sm62704's Journal: mcgrew's home for wayward women

I should put a sign outside my house: "mcgrew's home for wayward Women". As of Saturday afternoon there were technically three women living with me. There were amorous sparks flying with a fourth.

And I didn't get laid. Of course.

Payday was last week, and I spent almost my whole check catching up on bills. I'm still not caught all the way up. There's an old blues song "Women and Whiskey". It's strange that someone I never met could write a song about me before I was even born! I just tried to find the lyrics to it, but Google let me down. "'Women and Whiskey' lyrics" leads me to a Davil Allen Coe song that's not the old blues standard I have a copy of John Lee Hooker singing, as well as something about the muppets, cigarettes, and whiskey. "'Women and Whiskey' lyrics 'john lee hooker'" brings up pages with no lyrics whatever, although if I want to buy a recording of the late Mr. Hooker's music that's as easy to find as cold in winter or heat in summer.

The fucking God damned internet has been ruined by the RIAA and commerce. Women and Whiskey is in the public domain, and its lyrics and sheet music should be easy to find, but like every other public domain work seems to be missing from if not the internet itself, but from Google and the other search engines as well. If it's not commercial, it's not listed on the search engines. If you want to find lyrics to RIAA stuff, there are plenty. If you want free, well, tough shit. "Free" went away some time around the turn of the century.

Love of money is indeed the root of all evil. Especially on the internet.

I hadn't seen Amy since Friday night, when she'd had her boyfriend (who she'd made up with) bring her by to get the taxi-driving stuff she'd left at Tami's apartment. She was spending the night at his house and would call after work Saturday night for a ride home.

My daughter was short of food and her check was a couple of days off, so after work Tami went with me to to the grocery store to get enough provisions to help my daughter out. While I was there I picked up a fifth of Canadian Superior, Amy's favorite whiskey. I knew she was off the wagon and getting it a two dollar half pint at a time as she usually did when she was binging was a dumb as buying whiskey for her in the first place. We drove to my daughter's house to drop the food off, and went home.

I wound up drinking with Tamy Friday night, and we killed the whole bottle of rotgut.

Saturday morning I woke up to the smell of dinner - she'd marinated some chicken breasts Friday but we'd not gotten around to cooking them, as we were getting shitfaced drunk and ate McBurgers instead. So we had marinated chicken, baked potato, and vegetables for breakfast Saturday. Tami didn't remember how the evening went, and didn't remember the McBurgers.

I haven't mentioned it yet but Tami's about five teet tall and must be well over 250 pounds. I'm convinced that obese people are fat because they don't do anything but eat - Tami thought she'd missed dinner, so she'd gotten up bright and early and cooked dinner. Tami's one of the few women that I'm happy to be "just friends" with, even though there's something about her that is sexy.

Maybe it's because she's female.

Halfway through dinner; er, breakfast, my phone rang. It was Kelly. I don't think I've mentioned Kelly here before, as I don't see her very often. Kelly is a very attractive woman in her forties. Well, you younger guys might think she's not too great but I think she's fucking hot. She should get a 900 number and start a sex-chat line, because she's got the softest, sweetest, sexiest voice the angels themselves were ever jealous of. God but I'd love to get in bed with her!

The problem with Kelly is she's still married, and is going through a messy divorce. Her husband is some big shot with the state government who hobnobs with judges, and got custody of their infant daughter and a restraining order against her. Supposedly they had reconciliated some time last summer and were back together again.

"I'm a fucking mess", she sobbed, "please PLEASE come get me!" So I did. What else could I do? I couldn't turn down a damsel in distress, or even a damned soul in this dress. It's just not my nature; I hate to see anyone hurting or in need. In fact, I think one of my biggest failings and the biggest reason I can't get laid is because I'm such a moronically nice guy, especially when it comes to the ladies. Sometimes I think there are three kinds of women - virgins, rape victims, and whores. And that the whores would have been rape victims had they not had an orgasm when they were raped.

Women aren't attracted to niceness. They're all attracted to assholes who treat them like a combination whore/slave and who show no respect whatever for them. Show a woman respect or kindness and they want you for a friend and are afraid if they have sex with you you'll not be their friend any more.

I'll never understand women.

So anyway, I never met Kelly's husband. It's a shame, as I could use some low friends in high places. All I have are high friends in low places. I got to her house, and she brings out a travelling bag and some grocery bags and tells me we have to get the hell out of there before her husband sees her. She's crying, makeup a mess. Can she stay with me a while?

So I have yet another roommate. That's three. She has me take her to another friend of her's house, whose name I can't remember (I never met her before and I'm bad at peoples' names) to smoke some pot. I hadn't smoked any pot in quite some time, let alone first thing in the morning. Full of chicken and veggies I was reminded of George Washington's famous saying, "nothing settles the evening meal like a bowl of good hemp".

As we're smoking, the phone rings again. It was Debbie, the girl who had picked me up in the hippie bar a week earlier. She was at her brother's house, and wanted me to pick her up for a little partying. Seems I make her laugh; we'd had a hell of a good time that day I met her. Kelly said she'd get a ride to my house; Tami could let her in.

So I picked up Debbie and we went to a bar, and I blew the rest of my paycheck. Damn, I'm a fool. When I ran out of cash I took her home. "I haven't seen my boyfriend all week, he doesn't even know I'm back". She'd been at her dying mother's out of state, and had come back for an appointment. It seems she's been living with a guy for nine years. Fuck!

Tami went back home to her husband. I didn't hear from Kelly. I have no clue where Amy is. I spent the last two nights home alone in bed with the runs and an upset stomach and aches and pains, miserably sick. I thought at first it was a hangover, but hangovers don't give you the runs or make all your bones ache. I called in sick to work yesterday.

The phone just now rang - it was Kelly. If you don't hear from me again it probably means that somebody's husband or lover is jealous of the giy that can't get laid, and shot me.