Abusive Muse Chapter Three and 3 Quarters

Dateline: 24 OCT 2020

Time: 0020 hours.

Some knocking at my back door.

“Who is it?” I said.

“It’s your Muse. Open the damn door.”

I open the ‘damn’ door and sure as shit there she stood, looking as radiant as ever.

“Did you get a tan? Looks like you got a tan. It’s a nice tan. Been to some exotic beach?”

“Cut the bullshit small talk,” she said as she brushed past me, entering our ‘apartment.’

“You promised me you were gonna clean up this dump,” she said, looking around.

“Got no time for that.  I am a WRITER.”

“Not without me, you’re not. And oh, by the way, you smell. Got no time for personal hygiene either?”

“Welcome home,” I said.

“Fuck you,” she said, as She threw some dirty clothes off the couch and sat down, looking somewhat disgusted.

“Plant your smelly ass in front of that keyboard. We have Work to do.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

So, I parked ‘my smelly ass’ in front of the keyboard…

and just sat there, staring at a blank page.

Muse got up off Nasty Couch, walked over to me.

“What are you not doing?” she demanded.

“I’ll not write another line

For my true love is gone

When the guests have done

I’ll tidy up the room”

She smacked me up-side my head.

“Snap out of it Asshole! Write!”

So thus I began:

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

“I am NOT amused,” said Muse.

“Okay, Okay, Gimme a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“A ‘brief moment’ is all you’re gonna get from me. Otherwise I am back to The Bahamas and good fucking luck without me. Get ON WITH IT!”

“Get on with WHAT?”

“Don’t you remember, you Idiot? I emailed it to you from the road: ‘Indigo Girl #3: LaSheeka!'”

“How does it begin?” I asked.

“Get a job, you lazy son of a bitch! She screamed at some pan-handler at Hotel Indigo late one night.
I just walked away, but said to her, “Baby, calm down.”
She replied, “These idiots just piss me off.”
Had to concur.

“Ring any Bells?” Muse said.

“Uh, I may have been drunk, and did not see it,” I said.

“You’re hopeless,” she said back. “But I am going to stick with you. For now. You do have some small talent. Try using it.”

(This entire narrative falls apart if you do not watch the Janis Ian–probably shouda put this at the beginning of this post instead of at the ending of it, but I don’t trust WordPress to not screw up my edit)

 

The Good Old Days Are Right Now

There are so many reasons today to rejoice.

We are living in wonderful, vibrant times.

Ponder this: you can communicate with anyone in the world with just a mouse click or a keyboard strike.

Could anyone have imagined this just a decade or so ago?

The opportunities we have today!

It blows my mind (what little is left of it).

But there is enough of it left to fully appreciate how fortunate we are.

As Carly once sang: “These are the Good Old Days.”

And we are living them. Right Now

Trust me on this one folks.

Appreciate what we have here.

Do not squander these opportunities to be ‘social.’

This is what it means to be ‘human.’ To be social. It is genetic within us.

If it weren’t, we would never have evolved into what we are.

And hence, we would not be here today to watch cute cat videos.

(And ever’ once in a while, have some meaningful conversation on the Inter-Webs)

Be Kind: Rewind. And recall the bad old dark days and appreciate what we have now:

This age of COMMUNICATION.

Think about what we have going on here.

So, do not waste any opportunity to reach out if something is important and moves you.

But save the cute cat videos for later: we have seen them all—just kidding.

End of rant

Thank You. Drive Through.

–Lance

Added Value:

“You Got an EBP?”

“EBP?”

This means “Eye-Ball Problem.”

Generally a statement hurled from a black woman at someone who is staring at her.

I love strong black women (Hell! I don’t think I have ever met a weak black woman–they just do not exist.)

Anyway… Here is my “EBP” story.

It is very ‘light,’ so don’t get excited.

****

OK.

I just had something stuck in my eye (who has NOT experienced this at least a thousand times?)

Well, it is always unpleasant.

I grabbed the Visine and tried to flush it out.

No Dice.

Kept flushing.

No dice.

Finally, maybe some relief, but…

Wanted to rub my eyeball.

Voice inside my head:

“Don’t do it Lance! Don’t do it! Put your head down. Let gravity do that gravity thing and let it come out on its own. Just keep your head down and keep blinking. This will all turn out fine. Trust me, I’m with the Government”

“Fuck off, Voice inside my head,”

But Finally, that worked.

“Thank you, voice inside my head for saving me from me.”

Voice inside my head said, “You’re fucking welcome. Don’t call me again any time soon, mmmm kay?”

“Okay. We still on for lunch tomorrow?”

Indigo Girl 2: Callen

 

If Jenna was the ‘air-brushed’ perfection, professional beautiful angel, then it follows… yin and yang:

Callen was the unkempt, unsteady, unreliable, super lazy blonde stoner / juicer who did not give a fuck.

Half the times she showed up for work she was slightly stoned, or drunk, or a combination of the two.

And Of Course I fell madly in Love with HER. I really had No Choice.

Laws of Physics.

And she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. To see her smile was something I cannot begin to describe, but of course, I tried not to notice, because I was a “Professional Security Guard”—and not supposed to be prone to emotion, nor feelings. She had long blonde hair (have I ever mentioned that I have never had any luck with blondes? Pretty certain I have, but I seem to be drawn to them. Moth to flame, as it were.)

She was about five foot eight and just a little ‘chunky’ but a good kind of ‘chunky’. She really was a beautiful, kinda country-looking woman. She had a ‘soft’ look. This is hard to explain and probably does not look good in print, but she had a soft look. What I am desperately try to explain is that she just looked ‘comfortable’ and potentially ‘comforting.’ (I could fall safely asleep in her embrace) Unlike a lot of the women I have ‘experienced’ in my life; most of them were ‘uncomfortable.’ And NOT safe.

