Thomas Guide - Edition 1991
Pretentious little climber
The things I did to be better than
Ambition, naiveté, innocence
Frayed, dog eared, coffee stained Thomas Guide
The same companies with shiny new labels
The same old boys rotating
Re: heating like wilted hot dogs at 7-11
Jade and Skydiving
I sabotaged the relationship with Television by drinking again (that is what my therapist said). I moved into my own place a block away from my snoring Television. My co workers gave me a bed and a black cat named Jade. Jade cried all the time and peed on my shoes if I left her for too long. I jumped out of a plane, hoping that skydiving would make me happy and snap me out of it. It didn’t. I lost 20 lbs. I could not eat, sleep or focus at work. I loved to drink alone in my apartment. I did join AA for 60 days to try to show Television that I had changed. When he started dating, I started drinking again. One drunken rainy night, I ran to his apartment in my pajamas. He was with his new girlfriend listening to Sinatra and I put my fist through his window. The only way I knew how to cope was to numb out with alcohol. My therapist put me on an antidepressant/mood stabilizer. I joined a couple of softball leagues. The team went to a barbecue, we all got drunk and I slept with a co-worker. He told me it was a mistake. I harassed him. Things went ugly and I was written up. I ended up getting laid off. I stopped watching television and I began writing and painting. I went into a gothic phase. I met “Mr. X” at a party at X studio in Hollywood. He was wearing a Yankees cap. There was a pool table made out of sheet metal that was banged into flames there. He was on mushrooms and I was doing rails. We sat on a red bean bag chair and discussed movies. We went up on the roof and I climbed out on the ledge. You could see the Capital Records building. My bangs were cut super short and my hair was streaked red. Mr. X gave me his hand and helped me down from the edge.
I went to work at a studio and started hanging out with this rebound guy. He was a misogynist, an atheist, and a pot head. He was as verbally abusive and immature as Dickie. They both played dashboard keyboards in the car. I didn’t care what he thought of me. My heart was empty. After “Television,” I became kind of a man eater. I dated quite a bit and was really good at letting guys know how psychotic and awful of an alcoholic I was. He pursued me for six months with random phone messages and a few rounds of golf. One night at his place, he was playing his guitar ad I was wasted so I kissed him.
He had written some scripts. The sex was fun and casual. I use to call it bedroom acrobatics. There were no ground rules. There were plenty of parties and I was free to roam the city unsupervised. I dated other guys but rarely slept with anyone but him. Sometimes I loved him, but most of the time I hated him. I picked on him. I poked fun of the Yankees, and I did everything I could to piss him off. Even so, the sex was great. I climbed a tree onto his balcony when I was drunk and rummaged around for pot.
"The sleep of reason
brings forth monsters."