Charles Bukowski | submitted by bubba-kush
Let me start off by saying that I have always looked forward to your silly kisses.
Everyone looks forward to them. For some reason, getting a kiss on the head or the cheek by you just makes everyone’s day better. Kisses from the Cuban are like sprinkles and frosting and cupcake. Delightful.
For almost three years we had a really good thing going.
But then suddenly, out of what seems like nowhere, you grab me in a sexy man way and kiss me passionately.
Uh… that…. that wasn’t the game we were playing.
As you saw, I scampered off after turning your open-mouthed passion face kiss bomb into a silly, noisy “MMMMMWAH!” I mean, what were you expecting me to do? I was left dazed, confused, startled. What had you done?
I couldn’t be alone in a room with you anymore without you closing the door and trying your Cuban face tango over and over. Luckily, my ninja-mwah-scamper skills saved me every time.
But earlier this week, my reserves failed. I gave in and I finally kissed you back. In my defense, How many times can you kiss a girl like that and have her NOT do what I did? And what’s more — what had I done?
Were we no longer playing the original game? Was THIS suddenly more than what it had been before? Was the silly stuff leading up to this? Was this a scheme of yours to get close to me? I mean, you kiss ALL the girls on the head and cheek — You’re The Cuban! Everyone gets kisses from The Cuban. It’s What. You. Do.
And now this? I mean, come on! For almost THREE YEARS we had this good thing going.
But I’m glad we had a chat over “what this is,” and how we’ll be acting from here on out. Thank you for finally coming clean and admitting that you actually have a thing for me. (Can’t say I blame you, though.)
When I ask, “Are we just playing? Is this just a game?” your answer and tone really led me to believe that you wished it wasn’t, and that it was more. And when you sighed sadly when I reminded you that I’m leaving, it further reinforced that (mistaken?) understanding. And when you said, “So we have 4 months? We can just play,” I felt safe that we’d go back to what we had before. The silly playful stuff that you do with everyone.
Because we had a good thing going.
And now you avoid me.
Which, frankly, is ridiculous. First, it’s pretty tough to avoid people in a clinic as small as ours. That’s a pretty deliberate thing to do; so yeah, I noticed right away.
So let’s get this straight:
1. You start being all The Cuban with me and treating me like everyone else. Great.
2. YOU TRY TO MAKE OUT WITH ME MULTIPLE TIMES.
3. I finally kiss you back.
4. I make sure that I’m not getting emotionally screwed and that you aren’t making an unwise investment.
5. You avoid me. …In a small clinic.
Cute, Cuban. Cute.
Phew, I’m glad that you’re “just attractive” and that I didn’t actually have a crush on you.
But I wonder, are you going to avoid me these next four months? Because …that’d be fun to watch.
You’ll Miss Me
Just throwing it out there: If a business gives you an opportunity to leave a gratuity for the employee that rendered you a service, it’s their way of admitting that their staff isn’t paid as well as they ought to. Now if you just paid $45 for a massage that was, and I quote, “The best of all time,” and you’ve been given a chance to tip, $5 isn’t generous. 20% of 45 is 9. Just saying. Aaaaand I’m never working deep on you again.
Of course you’re married. Well. Crap.
I don’t like dogs. You know this. Of course you know this. I was the one that didn’t want you. I was the most resistant to you coming home with us. I’m a cat person through-and-through.
But I love you.
Yes, yes I do. You are pretty much the best dog in the whole wide world and I’m glad you’re here. These last 10 years with you have flown by and (while it’s completely unrealistic) I hope to have many more with you.
I’m sorry that we trained you so well and you’re such a good, sweet dog, and then we brought in other dogs. Dogs that weren’t trained well. That we didn’t train well. That YOU had to put up with, that you were bullied by. You were here first. This was YOUR home and we changed the rules on you out of nowhere. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t what we’d set up for you. It was wrong.
You, my dear baby girl, deserve so much better than we gave you.
I’m still angry that my dad brought home that dog. We were FINE with just you. We were happy with just you. You, our wonderful, kind, obedient dog. Smart. Quick. Eager to please. You probably didn’t even know you were a dog until that other one came. You got along with our cats. You would sit in a chair at the dinner table with us — we LOVED that. You would curl up in a fluffly ball on the couch, sleep on the floor of our rooms. We were so happy with you!
I don’t know why my dad brought home that dog. I wish he hadn’t. He was a “good” dog, we know, kind of/mostly. But we got him later in life and couldn’t train him. He was mean to cats — because of THAT DOG *MY* cat couldn’t stay inside. Because of THAT DOG *MY* cat wasn’t SAFE inside. You got along with my cat. You were safe. You two could sleep on the same couch just fine. But THAT DOG taught you to bark, to chase. So my poor cat, who’d been at the house for years before both of you, got chased out. I honestly believe that because of THAT DOG and what he taught you, my cat died. I do not blame you. I’m sorry that you learned to do that.
I’m sorry that my brother brought home that OTHER DOG, that beast, that bully, that JERK. I’m sorry that because of that OTHER DOG, you had to get shut outside during the day. You were brought home to be an indoor dog. You were trained as an indoor dog. You behaved like an indoor dog — and we locked you outside. Even when someone was home, we kept all of you in the garage and back yard. Not abuse, not at all, but still, not the life we’d told you you’d have.
And now you’re old.
