Journal mcgrew's Journal: I kissed an ex-marine on the lips 2

I've had two actual honest to goodness girlfriends since my divorce. I hadn't seen Chris, who lived with a guy who understandably hated my guts, for six months when I met Robyn.

Danny introduced me to her, and she moved in with me that night. It was lust at first sight. I'd found a new girlfriend in the middle of December, the darkest most lonely time of the year.

Too bad she stayed drunk 24/7, just like Chris had. On New Year's Eve that year I had two guys help me drag her drunken carcass to the car before midnight and before the champaigne. While I was talking on the phone to my daughter later, the cops showed up. It pissed my daughter off that I didn't have Robyn arrested, and she hated Robyn from then on.

I chronicled Robyn's rise and fall in The Robyn 'Hood. Robyn, drunk on her ass as usual, had thought I was hitting on her crackwhore friend Cassie, who (according to Meg) had been hitting on me.

Robyn refused to drink with me and her obnoxious friend, instead standing at the bar hitting on Roger. Roger wound up later as Robyn's ex-stepdaughter's boyfriend, for a week anyway. Amy had been living with me, moved in with Roger, and moved back when Roger tried to beat the hell out of her. This, of course, was before she met Connor.

Yes, my ex-girlfriend's ex-stepdaughter lived with me for a while.

This Christmas eve, like every year, I took my oldest daughter to my sister's a hundred miles away, and Leila had the presents her sister Patty had given us. I spent the next several days watching DVDs and reading; Patty bought me five Cheech and Chong movies, Pink Floyd's The Wall movie, and Season 3 of My Name Is Earl. She also bought me a book of Asimov short stories, a few of which I actually hadn't read yet, a book called "100 things you're not supposed to know" which I may do a review of it here later, a book of Irish short stories, most of which are old enough to be in the public domain, and a book of MC Escher drawings that I don't have a big enough bookshelf to hold.

Yesterday I went to Wal Mart, and they wouldn't sell me any beer. The new Wal Mart is actually in Southern View (you can't tell where Springfield ends and Southern View begins) and they have a stupid blue law that says you can't sell alcohol on Sunday before noon. No problem, as I had two quarts if Busch in my fridge anyway.

While I was there I bought two more DVDs, Die hard IV Unrated, which has two copies of the movie, the theatrical PG-13 version that everybody said sucked (including me) and an "unrated" version where they say things like "shit" and "yippiekayay motherfucker" that actually does it justice. Unlike the theatrical release it doesn't feel like you're watching it on broadcast TV.

My copy of the first three episodes of Star Wars had been stolen by some heartless crack whore, and I replaced The Phantom Menace.

Charlie had spent the week at Stuart's, and I was contentedly alone.

Anyway, by yesterday evening I started getting bored with watching TV and reading and decided to look for female companionship. Charlie's been really bitchy lately so I didn't want to call her. I'd dropped some mail off for Linda on Christmas day, but she'd been asleep and they said they'd have her call when she woke up but she never did, and she's bitchy as hell too, what with dying of cancer and all. So where could I go and be almost assured of meeting loose women?

Farley's!

Farley's is the hippie bar across the street from the train station, next door to the gay bar. If there are any women in there you can usually get laid - provided you're drunk enough to want to take one of its sleazy sluts to bed. I hadn't been there in quite some time.

Roger was sitting at the end of the bar with a heavy girl with a pretty face. She seemed to look heavy, but it was hard to tell, as she was dressed in many layers of clothing. There was another woman on her other side, and she, too was pretty. Very unlike the Farley's I knew. Most woman who used to go there were crack whores , aging crack whores, young crack whores that looked like old crack whores, and alcoholics, and aging alcoholics, and young alcoholics who all looked old and dried up.

On retrospect, although Robyn had been cute when I met her, especially wearing those glasses, the skags and skanks in there made her look beautiful by comparison. Oddly, none of the women in there last night looked ugly or skanky. Did I fall into some sort of alternate universe or something? You're not supposed to find pretty girls in Farley's, you find girls who will fuck you for a draft beer at Farley's.

My suspicion that I'd entered an alternate universe was heightened when the pretty girl I sat down next to started talking to me! WTF? Let me tell you, if I've entered an alternate universe I like it here.

All but two of the women left. There was one remaining at the other end of the bar, and the one with Roger. I looked over and she was looking at me with a kind of hungry look. So I said "hi".

She moved down to sit next to me. We talked for a while, and I found she was a disabled ex-Marine named Dorinne. I asked her out to dinner and got her phone number as Roger sat at the end of the bar by himself. Dorinne was complaining of a thief. Before I'd gotten there, she said, she'd left her coat on her stool and visited the rest room. When she got back the ten dollar bill in her coat pocket was missing.

Doreen cussed like an ex marine. "I know who did it," she said. "It's that faggot behind me. I'm going to kick his fucking ass, the cocksucking son of a bitch."

The "cocksucking son of a bitch" got a real worried look on his face and crept out when she wasn't looking. I guessed there were weightlifting muscles under those coats. I woudn't want to take her on.

The bartender was illegally smoking a cigarette and Doreen was steaming so I went out for air.

She followed me and lit a cigarette and sat down on the guard rail next to the railroad track and we talked some more. We wound up kissing.

As we walked back inside, her hand in mine, she mentioned the stolen ten again and said her relatives were coming - the Doerties.

I'd heard of them. They're crazy, nasty, violent people. One was her ex-husband.

I left and went home smiling. Karma had hit Roger right between the eyes, and if he was lucky, Doreen didn't.