daily skinny puppy

(Source: gospelfucker, via mercy-is-all-you-get)

fucked myself over financially AGAIN. good thing i’m getting paid tomorrow, because sustenance is always good. you know…. for living and whatnot. 

(Source: grooveshark.com)

i’m a frequent patron of my local library. in fact, i’m probably there at least once everyday. you can say i’m a card-carrying connoisseur of the place—that is, if you mean my library card. it’s closeby (as in, down the street from my house) mostly quiet, boasting a vast selection of programs and resources, and—last but not least—i get to be surrounded by a long-standing love of mine: penis. i mean, books. when i’m there, i’m usually reading or writing, and as such, prefer to be alone. however, as with nearly every other place in the whole entire universe, it’s not without it’s fair share of weirdos….and coming from me, that term is not to be taken lightly.

001. as mentioned previously, that weird guy that used to always accost me at the library (and beyond) is slowly working his way back into my life, despite my repeated attempts to destroy his soul.

i was first made aware of him about a year and a half ago, when he came up to me and asked if we’ve met before. i responded in the negative, as i was sure we hadn’t, but he kept talking. as it turned out, we really did have someone in common…but in retrospect, he was probably just throwing out names. he went on to mention he’d “seen [me] around” as he, too, lived nearby and was a routine visitor, though i was sure i had never seen him before, ever, in my whole entire life. while we were talking another young girl about our age sat down in our vicinity, and he turns to her and goes, “have we met before?”

REE REE REE. hear that? that was the sound of alarm bells, blaring obnoxiously in my head. 

he was there the next day. and the next. and the next. one time i got on the bus and the guy literally stepped out of the hedges and boarded the same golden chariot, right after yours truly. most of the time i just blatantly ignored him, at times ridiculed him, and constantly pretended that i had forgotten his name, yet he seemed completely oblivious to my apathy towards him. it’s like, dude. i know i’m irresistible, but get a clue. he would carry on and on about the most banal topics you can think of, interspersed by the most unimaginative come-ons you can think of (case in point: “your eyes are like the stars”). what’s worse, he would almost always insist on walking me home. i would tell him no, it’s alright, i’m sure i can manage—even though i’m quite the *BUUUURP* dainty miss—but he would follow me anyway. once we arrived at our humble abode—which he knows i share with my boyfriend—he would stand there awkwardly, as if he was waiting for me to invite him in. i think one time he asked me what my plans were, and i said i might fancy a nap, to which he replied, “can i join you?”

i know. gross.

the whole situation eventually graduated from mild aggravation to full-on weariness, once i heard some stories from that mutual friend of ours (of course i asked about him….wouldn’t you? besides, it was my civic duty).

“oh, THAT guy?” once i mentioned his name, which i wish i had the pleasure of actually dismissing from my mind, our friend shook his head vigorously. “yeah. stay away from him. he is FUCKED.”

i can think of a lot of words to describe creepy stalker man from the library, but fucked-up never came to mind. if he really was a veritable fuck-up, than at least that might make him more interesting. understandably, my curiousity was piqued, and piqued hard.

“oh? how do you mean?”

“it’s kinda tragic…. the guy used to be somewhat cool. he was in this band, Axminister, which was sort of a big deal at our high school. he used to get a lot of chicks, as i recall. wait, has he ever mentioned his car to you?”

as a matter of fact, he had. many times. to my immense enthrallment. (seriously though, i’m the farthest thing from a motorhead. a car drives by, and all i can think of is, “i bet that car has an engine in it”.) “yeah. only that it’s indisposed at the moment. he said it’s being serviced?”

“that’s because this girl he was stalking dumped a bunch of sand in the gas tank.”

SHOT DOOOOWN. i couldn’t see myself, but i can only imagine my reaction to that was bordering on cartoon-y: “wha-wha-WHAAAT?”, wild bulging eyes and whiplash-inducing headturn intact.

“either that, or her boyfriend did.”

“i see,” i choked.

“there was this other girl, too. who i used to work with? she made the mistake of making out with him one time while she was drunk. the next day, he showed up at her work, which she thought was a little unusual, but not particularly distressing, until he started coming by everyday. eventually she had to tell him straight-up to fuck off and she was gonna call the cops on him. that’s how bad it got.”   

i couldn’t believe what i was hearing. “ooh—police intervention? how romantic.”

“he’s just messed up. he talks about the dumbest shit. he’s also convinced he been visited by aliens and dragons, depending on the day.” (yet another wha-wha-WHAAAT? moment. maybe i should have lent an ear, after all….if he’s been spewing that kind of pure-gold fodder.) ”it’s funny you mentioned him, since i ran into him just a few days ago, at the Pizza Pizza. we were standing in line and i was trying to avoid him, you know…and he starts talking about pocket pussies. ‘have you ever wondered what it’s like to have sex with a pocket pussy?’ and i was like, ‘no. i think about having sex with real pussies’.” 

after that conversation, i was actually a bit frightened of the guy. i knew i had to rid myself of him, and in typical Liz fashion. i don’t know why i handled this individual so delicately to begin with, when i am the bonafide QUEEN of “go to hell“‘s (Liz ponders: maybe it was because he’s short? there it is, right there. while i don’t have a ‘type’ physically—thin, fat, white, black, i run the gamut!—you have got to be tall, in comparison to me. you just gotta.) it took a few days and an arsenal of elusive techniques, which beget aloof approaches, which finally beget derisive tactics—indeed, i had to dig deep—for him to finally grasp that i was not interested, not even in his measly friendship, and that i wanted him to go away. very much so.

finally, he didn’t show up the next day. or the next. or the next. i had done it. he was gone.

that is, until recently. this guy must be the most masochistic motherfucker on the entire planet—that’s exactly what i was saying a year ago, when he took up harassing yours truly originally. he hasn’t yet made it an everyday thing, but he’s slowly building up to it, i can tell. i have no idea what this guy’s deal is, but apparently, this calls for some unconventional manoeuvring. i’m definitely not going to give up going to my sanctuary on a daily basis. i’m open to suggestions, readers.   