THAT DOG is gone, but that OTHER DOG is still here. He picks on you. He’s not even a “good” dog! But we have to keep him, out of some bizarre sick feeling of obligation because of the money my brother spent on him. He picks on you, and I’m sorry. If he were human, I’d punch him in the face every day to keep you safe.
All I can do is yell at him, and keep you in my room at night. It’s not enough. This should be your house where you are safe, just like we promised. You are such a good dog. You deserve kept promises. I don’t know if you’ll ever get the life we promised you. Because of our stupid inability to do what’s “right” you became neglected. We NEVER should have let THAT DOG or that OTHER DOG come home.
You missed out on so much. And we’re all to blame.
We couldn’t take you on a walk without THAT DOG going berserk. We couldn’t take THAT DOG out without you crying. And we definitely couldn’t take you both out at the same time, so… that’s why we never took either of you. You didn’t deserve that.
I wish I could make your life better.
I want, so much, to have a HOUSE (not an apartment) with a yard. So I can take you away and give you the big home and yard to yourself like you were promised. Where you don’t have to be bullied, where you can go inside and outside without some jerk nipping at you all the time.
I’m angry that my mom never put her foot down. I think that your comfort and discomfort over the years is worth a lot more than Dad’s “need” for a “war dog” or my brother’s hero-complex “saving” a dog.
I’m sorry. I don’t think I can ever do enough to “make up” for what you’ve never been given.
And you’re still so sweet and patient. Still obedient, so good. I wish you didn’t have to get old this way. I wish you could have grown old feeling safe. I wish you could grow old without stupid effing Argus picking on you all the damn time because my brother COULDN’T EFFING LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE.
And he won’t even take Argus with him when he comes home. Stupid boy.
You’ll never get what you were promised. You’ll never get to be the dog we told you you’d be, or enjoy the life we said you’d have.
I am so, so, so, so SO sorry. I love you, baby girl. You’re the only dog I’ve cared this much about.
of pink paper.
Dreaming of blank paper signifies your need and desire for a new start. The color pink is representative of love.
So to dream of pink paper means I want a new start in love?
That makes a LOT of sense, as the guys out here SUCK. I’m not scared of dying alone. In fact, I honestly wouldn’t be too heartbroken if I remain single for a very long time. But I’m not gonna lie: I don’t want to.
You were a source of fascination for me for years and I recall many attempts from myself to develop a friendship between the two of us, despite your disinterest. Yet while gone, in the letters we exchanged (by YOUR request, not mine) you carried on about your loneliness.
Your loneliness, sir, was your OWN fault. I tried on multiple occasions to be your friend, to let you know I was interested and concerned about you and your life. Your interests, while not shared, I would be willing to learn of because they meant something to you. You seem to not understand that I could have been the best friend you ever have.
You insist in living in this world of misunderstood intent and aloof associations. The only friends you actually have are people as shallow and unconcerned as yourself — and you CHOSE these people.
Overall, I’m a much better friend than any you claim to have. Except Steve, I’m sure he’s wonderful. But looking at the rest of your crew, who are 3-6 years younger than you, you complain that they aren’t mature enough or have enough depth to their characters. Well of course not! They’re TEENAGERS.
You and I have known each other for years. There’s not a memory I have before moving here when I was 5, in which I can say I didn’t know you. I know you. And why you brushed me off, often, and yet STILL complain of being friendless to me, I just don’t understand. You’re a jerk.
I found myself completely over you before you left two years ago. I did. As soon as it became entirely too clear that this is actually how you were, I was done. Then you asked me to write. You chastized me for not writing enough! I had no idea that I actually meant anything to you. How could I, when you’d refused my friendship on so many occasions?
You personally frustrated all my attempts at friendship, and then claim that I don’t write enough. We weren’t friends! You left and my life didn’t change at all. Now you’re home and the only change is that your facebook updates disgust and vex me. You’re shallow, arrogant, pompous! The eccentricities that fascinated me about you are now merely the tinder fueling your constant burning self-centered egomaniacal mentality.
I wondered, upon your homecoming, why your facebook updates weren’t showing on my news feed. I had blocked you years ago. I couldn’t remember why. Now I’ve been enlightened.
How DARE you say that people can’t believe in Christ if they haven’t served a mission?! What on Earth is WRONG with you?! Your BEST FRIEND didn’t serve a mission. You DO realize you just said his own testimony of Christ is now CRAP, right? Your MOTHER didn’t serve a mission. How DARE you. Of all the disgusting idiot things you’ve done in the week since coming home, you now throw out everyone’s faith simply because they lack one experience you had.
I can say with the power of my soul that Christ is my Savior. I have been able to say this my entire life. I’m sorry that I never lived a life that questioned my testimony. NEVER have I questioned His divinity or mission. NEVER have I had to. So now you’re saying that I, who have never questioned, never doubted, never fell into unbelief, cannot possibly know that Jesus is the Christ because unlike you, who fell away, who shunned the church, who went through years of doubt, I didn’t serve a mission. How the crap does that make any sense?
Look, I’m glad you served. I am. I’m glad that Christ has become so very dear to you. I’m glad that His gospel FINALLY means something to you. And I’m thrilled at your enthusiasm to share it — and I’m proud that you were willing to leave your home for two years to do so. I honestly hope the glimmer of your faith doesn’t fade since you’re now home and getting back into the day-to-day of “normal life.” However, you do not impress me anymore.
The fascination in which I viewed you has taken a sick turn to disgust.
You suck at being a kind, compassionate person. You suck at being a friend. You just suck.