If the Southend Italians wanted anything to do with me, then I would run straight back to California and change my name. The only thing more dangerous than the Boston and Brooklyn Mafias is their branch organization in Hartford that never sees any action, but keeps returning Pacino movies a week late.

I order my pequeno café da manhã and have a seat on the authentic furniture of the Brazilian Andes. Somebody took the good sections of the newspaper, leaving me the real estate listings and sports section. My coffee comes out way too hot and I might have just left right then, but I wanted to take the lid off and try and enjoy something for once.

But in wrestling the tight plastic safety lid off the top I accidentally squeeze the sides of the paper cup and spill hot coffee all over my lap. Fuck! Ah! Fuck! When you see steam rise off your crotch at 7:30 AM then you know nothing can get much worse in your day.

I curse my way to the napkin dispenser, spilling little drops of coffee on the floor all the way there. All the way over to Maureen.

There she stands. Tall and gorgeous with her big, wide-set eyes scanning over the room. As much as I’ve wondered when I would see Maureen again, after the Laundromat thing, I kind of wish I could reschedule it for a time when I didn’t have a crotch full of coffee.

I think for a second that I could wait and find her later but I don’t know where her parents live or how to find her. She probably has some hot shot job in Hartford now and comes in here so goddam early to beat the traffic. Oh, Maureen.
“Maureen!” the words leap from my mouth. I really gotta get that checked out.

Her big eyes search the room and I hide my face in the sugar bowls, feigning confusion between Raw Cane and Splenda.

“Liam? Liam what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

“I, uh, I heard the coffee is best right at 7:30. Some kind of Brazilian thing. And the one at home doesn’t open until…uh, eight. So. Here I am. For the coffee. The really, really good coffee. Before I go off to…work…to work out. Weight lift. I’m lifting weights today. Now. Soon.” Please. Please stop talking. “I’m glad I saw you again.” Stop it! Stop it!

“This is weird how we keep running into eachother.”

“We should, uhm. Y’know we should do it on purpose before I leave. Sometime. Meet. Meet up on purpose,” Oh man. This sounds like a date. I hate dates. How can I make it seem more friendly? “For coffee. Sometime.”

“Does it have to be 7:30 AM?”

“No. As long as you’ve had it once. Brazilian style.”

“You okay over there?” she points to the mound of coffee stained napkins I have on my crotch.

“I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s kind of personal.”

“I can see that.”

“I have this rare disease that makes it difficult to hold hot objects without spilling them on my crotch. Science is working on a cure. It was in the paper today.”

Labels: Novel

Eminem- You Don't Know

Man, fuck you guys.

My objections are as follows: too gay, bad wig=bad pictures, "been done", schwastikas, heroin.

So then I put my image through my heritage.com and discovered that I have the facial bone structure of:

Bright eyes.

Pete Doherty

Richie Tenenbaum

Labels: Novel

I still think Scorcese needs to be congratulated for finally doing something with Irish mobsters.

1- Last month I wrote about his awful break up wherein his lover left him with an empty house. And this month I'm searching for furniture.
2- One time he told a story about a bomb falling off a truck and then it actually happened a mile from my house. I'll keep bringing this one up because this chapter was published.
3- Tomorrow I have to write about him visiting his Christian Scientist Uncle whom no one knows actually has a form of autism. I've planned this chapter for months. And I just found out that on Sunday my uncle is visiting. He's a Christian Scientist that doesn't know he's autistic.

1- Fall in love with a girl named Naomi. Annie hates the name and the character as it appears in the outline, which means they won't get along in person anyway.
2- Sleep with his Junior prom date for the first time.
3- Hear back from his ex girlfriend at which point she admits that she made a huge mistake.
4- Save the world from a terrorist attack.
5- Meet the president (what should I wear???)
6- Somehow tie the autistic uncle, his absent father, and the school redneck/bully into a plot solution that will ultimately save his brother, who turned up missing in the first chapter.

Razor Back--Of this [girl] little is known but her name. I have seen [her] at a distance off Cape Horn. Of a returing nature,[she] eludes both hunters and philosophers. Though no coward, [she] has never yet shown any part but her back, which rises in a long sharp ridge. Let [her] go. I know little more [her], nor does anybody else.

"This whole book is but a draught--nay, but the draught of a daught. Oh, Time, Strength, Cash, and Patience!"
-Herman Melville

Never do I feel a greater need to ring some one up, say 5 times, than I do after 2AM. Alas, my friends sleep drunk or on vibrate.

J: Anything you want tell us tomorow?
B: Uhm...happy belated anniversary?
J: Anything else?
B: I got the day off for your birthday.
J: and...
B: Is there something I'm forgetting?
J: Nat'l Coming Out Day.

Frustated Customer: Jesus Christ! Is everyone here on acid
Pete on Acid: Define "Christ."

Something I learned this month: If you do something slowly just to see if it's the wrong thing to do, it definately is.

I still think it is very important to hit rock bottom before you make your way back up.

There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other....But this is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy--

I have this rare disease that pops up only when I drink. My tongue flares up as soon as I taste the alcohol and it won’t stop until I’ve called several ex girlfriends and told them how I feel about them.
My phone has names organized to prevent this. Ex friends and girlfriends get listed as, for example, “X.Sherry Leworski.” This disease causes just enough mental disconfiguration to keep me from remembering where I hid the numbers. I also learned to keep my work friends and bosses hidden as in “W. Jane ala Accounting” so that I don’t call Jane from accounting at three in the morning just to thank her for giving me a ride that one time or ask her what she’s wearing. Many of these people confront my disease with tough love as though I needed to be quarantined until it passed over, like I’ve got scarlet fever or something. Truly a shame. Sometimes the only ex-relationships that work are those where the girl catches the disease from me. We’ll both go to the phone at the same time and while it’s ringing we’ll find someone on the other line. When in a committed relationship I find it handy to change that girls name to, for example, “+Sherry+” that way she sits on top of your phone list. That way when I have an attack late at night I don’t call someone else and do something stupid, thus changing a happy “+” into an pissed off “X.”
This disease makes it impossible for me to keep friends named “Aaron” unless Aaron has the opposite reaction to alcohol and passes out in the front seat of his car.

Labels: Novel

The Hold Steady - Your Little Hoodrat Friend.

Now how did that happen?