002. this one won’t be nearly as long, seeing as my shared history with this one is not nearly as storied. this peculiar woman only started speaking to me a few weeks ago, when she said she liked my purse, but i’ve seen her at the library almost every day. she very regularly appears lost, staring off into yonder, and, from what i can gather, is fond of scrapping snails off of the sidewalk. from his own description, i think it’s the same woman who, without any prompting, handed Ian a copy of Marilyn Manson’s Smells Like Children on cassette at Treasures (when he told me that, i cracked, as if i myself was the nutty lady extraordinaire, “’this is what i hear in my head!’”) one time she asked me, when i entered the public facilities, if i was there to make use the toilet.

why, no. i just like to kinda hang out, you know, and listen to other people piss and shit.

003. Kevin apparently has some competition, because there’s a new homeless guy who has taken refuge within, and just outside, the library’s walls. the other day i was walking up towards the doors and i see a guy sitting at the bench Kevin usually sits in. i was planning on jumping in front of him and shouting “hi, i’m Brian!” or something equally nonsensical, when i got closer and realized it wasn’t him at all, rather a darker skinned Aboriginal character with long, black hair. i had no idea at all why i might have mistaken him for Kevin, the latter being our plucky hobo companion, who is clearly the antithesis of this guy. then i got kind of upset, because that’s Kevin’s bench. and thinking Kevin has ownership to something made available to the public makes no sense. which, in turn, disgruntles me greatly.

that was the first time i saw him, but now he’s certainly making his presence known, foraging for food in the trash cans outside (witnessed), drinking rubbing alcohol (witnessed, though he tried to be discreet about it) and muttering to either himself (witnessed), or a stone wall (witnessed).

004. holy crap, i’ve already gone on for so long. i might as well just skip to end. most of the others i planned to mention were archetypes, anyway (the losers who hang around for hours waiting for the establishment to open, the girls who giggle at everything their friends post on Facebook, the guys who take up two computers playing internet poker, the old fogeys that pass out at a computer station and proceed to snore very, very loudly…okay, so that’s one guy in particular). and i may have lied a teensy bit, at least where this last person i’m going to mention is concerned…you see, what prompted this rather verbose entry today wasn’t a weirdo at the library. as a matter of fact, the guy appears as though he’s never stepped foot in a library all his life, if you catch my drift. but he’s definitely a ‘creeper’, in the purest form of the word, and i would be seriously remiss if i failed to include him here.

this guy hangs outside my clinic and asks passersby if they can get downers for him. that’s right, at A METHADONE CLINIC. i won’t even get into how that’s a whole world of wrong. sorry, buddy, no… i will not get heroin for you.

i guess since i actually took the time to say that, he thought it was an invitation to confer with me and flash a buncha bills, like some kind of rap video reject. which, in a hilarious twist, is exactly what he looks like…within five minutes of knowing him he made clear to me the various woes in his life, including his anxiety over his impending fatherhood (and you’re trying to score heroin, oxy’s, or—in your words—anything? wow, that’s exemplary). i guess i just can’t get over the fact how someone can just give up so much and be so trusting right off the bat.

the mind, it boggles.

as strange as i may find his behaviour, he didn’t earn the coveted ‘creeper’ status until earlier today, when i saw him outside of the McDonald’s across the street from my clinic. again, he asked me if i could score drugs for him. i said no. he asked me why (wait—what?) and, idiot that i am, i told him i just went to see my guy and didn’t want to go back there, unless i wanted to bait the place out.

“so you have stuff on you now? how much?”

aww, fuck me.

i tried to make it seem minuscule, hoping he wouldn’t bother, so i said, “about twenty bucks worth? and it’s not on me.”

“i’ll give you half a Fentanyl patch and money on top of that if you give that to me.”

you see? YOU SEE? something is definitely…. off about that. i had to keep telling him no, even after he upped the ante to one whole Fentanyl patch and cash, which he made sure to brandish. yet i had to stand my ground. …since in truth i had fuck-all, see. the guy would just not leave me alone, trailing after me like some lost puppy. “…and i’ll smoke you a joint!” c’mon, really? you’re offering me something that is like, almost triple the value of what i allegedly have in my possession? …and you’re not a stool pigeon how? 

“well, can you get it for me later? or tomorrow?”

since it really did seem as though he was going to follow me, i agreed. “meet me….at the library. in, say, three hours?” knowing already in advance if this guy was for real, surely my instructions will confound him greatly. he’s never stepped foot in a library, remember. at least, that is what he will have you believe. and the library is pretty big. 

“library.” he blinked. “what library?”

uhhh…”the one down the street?” you fool. 

i thought at the very least, he would have asked me where in the library we should meet. he never did. i’m telling you, this place is huge. so, if i see him later on, i’ll have an excuse as to why i didn’t meet up with him. “i was there—where were you?”

pure genius. oh Liz. you sly fox, you.

(Source: grooveshark.com)