The Most Missed One: Indigo Girl 2: Callen, “The One That Got Away.”

CALLEN!
My Girl!
I wished upon a Star

(But I Fell Too Far)

Vid Share Cred: Louis De Nennie

****

Not Callen, (Below) But almost a ‘Dead-Ringer’–Especially the Smile

(Ed. Note: Callen Was / Is More Beautiful)

Callen Look-Alike (Blake Lively, I think)

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

“Breaks my Heart Just Lookin’ at Her”

If…

Jenna

 

Indigo Girls Chapter One: Jenna

was the ‘air-brushed’ perfection, professional beautiful angel,

 

thus 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” (Licensed-to-Carry-A-Gun-But-Not-Licensed-To-Ever-Use-It)—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 trying 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 been with 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. And shook it.

“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.

“Words of love won’t win a girl’s heart anymore….”

“Just Don’t misspell her name, ’cause she’s the one that got away.”

More on my recent

“Callen Remembrance Regret.”

I woke up with her on my mind–I suppose this is obvious, and I don’t really need to verbalize it.

But I do it anyway…

More Callen Found Here

Slightly Updated: “Officer, I did NOT Fall OFF that Wagon; I was pushed. Arrest the push-er, not the push-ee.” Or, “I got tired of waking up on the freeway driving ninety.” Or, “This Post is Not the Post You Were Looking For…”

New shit:

Fuk it!

(I’ll edit it later)

Goddamn it!

Git off my back!

Author’s Note (at the beginning… Yes. Yes. Fucking YES!! I know! Not Great Form!)

Fuck it!

Author’s Note:

Recent Au Courant events (Afghanistan) are bumming me out.

Charlie Wilson: “These things happened. They were glorious and they changed the world… and then we fucked up the endgame.”

Nuff said?

“Yes Lance. Now STFU and write.”

“Okay.”

Okay, but…

One last ed. note:

This lame-ass post has a lot (even by my sub-standard standards)

A lot of attached… Lancelot Links and Vids.

It is highly (and drunkenly) recommended you ‘experience them all’ to get the

‘Full Benefit’

Jes sayin…

***

Now I know.

Now I know why

Now I know all the reasons whey–why

(“Lance! There is ALWAYS a Fucking Song! Ain’t they?!)

(Fuck off! Voice in my head)

And fuck you too Muse!

Run tell all that!

****

Now I know why I get drunk

Now I know why I used to stay drunk

Now I know why it is a good thing

And good for one

To stay drunk

Simple logistics and meta-physics:

To avoid the hangovers!

“The hairs of some dogs”

As it were

The hair of Man’s Best Friend!

For lack of a reason

Hairs of dogs are in season

***

Time of The Reason-Season

“What’s your name? Who’s Your Bag-Daddy??”

“Me! C’est Moi!”

(Asshole!)

Street Cred for Vid: andrew91118

Tis reason enuff.

To dip snuff.

(And I love dogs)

Amen

P.S. This is a ‘temporary’ affliction. It too shall pass.

“How do you know this Doctor Marcom?”

“Because I have been to Drunken Med School Grasshopper.”

This Computer Has Been Drinking (Not Me)

Street Cred for Vid: MasterBiblicalMemory

***

“But, Dr. Marcom, none shall pass. Pass out perhaps, but ‘pass’? Naw.”

None shall pass thru this life unscathed.

“Oye vay of little faith!”

“Dr. Marcom, you are stupid.”

*heavy sigh*

“Some people, you just cannot reach.”

What we have here…

Communication

***

Cynthia-The-Housekeeper and my Only BFF here in Commerce Amerika…

She.

She is ‘on to’ me.

She knows me.

She came to my door.

Asked me if I wanted to strip my bed.

Freudian Slip?

(Tuesdays here at Lion’s Lair are ‘Strip Yer Bed-Sheets Day)

I replied,

“No Ma’am; I’m good, but thanks for askin'”

She gave me that ‘Black-Woman-All-Knowing-Look’

That ‘Look’

That look that telegraphs.