Oh fuck it. Let’s move on, shall we?

Yet trust me on this one folks, I have seen women from all over the world. I know women. I love them and I appreciate them. All manner of shapes and sizes of them. This one, this Callen, was ‘Top Shelf.” But moving on from my ‘sexist’ commentary over her looks:

Callen, being ever lazy would ask me to do things that were not in my wheelhouse nor in my mind to do. I was a Fucking Security Guard.

That was MY Job!

My ONLY JOB!

She would ask me (ever so nicely) to deliver towels or shit paper or coffee to some guest’s room. First few times she asked me to do these things I just invited her to fuck off (I did not verbalize it that way, but she caught the drift).

Now please allow me to explain something:

Hotel Indigo had a ‘gym’ of sorts. There were weights and a weight machine. I had eight hours to kill every night and I was big ‘Into’ lifting weights back then, so I took about an hour out of my shift every night to lift weights in their gym.

While sitting in my car one night, after finishing my workout, I had a ‘sudden’ epiphany.

How could I refuse Callen’s simple requests of me to break MY Rules, when she did not call me out for breaking the Hotel Indigo’s Rules?

(I was not supposed to be using their ‘Fitness’ Center.)

I got off my ass, walked into to Lobby and had this statement for her:

“Callen, do you know what an epiphany is?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I just had one. I owe you an apology. You don’t say shit about me spending an hour a night working out in your fitness center. I enjoy doing that, and you never say shit about it. You would never ‘drop a dime’ on me FOR Doing it. This much I know about you. Certainly, if you need me to do something for you that is not strictly in my ‘Security Guard’ purview, from now on, I will do it. I owe you this. I am very fond of you. More than you know. You are good people.”

I extended my hand. She took it. We shook.

“We good?” I asked.

“Yep. We good,” she replied.

And I was more in love with her at that point than was prudent.

“It’s pleasure to try ’em; it’s trouble to keep ’em.”

–Joni

Oh, in case anyone is wondering, Callen was probably twenty-eight and change, years-wise.

These kinds of details are not important to me.

But they may be important to the casual reader.

So there ya go.

******

Very sad footnote:

I discovered after we had known each other for some time that she had had some real tragedy in her young life:

She woke up one morning next to her dead boyfriend.

He had just died during the night.

She could not explain why nor how, but I am quite certain it fucked her up.

As it would anyone.

Her story made me almost cry.

Actually it did make me cry, but I waited until I got back to my car.

Then I tried to think up ways I could win this woman.

Came up empty.

Probably for the best:  hers and mine.

****

To be continued…

 

 

Indigo Girls Chapter One: Jenna

First “Indigo Girl”: JENNA

My First night working at Hotel Indigo.

Jenna, (Night ‘Auditor’—manager) asked me:

“Do you like music?”

“Of course. I love music,” I replied.

“Look at this video,” she said as she came over to me with her cell phone locked and loaded.

“OK”

I watched some dude singing and playing guitar (pretty well actually) some obscure C/W song. Then I recognized said dude. He was a rather familiar face—I had already made a couple of ‘patrols’ and had noticed this guy unloading some shit from his truck in the parking garage. He looked a little (very little) like Garth Brooks, but still…

“Uh, isn’t that one of the construction workers, working here on the renovation of the Hotel?”

“Good eye,” Jenna said. “Yes.”

“Your boyfriend?” I asked.

“Kinda,” she said.

Well damn, I thought, there goes MY plan and hopes Dashed (Jenna was VERY attractive, long slightly blonde / brunette hair, sleepy eyes—and probably too young for me—but what the hell. I am an optimist.)

“He’s not from Memphis is he?”

“No,” she said. “Texas.”

“So, he’s just living here in the hotel as the renovation work is going on?”

“Yes.” And then she added quickly, “He’s also a rodeo cowboy.”

“I see.” I said. “And what’s your story?”

“I have a degree in classical music,” she said. “I can play several musical instruments: Violin, the viola, the cello and the double bass”

“Yet, you like country and western?”

“Yes. I love all music.”

“Me too. Got any more on that phone of yours?”

“Yep. Sure do. Gimme a sec.”

“Can you sing as well?” I asked while she was searching on her phone.

“Nope. Can’t sing a lick.”

Instant Karma

We became fast friends after that.

*******

Not Jenna, but close enuff:

Nikon D4s, Lifestyle, Copyright Dixie Dixon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Down and Out in Memphis Tennessee–Indigo Girls

I realize this is brief, but I am still awaiting the return from Waco of  my muse, so, as I wait, I thought I would ‘tease’ this bit a mite.

(Ever try to ‘tease’ a mite?)

Almost an effort in futility

Nevermind…

OK, first ‘shift’ at Hotel Indigo (2200hrs to 0600hrs)

I arrived twenty minutes early (As The US Navy taught me—“If you’re on-time, you’re late.”)

I was in a foul mood, having recently given up a Great Gig at the LAST Job I had—actually I had managed to get myself fired, but more on that later.

So, not really understanding the ‘Gig,’ I just parked my ass on a bar stool in the lobby and waited to see what may transpire. I did not have to wait long.

Some drunken refugees from Beale Street came staggering in…

“Lance, Cowboy, Time to do some of that ‘Security Shit’ you were hired for”

*Heavy sigh*

At least I am working on it.

To be continued…

A page out of my notebook from my 18 Months As A Security Guard for Hotel Indigo, Downtown Memphis (Phelps Security)
(Don’t worry; I am going somewhere with this)
“Indigo Girls”–Co-Workers: (In order of their appearance)
1. Jenna
2. Callen
3. Lasheeka
4. Cathleen
5. Ja’Myla