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Rob Zombie's
Just When I Think I'm out....

Tuesday, Jun. 03, 2003
So, Holly's back in town, on the scene, and she seems happy to see Alex and me at the Brass. We went in last night, and I'd just had one of those f'n days so I was just in a mood to get stinkin' drunk. I asked her what she recommended for such a disposition and she brought me a pitcher of piss water. But it got the job done. Holly and I don't agree on beer too much. I thought it was funny that she used to make fun of Alex and me drinking our seasonal favorite "Horse Brass Brown" because of the thin, watery flavor and feel. Then, last night she brings me the same thing, only it's yellow instead of brown.

She's a special one, she is. And it puts me in an awkward position. I don't expect that she has the least bit of romantic interest, except that I'm a familiar and friendly face and she knows that I appreciate her. It's just that old cosmic routine playing itself out as soon as I make a fairly certain decision on the woman I'm crazy in love with. Suddenly I'm getting all kinds of attention from girls and women who wouldn't speak to me before. Maybe it's the confidence factor sending involuntary signals out to the female receptors: I no longer have lonely-guy odor. I now brush and shave regularly! And I'm very happy and confident with where I am, even if I don't have a job right now (and few prospects to actually get a real one). Nonetheless, I am with an incredible woman who loves me, is in love with me, who personifies every aspect of companion, lover, friend that never occurred to me before.

I said to Alex, "Remember I used to think I wanted to end up with some dark-skinned medditerranian or African woman with a big ol' J-Lo booty and lots of world-weary sophisticated attitude...?" I don't know if I actually explained that particular outlook to him, but this is what was on my mind before I really knew what I wanted. I didn't think I'd end up with a caucasion woman. (And I guess I shouldn't say just yet that I have. I'm only speculating that my life seems to be headed in that direction.)

Yet, here comes Amy, fulfilling just about every romantic fantasy I'd ever allowed myself to dream, as if she's read the pages of my mind and heart like a script. I'm such a behind-the-scenes kind of guy, and I have no idea how any of this happened. Suddenly, after a night out with strangers in a pub getting saucey and surly, there's this woman who wants to share her life with me? How does that happen? I guess I shouldn't worry so much about it. I should just say "Thank you, Gilbert."



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