Telegraphs “I know you’ve been drinking again”

My Tell-All, End All Tell.

Tis a curse!

I have no skill at poker.

Nor do I possess a poker-face.

My Cynthia asked over those “I already know the answer” eyes:

“You Okay?”

“Yep. I’m okay,” I lied.

“I’m watching you,” she said.

“I know you are Honey, and thank you for that,”

I replied.

As she walked away, I said to her moving away from me back,

“I love you.”

She said over her shoulder,

“I love you more. Catch ya later Alligator!”

(Her favorite catch-all, end-all phrase. I never ask why. Why she likes it. She just likes it. And that is reason enough for me. Because I am in love with her. Love is just that way Y’all. It works in those mysterious ways. Kinda like the Invisible Spaghetti-Man-in-the-sky. Man. Oh man!)

As soon as I shut the door I heard my Motorola Phone speaking to me:

“Hello Moto!”

(Note to self: ‘Change name to ‘Moto.’)

“Fuck you Moto!” I said.

Then I did something very very uncharacteristic:

I answered the damn phone.

“Hello?”

“Is this Rance Marcom?’ (Heavy Indian accent)

“No.”

“I need to speak Rance. Is he there?”

“Are you from India Mister Moto?”

“I from Capitol One.”

“No. I think you’re from India.”

“Mister Rance Marcom?”

“English ain’t yer first language is it? I just told you, ‘Mistah Rance’ ain’t here.”

“I need speak to Mister Rance Marcom.”

“Sorry to say, he is in Kabul at this moment getting his ass shot at.”

Mister Moto / Capitol One hung up on me.

Cannot imagine why.

***

In closing

In trying to put a fine point on the point that is This Pointless Post:

I love booze.

I love what it does to me.

I love what it doesn’t me.

I love it when it does not kill me.

(Apocryphal: ‘Write Drunk. Edit Sober)

I love it.

(Did I say this already?)

Don’t cry for me Miss Dementia

I’ll be fine.

***

The (Still) Living

END

*static on radio*

“Houston. We have a problem…”

TBC…

j’espere

(Dat’s France-ish for ‘j’espere’.  Google it! Yu lazy-fair mo-fo’s)

***

In closing

In trying to put a fine point on the point that is This Pointless Post:

I love booze.

I love what it does me.

I love what it doesn’t me.

I love it when it does not kill me.

(Apocryphal: ‘Write Drunk. Edit Sober)

I love it.

(Did I say this already?)

Don’t cry for me Miss Dementia

“Objection Your Honor! The Witless Witness is Inebriated!”

“Sustained. Mister Moto, continue, but sobriety is the soul of wit. Please take some effort to remember that.”

“Yer honor…”

“Boom! Thirty Years! No Beers!”

It was at this point, Yoda spoke to me:

“Fucked you are.”

“Thanks for that Yoda.”

Gnat Pool Party

The Gnats are Back!

Now… where did I put that DDT?

Bobbie?

Reach me the DDT Girl!

So, I am tryin’ real hard (Yes it is hard. Hey! Get Yer Mind Outta That Gutter!)

Tryin’ real hard to tone down on the drinkin’.

Poured me a ‘HALF-GLASS’ of wine, (Not much more than would fill a hen’s ear) into a ‘Normal’ wine glass as opposed to my usual, ‘Barrel Glass Runneth Over.’

NE-Way….

Phone started ringing (as it sometimes do)

Set my glass on the counter and waltzed over to pick-up the phone:

“Hello,” I said.

Voice on the line asked,

“Is this Lance Marcom?”

“Might be. What do you want?”

“Mister Marcom, I am Helga with Corporation Blah, Blah, Blah. Our records indicate you are two months in arrears. When may we expect a payment to your account?”

“Let me get back to you on that.

My Fridge is running and I need to go catch it before it escapes.
Bye now.”

*Click*

Remembered my ‘Left-all-alone’ wine glass.

Went back to re-capture it and take it hostage for my liver.

