Belinda just left. And I had some Abita in the fridge.

Best. Mardi gras. Ever.

Lorelei has lots of tests to grade and such tonight, so canceling appeared to be a foregone conclusion. Probably just as well.

I just hate disappointing people.

If your partner wants to have sex, and you’re not into it, for whatever reason, you might disappoint them, but that’s it. If your partner and your sometimes fuck buddy want to have a threesome, and you’re not into it, now you’re disappointing two people. Thus the dilemma in which I currently find myself, and why I agreed to have said threesome tonight, though I really don’t want to.

Now I’m suffering from the anxiety and overall sense of panic I have come to expect from myself in such situations. So I’m miserable, all because I don’t know how to say “no” to anyone except myself, and my whole week got progressively more fucked as it went on.

First of all, most of my plans this week have been blown to hell. Sunday, I was informed, anonymously, that I’m doing a shitty job at that particular gig. Monday, a friend was supposed to pick me up from work for drinks, but spaced on me, leaving me to take the bus home. Tuesday I got electrocuted via the microphone at rehearsal. Wednesday I had to remove a fucking bat from the house. Thursday the threesome was pushed back because of a lingering early period. Friday, same deal. Saturday, three different people bailed on us, leaving us drifting all day. And today, all I wanted to do was sit down, eat some food, and watch the fucking Super Bowl, but that plan’s moved, too. Yes, I’m complaining that I have to have sex. But you’re missing the point:  I need some sort of predictability this week, or I’m going to have a fucking heart attack.

That’s really all I have to say. Not really feeling the whole “compelling prose” thing today. Just me bitching. Sorry.

…in my living room. Back later.

I was informed tonight, while packing up my gear after rehearsal, that Belinda has requested our, um, services Thursday. It’s a nice little ego boost to have someone who, frankly, could probably find someone else to fuck, to want to come back. But that aside, I thought of this song. Enjoy.

Ladies & gentlemen, and those who identify as some other gender, last night, as I came home from an audition, I caught Lorelei with her face buried between another woman’s thighs.

Please, hold your applause until the end.

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So apparently this is happening. I have an audition tonight, so Lorelei and Belinda are going to… ahem… entertain each other until I get home.

Rock and fucking roll.

So, just got a text message from Belinda saying “Thinking about you guys,” followed by a nice dirty video.

Methinks this weekend tonight might get interesting. Can’t wait to show it to Lorelei when she gets home.

UPDATE:  Apparently this is an urgent request. I really wish I could get ahold of Lorelei. The scheduling would be much easier.

I don’t quite have the capacity or mental clarity to expound on this right now. It’s generally good, though, and has a lot to do with last night, and it’s implications for the future. This song sort of addresses some of my feelings on the subject.

The moment right before you realize you’re falling, you’re free. In that split-second before gravity - and reality - take over, you can do anything. But, oh, that moment when you realize you’re going to fall.

I’m reminded of something Townes Van Zandt once said:

I decided I was going to lean over until I… just to see what it felt like all the way up to approaching when you lost control and you would fall. And I realized that to do it, you know, I would have to fall. Like I just started leaning back really slow, really paying attention, and fell, you know. And I landed four stories down, flat on my back. I can remember the impact, exactly what it felt like.

And then, of course, Arthur Dent taught me the secret of flying is to throw yourself at the ground… and miss.

Maybe one of these days I’ll try my hand at flying.

Just a quick note here, on which I’m sure I will further elaborate at a later time. An old flame of mine, whom we’ll call Belinda, whom I was seeing when I met Lorelei, has been playing a little game with me tonight via IM:

I send, in somewhat graphic detail, some of the things Lorelei and I would do to her, were she to come over and be willing to, y’know, do them, and in return, she sends me naughty cell phone pics.

It helps that Lorelei thinks she’s hot.

I like this game.