Tag Archives: Babe

Just Weird Awakenings All Over the Place

Should I just list them all, or what? Is that easier?

I saw this older woman last night who was having trouble lifting some bags. I could see that her back was really bothering her so I offered to help her.  She declined, and then briefly went into this little sort of speech of empowerment about how she still wants to do things for herself, etc. And how she’s determined not to get old, and that if she didn’t keep doing things for herself, what would happen to her? And all that. And then at the end, she mentions that she had a birthday back in June and had turned — 59 (!!).

I swear to God, she looked closer to 80. I’m serious. She was only one month older than me.  I got back into my car thinking, holy crap, what was that?!  I did not know how to process it.  I realize that I’m sort of immature and childlike and always truly feeling 12 years old (albeit, an extremely worldly, non-virginal sort of 12), but was she what I was supposed to be like?  It was kind of horrifying. (I’m not meaning to imply that 80 is horrifying, or anything. I’m just saying.)

And I’ll also mention here, only because I’m just now reminded of it — back around the 4th of July, loyal readers of this lofty blog might perhaps recall that I tried to join a new dating sight for bisexuals. (Not a dating site at all, really, but more of a “have sex with total strangers” type of site.) But I gave up on it almost immediately because I couldn’t get the profile thing to work and then, of course, I realized that I didn’t have any free time whatsoever to try to meet and have sex with strange girls that I knew didn’t exist anywhere within 500 miles of me anyway.

Apparently, though, my half-finished profile is still just sort of hanging out on that site because I get emails alerting me that women are emailing me, wanting to connect. But I can’t access what they say because I haven’t completed my profile, I can only see who they are. However, not only do the women come from places like Michigan, Kentucky, North Carolina — you know, places that are so not right around the corner from me; but also they have all been close to 70 years old.

Not that women close to 70 shouldn’t want sex or something, but my knee-jerk reaction is always: why would someone that old be thinking about having sex with me? I’m, you know, twelve.

But then of course, I realize, no, they’re really only about 10 years older than me. And then I sort of freak the fuck out. When did I become a viable sex-partner option for 70 year-old women??!!

Then I sort of realize that some of the gals from my past would themselves be pushing 70 now and I’m like…well. How can that possibly be? (And apparently, I’m really sexist because it doesn’t bother me a bit to contemplate sex with older men because then I still get to be 12 and have my “daddy thing”.  But then women of a similar age to the men become “old women” in my mind and it freaks me out.)

So that’s a sort of ongoing weird awakening around here.  (Apparently, I dip deeper into that “Mick-Jagger-I-Refuse-to-Have-Sex-With-Girls-Even-Close-To-My-Own-Age” syndrome every day! Who knew??!!)

Another weird awakening that actually occurred when I awoke this morning — apparently, yesterday I was so preoccupied with the constant cavalcade of insanity that I lovingly refer to as “my thoughts”, that when I set up the coffee pot for this morning’s coffee, I only put water in the percolator and no actual coffee. So I perked a whole pot of hot water. And I was having sort of a difficult morning, emotionally — from the moment my eyes opened. And going for that much needed first cup of coffee, only to discover that yesterday, I had apparently been out of my mind and so now only had a piping hot cup of water in front of me… grumble grumble

It’s just that I hate losing it, you know? My hold on sanity is usually tenuous, at best, so I really need to know that I still know how to make a pot of coffee.

My new car, though, was sort of a little miracle last night.

I decided that I really needed to get a grip on those automatic headlights and how they really worked, you know? I am just not comfortable with this car yet, at all. I really want my little Honda Fit back. But I am not getting my little Honda Fit back. Because the entire Universe — in the cunning guise of the Honda dealership — has decreed that I drive this really nice grown-up car, instead. And learn to like it.

So I thought, I am going to cause an accident if I don’t figure out how to use these headlights because it is super dark out here on these highways at night. So I set the lights to automatic and I drove out into the wilderness well after dark. And it turns out that the headlights are actually fucking amazing. They go from regular to bright to regular in a heartbeat. They just sense everything, every degree of light and non-light, and adjust accordingly. It was really cool. And then that “lane departure” thing, that alerts you when you’re inching out of your lane — it actually pulls the car back into the lane.

My first taste of maybe one day having one of those cars that drives itself.

And while I was out driving, I was thinking about my beloved Hellcat and what it actually means to go from 0  to 126 mph in 10 seconds. (It literally does this.) How does that feel? And why is drag racing so exciting to me, but no other kind of racing is exciting to me? What is this idea of just going really, really fast in a straight line for a very brief amount of time anyway?

The very first real drag race I went to was when I was 12. It was so exciting. And I remember that the extremely loud PA system played the AM hit radio station in between the races –you know, during the setups for each new race. And I remember that “Run to Me” by the Bee Gees came on. I really, really loved that song and it was playing so loud. It was incredible. (It’s still a really incredible song, especially if you play it really loud and you drive really fast and, I guess, if you are still 12.)

Then I was also thinking, while I was out in my grown-up car, driving in the constantly fluctuating non-darkness, about those really expensive anatomically-correct robots people buy so that they can have sex with them. I find those things really interesting and even though I would like to try that, I don’t think it’s a really good idea for someone like me — since I am always living way up in my own head anyway, and have very minimal contact with other human beings as it is — just going that extra step into intimacy with non-humanness seems like a dicey idea at this point. (Although I loved that movie, Marjorie Prime. It was based on a play that I didn’t see, so maybe the play was even better, I don’t know. But I loved the movie.)

Anyway, I digress. What I was really thinking about was that it might be a good idea to make a bunch of those robot things to resemble children and make them super affordable so that pedophiles can just sort of, you know, go off to their rooms with them and just do whatever it is they need to do. And make society a safer place for human children everywhere.

I guess, though, that the benevolent Government would just end up taxing us non-pedophiles in order to create some sort of fund to enable low-income pedophiles to have free sex-robots for life.  Something like that.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I have to: a.) wash my hair because it is beyond disgusting; b.) finish the rewrites on this play already because it is filling me with all-out despair around here; tears & the whole 9 yards — all this time rushing past me and the NY trip approaching rapidly; and c.) figure out how to just be joyful because my life is going to be over in a nanosecond, when we get right down to it, and there is so much I still want to do.

So there we have it! Me, my mind, and a Sunday morning in September!!

And I leave you with the indescribably amazing song I was streaming in my non-CD-playing new car last night! “Babe, You Turn Me On” from the (equally amazing) 2004 double-album Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. Have a good Sunday, wherever it takes you. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

“Babe, You Turn Me On”

Stay by me, stay by me
You are the one, my only true loveThe butcher bird makes it’s noise
And asks you to agree
With it’s brutal nesting habits
And it’s pointless savagery
Now, the nightingale sings to you
And raises up the ante
I put one hand on your round ripe heart
And the other down your panties

Everything is falling, dear
Everything is wrong
It’s just history repeating itself
And babe, you turn me on

Like a light bulb
Like a song

You race naked through the wilderness
You torment the birds and the bees
You leapt into the abyss, but find
It only goes up to your knees
I move stealthily from tree to tree
I shadow you for hours
I make like I’m a little deer
Grazing on the flowers

Everything is collapsing, dear
All moral sense has gone
It’s just history repeating itself
And babe, you turn me on

Like an idea
Like an Atom bomb

We stand awed inside a clearing
We do not make a sound
The crimson snow falls all about
Carpeting the ground

Everything is falling, dear
All rhyme and reason gone
It’s just history repeating itself
And, babe, you turn me on

Like an idea
Like an Atom bomb

c – 2004 Nick Cave