Discovered the Gnats were having a Gnat Pool Party in MY POOL. Doing back-flips, canon balls, and competitive diving off the rim of my glass.

I rescued my glass and drank down the wine along with the Fun-Loving Gnats.

“That’ll teach ‘em, by God!”
I said to no one in particular.

*****

Theme Song:

Shared Vid Cred: benjichilders

*****

Footnote to the Story:

After taking Inventory, Discovered I was Dangerously low-on-Booze.

Needed to go shopping next day.

Gonna go down and shop at

“The Tom Waits Booze Emporium & Bicycle Shoppe”

Cheers Y’all!

“Lions and Tigers and Drunks, Oh My!”

I’d like to teach Y’all something about alcoholics.
We are not stupid Drunks.
We have it down to science.

We are professionals

Your average weekend drunk is stupid.
Your functioning juicer is not…Stupid.
We have to juggle with one hand.
And always work with logistics.
THAT takes BRAINS.
And forethought.
And knowledge of anatomy.
And knowledge of physics.
And knowledge of one’s own limitations.
And planning.
And perfecting the fine art of “maintenance drinking.”
Maintaining an even strain.
And of course money management.

And sometimes even Luck.

This is all CEO shit right here.

I have used management skills to ‘manage’ very large
‘Man-Camps’ in three War-Zones.
I have used management skills to manage small
Businesses.
I have used management skills to manage
Lots of things.
But the most challenging test of my management skill
Is managing my disease.
And, that, that, is a no-shitter.

Hope I can perfect and hone my skill before I cash my chips.

Here is to hoping for me!

(to see just-one-more-day)

Cheers!

 

Video Credit: MasterBiblicalMemory

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: “Denouement” or “You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams”

Thought I had re-weittnen . this.

Guess I slept through

Sorry

Alternate Title: “Fairy-Tales can come true; it can happen to you if you’re young at heart… and stupid and credulous and careless and think you’re bulletproof.”

But be forewarned: They are fleeting, ephemeral, transitory.

***

“You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams, if you’re young at heart.”

I’m callin’ ‘Bullshit’ on that statement.

Frank Sinatra – Young At Heart1953

Video Credit: kopbyt123

***

Or, if you prefer: “Big-Boned Rescue Gal”

(Or All of The Above: Virtual Ink is Cheap Enough)

***

Nothing to do now but drive away and discover what happens next. No point in trying to flee at a high rate of speed. Most Harleys (when they are not broken down) will outrun a heavy-ass Toranado. Which brings to mind a t-shirt one of MY biker friends often wore.

Yes, I had some biker friends. They were also sailors, but I don’t think that disqualifies them.

The T-shirt read: “I’d rather push my Harley than ride your Honda.”

***

So off I drove into the predawn. Never having what could be remotely considered decent navigation skills, I just headed in the general direction of what I thought to be south, hoping to hit I-Five, which would lead me to 32nd Street Naval Base and my ship. And of course I kept frequently glancing in my rear-view.

Billy, or whomever, did in fact follow me, yet at a respectful distance. At one point I contemplated stopping and asking him for directions, but in the end thought better of that.

Eventually, either he got bored, lost his nerve, or ran out of gas. Anyway, he disappeared from my radar. I made it back to the USS Callaghan with just enough time to change into my dungarees and make morning muster.

When the 1MC announced “Knock off Ship’s Work” at 1600hrs, I quickly changed into my civvies and ‘hit the beach’.

I grabbed a pay phone on the pier and called Shonnie up at work.

“Hello?”

“Shonnie?”

“You were expecting maybe… Madonna?”

Ignoring her classic wit, I said “Are you okay?”

“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

Uh oh. Her tone did not bode well. “Perhaps you caught amnesia. Did Billy come calling?”

“Uh, yeah. He did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Come on Shonnie, what happened?”

“He begged me to open the door, so finally I let him in.”

She didn’t seem to want to talk about this, but damn it! I was in ‘need-to-know’ status. ‘Hey! I’m needin’ to know here!’ (Sorry Dustin)

“Well? Do I have to drag this out of you?”

