Aboard the Choo Choo Again
I am going, to Charlottesville. I am doing, an essay. Subject unknown besides what's going on right now plus whatever is on my mind.
You're reading a radio show I am not able to record.
This is, Wolf! Alexander!! live aboard a train in the wilderness of Virginia. This is the 20, the Amtrak Crescent, from Nawlins to New York!
It's a northbound train.
Girl how are your directions? Do you use GPS or the sun? How about a compromise and a compass?
I am wearing CLASHING SYMBOLS.
Not exactly like the orchestra kind except metaphorically.
I am wearing a hippie vest, all colorful and hippie, and a John Deer shirt. All blue collar and "kill the hippies!" if this was 1968.
My vest is very Progressive. My shirt is very MAGA. This doesn't make sense to people, and they see it. And some think about it.
Girls I want thinking about it.
My self-advertisement isn't perfected. I have this rizzful hat but it's too hot to wear. Maybe. But I'm inside the rail car, so wearing an outdoor hat looks ridiculous and not in the good way.
The good way is the casual statement my shirt and vest are making. The hat would be a prop, not clothes, if I'm not cold.
I don't like bullshit. I don't like fashion for its own sake. I want useful fashion. Like my jacket is very, useful, fashion. My jacket screams "he's rich. He might be powerful. He is suave."
I am not that rich. Definitely not Super Rich. Rich enough to not be a slave for The Man or for The Man's prerogative. Which is what almost everyone does, daily. Sorry, wage slaves, if you hear an alarm you don't want to hear and you follow it to the shower and then traffic, etc., you are a slave.
I will free you.
*****
Where was I? Going north! A boy is talking and I wish I didn't have to hear his dumbass.
It's 10:11 am and I am drinking a Corona. I may get a second before we get in at 11.
Unlike Hunter S. Thompson I am not a drugoholic. Weed, almost all the time, and alcohol, two or three drinks a day at most throughout the day. Winston Churchill drank more than that all day every day for his 90 plus years so it's not exactly poison.
Whenever I feel even the slightest bit icky in my stomach I drink water and stop drinking alcohol. Seems to work. I like the swashbuckling it gives me. The weed gives me fire.
I was angry at myself last night because I am still introverted, despite wanting to be extroverted.
Extroversion is great because everyone gets to participate with my fun, but I don't want everyone to participate with my fun. Specifically I don't want goddamn boys around me, for any reason, ever.
This one caddy corner has already talked to me twice and thrice will get me growling. Get out of my vision you stupid fuck. Figure out a reason to go forwards or backwards in the train I really don't care.
He isn't listening to me. I could make him I suppose but he's not that, annoying. This is why I have so much hope for my "sorority counter intelligence operative" resume. A sorority has no boys in it, normally. That's my kind of building. Where else can I get that?
There's a girl I want to talk to. She is sitting two booths away. She's pretty. She's here. That meets all my qualifications for desire. But can I say anything to her without making it awkward, for her?
I used to feel awkward hitting on girls but now I don't. However I still sense some girls don't like it when I do it, so I don't want to ruin their moment, so I don't.
What can I say to her that could create a good conversation for the next thirty minutes? That's how long I have.
What if she doesn't want to talk to me? Because she has a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or doesn't want a relationship right now, or some other reason? Then me talking to her will force her through politeness, to talk back to me. She won't enjoy that. And I don't want to do that to her because she's very cute and her having an enjoyable thirty minutes with me while she looks out the window is, maybe, the best I can do.
I will give her my card before I go.
What I want, is for her to talk to me. I have had half a dozen or so girls be super forward with me in my life and those are my favorite hook up moments. I love bold, girls.
She, this girl two booths away, either is bold and doesn't want me, or isn't bold and does want me, or isn't bold and doesnt want me.
If she's bold and doesn't want me she's making a mistake. And my dress oughta be convincing that I am the real McCoy boy. All nine yards as the WWII expression goes.
A WWII American fighter plane sometimes had nine yards, worth of ammunition amiunition per gun. So to give a Nazi or Jap "the whole nine yards" was to really give it to them.
I am really giving girls who see me the whole nine yards.
What I am not doing, is hitting on any of them unless it's a fastball, down the middle.
I am not hitting on a girl unless I have a good, alternative reason to talk to her.
The best one I've had recently is when I met Necole of D.C. Transit in Georgetown. She was hot, and doing something political on the street and I told her I'm running for Congress like she was lucky I stopped by. And she enjoyed me hitting on her. And I made a good impression.
Those events have been fewer than I would like. I want you, girl(s) to talk to me. Ask me anything. Tell me anything. Even if it's mean I don't care. If you're even slightly attractive, I will enjoy the attention. And "even slightly attractive" has nothing to do with anything except how you feel at that moment.
ANY GIRL CAN BE HOT AS LONG AS YOU'RE NOT FAT.
And by fat, I mean too big for me to pick up enjoyably. Chubby isn't fat.
Any girl can be hot.
That is a scientific fact.
Which I have proven time and again by giving an "unattractive" girl, by silly standards, my awesome attention, and seeing her be sexy as fuck all of a sudden.
Blooming with my sunlight.
So girl reading who may think you're not hot. If you're not fat you are a hidden hottie.
An excited smile is hot.
*****
Damn. The cafe car is closed and I was about to get another beer. Saved me $8.50 with tip so whatever. I am already "in a new headspace" after one so really, that's all I need. Getting plastered is fun for beer bong and flip cup but otherwise, a little drunk is drunk. Is different. And different is all I was seeking.
When I get off the train in another half an hour I'll smoke again. Then I'll be really, in a different headspace. Weed plus alcohol is like hitting a baseball, and then hitting it again a different direction. It's a ride for the ball and I am the ball.
The girl across from me talked to the boy who won't go away. Actually it was he to her. And that angered me, slightly, but I kept right on typing because I got to hear her voice which was nice. She has a nice voice.
I love girls' voices.
Having reached a crescendo I may send this now.
Deciding…
Sending.
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