was all about my photo shoot. First, I’ve got to say I was embarrassed by how much of my wardrobe I took with me. You wouldn’t have believed it. To make things worse, I took stuff I was told NOT to bring. I was just so fucking excited I guess I couldn’t contain myself and wanted to show off and who knows what. Anyway, they made me feel better by telling me it was better to have too much than to have too little. I thought there would be a hairstylist, but there wasn’t and they must have liked my hair the way it was because they not only didn’t say anything about it, they rarely messed with it. It was my first time to have makeup since I was in high school play productions, but it wasn’t too wierd. My makeup artist is named Ty, he’s the owner of a salon in Norman and a pretty good guy as far as I can tell. You might say I posed a challenge, but he just touched here and there to get rid of some red skin from my convertible tan and plucked a random hair or two from my brows. I dressed in a black suit and tie, white button down shirt and black shoes and a black cashmere overcoat. Few accessories, a watch, a ring and sunglasses. Charles, the brother of Kat with a K, is a terrific fashion photog and he was the lensman for the shoot. He scared me a little by squirming in the passenger seat of the Miata to take shots while I drove to the “location”, Plaza Court Building at 10th and Walker. They took pictures of me just standing up on the roof against the skyline and the large Plaza Court sign, pictures of me with a cane, pictures of me sitting in a chair, pictures with tarring equipment. We went somewhere else and they took portrait type shots of me in a cream sweater and then more posing, this time with a chair and dressed in a shirt and blue jeans barefoot. Everybody seemed happy and I learned that “less cheese” means not so much of a smile. LOL. Charles was taking lots of shots for lots of folks while he was here, but he was ably assisted by Rhonda, his very lovely girl. Bon Voyage, Charles! Say hello to the Bay for all us landlocked Okies.

Sunday wasn’t much except for some more evidence of my general nuttiness. I rearranged my freezer. It’s so funny. One shelf for fruit, one for frozen vegetables, one large area for frozen/microwave TV entrees and side dishes, now all arranged by size so that the contents are easily ascertained, and a final area for meats and large sacks of frozen shit. My daughter and I don’t say “anal retentive,” it’s gross; we say: “detail oriented”. I was in that kind of mood after carefully restoring my wardrobe and generally getting my closets in order for fall/winter and putting away summer things. LOL. Damn. My neuroses are funny to me. I cleaned, picked up, tidied up and organized to beat the band. Guy didn’t know better, he might think I’m just a little off plumb. Does anybody know the number of my therapist, Jolly Dr. Max? Oh, here it is. Catch you guys later.

Ooooooh. Just saw Larry P at the Cup and when I said “hi”, he just gave me his thin lipped, steely eyed I’m gonna skull fuck you look that I’m sure intimidates all the other cyclists and makes his girlfriends cower. Ooooh. C’mon, Larry, lighten up. It’s all in fun.

My daughter has updated her website! See link at right. New pictures of the grandkids at Halloween! Stop the presses!!! Newsflash!!!!

I’m back in the wrist brace today, so it’s not going to be much in the way of blogging because it hurts to type.

I met a masked vampire last night and she rocked my world. She was still wearing the mask this morning. We were at Untitled and at a private party in Bricktown. Yummy.

Masks are funny things. I had this class in college about Irish literature. It resulted in my only bigotry: I dislike the Irish. One of the things I learned, however, stuck with me. It’s that we have this public face that we put on as we go about our everyday lives. We mask with our real face the real person underneath. We tell the little white lies about how we’re doing (“fine!”) and put on a smile, even if we feel like hammered shit. We mask with our real faces the lust we feel for the person we see walking by so that they will not know what it is we’re thinking. On the other hand, when we put on a mask, the real person comes out. We lose that inhibition we have about revealing ourselves since we’re masked, and therefore anonymous.

Last night was magical in another respect. It was “fall back” night with the clock. Since the first time we had 1 a.m. to 2 a.m. would immediately be repeated at the time change, it seemed like anything that happened that hour was lost to the world and could be relived as we wished. Oh my. She bit my neck. There was very little blood. It was like a little death. Le Petite Morte. And then it was 1 a.m. again. I can’t be a vampire. Never to see my own reflection in a mirror again? Not worth the everlasting life for someone as vain as me.

Maybe it was a dream. A lusty fantasy. The house is quiet now. There are no reminders or some bit of detritus left to confirm what seemed to happen. No name or telephone number. No note. No email. Just a whisper in my ear of affection and desire. Does this happen in real life? Is this life real? Are there magical beings that inhabit our world? Do they leave early Sunday to go to church with their parents?

… parting is such sweet sorrow …