“Listen Lance, he broke down and cried All Right! He promised to be a better husband and father. He begged me to take him back. He is the Father of my Son, Goddamn it! What-the-fuck-do-you-expect-me-to-do?”

(Kids always trump lovers. I suppose this is as it should be, but… this asshole was abusive. At least that was her early story.)

“So, you’re getting back together then?” I felt as if I had been kicked in the solar plexus.

Hard and more than once.

It was becoming difficult to breathe.

“Yes.”

“You sure about this?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Goddamn it Shonnie! You can’t do this to ME! To US!”

“It has to be this way Lance.”

“Well, I guess that’s it then.”

I quickly scoured my brain for something else to add but could not continue the conversation.

“Yeah. I guess it is. Goodbye Lance.” She hung up.

“That’s IT??!!” I screamed into the dead receiver.

***

Heartbreak. Sorrow. Self-Pity. Despair. Rage. Anguish. Aloneness.

All clawing at my mind, tearing apart my heart, climbing over each other in their effort to get to the top of my emotional hit parade.

Damn it!

I never saw this coming!

I slammed the receiver into the phone and watched it bounce out and fall toward the ground, stopped short by the silver metal tether. I stood there vacantly staring at it for a moment as it aimlessly swayed back and forth, pendulum-like.

Suppose at some point I walked toward my car, because that is where I ended up. As soon as I sat down in the driver’s seat I realized I was crying.

There seemed to be a pattern developing here:

Talk to Shonnie. Then grown men cry.

Note to self: ‘research this.’

Fuck! This Hurts! Hurts Real Bad.

I sat there and watched my heart breaking.

Bits and pieces of it fell to the floorboard.

Linda Ronstadt – Heart Like A Wheel (1976) Offenbach, Germany

***

A couple of weeks later I was kidnapped by some buddies from my ship.

“Marcom, you done been moping around for too long. We’re goin’ out tonight to a great joint. No arguments. Just grab yer shit and come on.”

I had to acquiesce.

Mark and Tommy mounted their Harleys. Frank, Lenny, and I climbed into Lenny’s ’68  orange Chevelle, which he referred to as his “She-Vail” Accent on the ‘Vail.’

Of ‘course’ it was ‘hot-rodded’ up, racing stripes, loud pipes, loud stereo, the whole bit. He loved that damn car. Talked about it more than booze or women.

“Where we goin’?” I asked after about five minutes of ear-splitting Guns N’ Roses (Lenny waxed and waned between ‘Pure Country’ and ‘Heavy Metal’ depending on his mood and blood alcohol level.)

“Goin’ to IB,” he shouted over Welcome to the Jungle. (‘Imperial Beach’ for those who may not have had the opportunity to visit some of the classier environs south of San Diego.) One can actually ‘smell’ Tijuana from IB, not an entirely unpleasant smell if the wind is right and it ain’t summertime.

Welcome to Imperial Beach

HAZMAT Gear On Tap for Rental at Cook’s Corner Boutique & Bar

(Subject to Availability)

We were just a couple of car lengths behind Mark and Tommy straddling  their Harleys,  puking blue smoke, and producing one hundred decibels above what OSHA would consider workplace violence.

They had effortlessly and instantly metamorphosed from ‘A-Jay-Squared-Away Sailors’ into ‘So-Cal Bikers’…

Replete with all the garb: leather jackets, black jack-boots, Brando Hats, ‘too dark to see through’ sunglasses.

The whole bit.

We passed through National City, (‘Nasty City’) then Chula Vista, (Chew, Ya-Wanna?’).

I couldn’t help but think of Shonnie and how much she would have loved this ‘adventure.’ And I with her, experiencing it together. Damn! Damn her! I missed her still!

“Almost there!” Lenny shouted as we pulled off of I-5 and tacked somewhat west toward the Pacific.

“Almost where?!” I shouted back, but Lenny said nothing. After navigating through some of Imperial Beach’s “Nicer Hoods” our little caravanserai pulled into a gravel parking lot, which presumably belonged to the ramshackle ‘Joint’ I now found me staring at. Lots of Harleys in the lot. I cannot recall the name of the establishment, but it was something along the lines of “The Salty Frog.” or “IB Bar N’ Grill” or “Busted Spoke.”

Oh wait! Now I remember!

‘Cook’s Corner’

No matter, I was only interested in drink, not ambience. Mark and Tommy dismounted as Frank, Lenny, and I ‘de-She-Vailed’ and headed into the ‘Dew Drop Inn’ or, what-you-will.

Inside, the joint wasn’t too bad. Good A/C, low lighting, a couple of pool tables and lots of… Yep: bikers. Well, why not? I was sick to death of the memory of the squeaky-clean C/W Joint where I had first met Shonnie and this place was as far removed from that type of joint as I could ever hope to get.

We found a table against a back wall and proceeded headlong into the arms of intoxication. As I was not expected to drive (this was sort of a ‘coming back out of the shadow of death’ party for me after all), I planned to “Drink that woman offa my mind.”

“Drinkin’ My Baby (Off My Mind)”–Eddie Rabbitt

***

The drinks flowed and the bullshit rolled (mostly downhill into my lap, as it was well known that I was in ‘lost love recovery’ mode.) I won’t go into detail about how piercingly eloquent we all became during the course of the evening. Mainly because I cannot remember all the pearls of wisdom which were cast back and forth amongst us swine.

What I do recall was my exit:

Roughly fifteen minutes after Last Call, and as all the patrons began to shuffle (or in my case, stagger) toward the exit, I ran headlong into an immovable object: probably because I was trying to guide my feet one step at a time with my eyes cast downward and not really paying attention to the ‘bigger picture’ part of navigation.

‘Situational Awareness’ is overrated and for cowards anyway.

Looking up I realized I had run into a woman. A very tall, very large woman. Not a fat woman, mind you, but a tall and large Jumbotron of a woman. I mean a ‘Big-Boned Gal.’ A fuckin’-beautiful-brunette-dark-eyed Big Bone Woman, who, praise Neptune, did not appear angered by my clumsiness.

I found my voice and said, “Hi… Uh… I’m Lance. Will you take me home? With you?”

BBG smiled down at me, “Yes. I sure will,” she said as she took me by the hand.

I wanted to tell her that I was a refugee from a disconcerted affair, mourning over the one that got away, but even thinking about Tom Waits, let alone quoting him, would have hurled me into an emotional tailspin and probably also into a drunken crying jag for added melodramatic value.

I dared not risk it, so I shut up and silently allowed her to lead me to her vehicle.

***

Well I’ve lost my equilibrium and my car keys and my pride,
The tattoo parlor’s warm, and so I hustle there inside
And the grinding of the buzz-saw, “What you want that thing to say?”
I says,

“Just don’t misspell her name buddy, she’s the one that got away”

***

But as they say (Always ‘They’. Who ARE ‘They?’ The ‘They’ who always say?)

“Nothing gets you over the last one like the next one.”

***

My recovery was officially underway.

Thank You Big-Boned Gal!

Street Cred for Vid: barefootkd’s channel

***

This Concludes Our ‘All Things Shonnie’ Broad Cast (no pun). We now return you to our regularly scheduled insanity.

***

Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I was ‘enjoined’ to write it.

However, BOLO for some ‘Final Thoughts Part Duh’ coming real soon.

I’d provide them today, but they are gonna be Real ‘Heavy,’ Real ‘Philosophical,’ Real ‘Tedious,’ and Real ‘Sad.’

And I am not up to the task of laying them down just yet.

Perhaps tonight,

Perhaps not.

We’ll see.

Peace and Beer to all Y’all!

Oh! I almost forgot.

“Coming Soon: More Big Boned Gal

***

Previously:

***

If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below

And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Comments from the original version of this post may be discovered below.

Please read from the bottom up for continuity.

18 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE: DENOUEMENT”

LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:42 Edit

Youth is a magic healing bullet.

Thank you very much for reading this long series. Your time spent here is greatly appreciated. I know how busy all of us are and there are TONs of blogs out there to read.

I am very grateful you took the time to read mine.

Cheers Friend.

Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 19:09 Edit

Fantastic read. Truth be told, I was actually a little gutted at the end. I’m not sure I could go through a break up like that.

LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:19 Edit

So glad you are enjoying the tale.

Yeah, lost loves can be painful, especially when one is young and doesn’t yet possess the thick skin for protection.

Thanks very much for reading and commenting.

-L

Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 11:13 Edit

Great story Lance.

I enjoyed every minute.

I know how it is with lost loves.

I’m not sure I could write about mine, but I have to say once again that you have skills dude.

Can’t wait for the next adventure.

T

LAMarcom July 17, 2014 at 20:22 Edit

Thanks my good friend.

Truth be told, I’m glad that one is done. I’m rather emotionally exhausted.

😉

Time to move on to other Tales O’ Texas (and other places)

Have a wonderful eve,

-Lance

markbialczak July 17, 2014 at 20:19 Edit

You got, you gave. Good story, Lance. A little better than good. Great, possibly. Told well, sir, told well.

lauramacky July 17, 2014 at 12:29 Edit

loool

LAMarcom July 17, 2014 at 11:38 Edit

Hahaha! Well, ya know… I was just a simple sailor.

David Scott Moyer July 17, 2014 at 09:37 Edit

I enjoyed it. Seems like you did too, for the most part.

lauramacky July 17, 2014 at 09:28 Edit

Well that didn’t take long. Out with the old, in with the new I guess! LOL. Another lol was one of Imperial Beaches “Nicer Hoods”…reminds me of Oakland hahaha

LAMarcom July 17, 2014 at 08:19 Edit

Worse woman tango! Hahaha! Love it!

Gracias Amigo!

happierheathen July 17, 2014 at 01:43 Edit

The only cure for the bad woman blues is the worse woman tango. 😀

Thanks for filling in the blanks, hombre. (That’s pronounced as Daffy Duck pronounces it: Homber.)

LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 22:09 Edit

In truth, Sadie, I am happy to put Shonnie to bed.

And also in truth, I would like to ‘bed’ her just one-more-time.

For old time’s sake.

😉

Cheers,

Lance

~ Sadie ~ July 16, 2014 at 22:04 Edit

I hope it was as cathartic for you to write it as it was enjoyable for me to read it 🙂 There’s some good memories there . . .

Peace out, Lance

LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 21:13 Edit

David, Friend,

Time for me to move on, and truthfully, aside from a couple of ‘relapses’, that was the end of me and Shonnie.

You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.

And thanks so much for reading the series; means much to me.

Always love your comments.

Cheers,

Lance

David Scott Moyer July 16, 2014 at 21:09 Edit

I’ll believe it’s over when I believe it’s over.

LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 21:05 Edit

Homeopathic.

Always works.

Hahahah

Thanks for readin’ Annie.

Cheers,

Lance

Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann July 16, 2014 at 21:04 Edit

Hair o’ the dog what bit ya!

Indigo Girl 2: Callen, “The One That Got Away.”

(I was in love with her)

Probably still am

CALLEN!
My Girl!
I wished upon a Star

(But I Fell Too Far)

Vid Share Cred: Louis De Nennie

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Not Callen, (Below) But almost a ‘Dead-Ringer’–Especially the Smile

(Ed. Note: Callen Was / Is More Beautiful)

Callen Look-Alike (Blake Lively, I think)

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

“Breaks my Heart Just Lookin’ at Her”

If…

Jenna

was the ‘air-brushed’ perfection, professional beautiful angel,

 

thus 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” (Licensed-to-Carry-A-Gun-But-Not-Licensed-To-Ever-Use-It)—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 trying 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 been with 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. And shook it.

“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…

More on my recent

“Callen Remembrance Regret.”

I woke up with her on my mind–I suppose this is obvious, and I don’t really need to verbalize it.

But I do it anyway…

More Callen Found Here