vi – things about her  

   No Alyssa last night. No sunshine today.

And I’m drunk. Again. A stinging, rude drunk. Where the belches come unannounced and the walking is crooked and the voice is louder than it should be. But I’m trying to maintain. I mean, ****…it’s only been one night. Right? I have to understand that she lives with her boyfriend and I can’t expect her to come over every single night. Right?

****.

Okay. So let’s talk about Alyssa because that is my favorite topic. You wanna know why I care so much for this precious woman? Do you?

Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Things happened in her childhood that make her cry now. Bad things. Obviously. And let me tell you, Alyssa doesn’t normally cry. Sometimes she can appear downright heartless. But I think that’s to be expected when bad things happen in your childhood and you spend your entire life suppressing emotions.  

I just want to hold her and whisper in her ear how much I love…

**** that. I didn’t say it.

I’m drunk.

She started dating her douche bag boyfriend when she was 15. Did you hear that? 15. And he was 25. I mean….come on. How pathetic does a mother **** have to be at 25 to date a 15 year old girl. And when they first met…you ready for this, he was already ‘involved’ with a 13 year old.

So if I say that I **** hate his **** guts than you can see that it’s not just because I love her and I can’t be with her because he is. It’s because he is a **** predator. A simple minded person who has to pray on minds even weaker than his own. He’s afraid of woman his own age. Afraid of intelligent woman. Did you know that he made her drop out of school when she was 16? Did I tell you that? And now…now she is stuck at home all day slaving for him. Cooking his food. Doing his laundry. **** him. And she has No job. No car. No money. No friends.

So when I say that I **** hate his **** guts than you can see that it’s not…

Oh, Right. Sorry. I tend to repeat myself when I’m hammered.

Alyssa is addicted to video games. One in particular actually. World of Warcraft. She is obsessed with it as much as I am obsessed with her. I’ve actually considered playing myself just so that I can be closer to her. Sad huh? Well **** you then.

No, not really. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. 

But, I mean, what else is a person supposed to do when they are stuck in an apartment for 24 hours a day? Can you blame her for spending eight of those hours playing some stupid on-line fantasy game?

Can you blame her for sneaking over to my place? Can you blame her for wanting to drink every day? Can you blame her for wanting to spend time with someone who worships the ground she walks on? 

Can you blame me for wanting to hold her in my arms while she falls asleep? For wanting to gently kiss her forehead and stroke her cheek? For wanting to do all the things for her that a real man who cares about a woman should do?

For wanting to protect her and for wanting to give her a life.  

She needs an education. She needs a skill set. She needs to have friends. She needs to be able to build a life for herself and Arianna before that **** piece of **** boyfriend of hers decides he wants to prey on something a little younger and leaves her high and dry.

Oh my concerned readers you have no idea how much I would like to say that she needs me. But I’m just **** drunk.

And many apologies for the language today. I’m a might worked up.

We play rummy sometimes but we play by Alyssa’s rules.

HER:  No three of a kinds. Only runs. 

ME:  Are you kidding me? Three of a kinds are like the whole point of the game?

HER:  No silly, the point of the game is to win. Three of a kinds are just annoying.

I can’t debate that. They are annoying. And she’s just so damn beautiful.

ME:  Okay then, no three of a kinds it is. 

Alyssa has other rules too:

Hands and mouth off during her lap-dances. This is so hard. Her perfect ****, covered in the tightest of red panties, gyrating up and down on my tenting shorts. And when she lies down, arches her back and jets her heaving chest up in the air, stretches out her legs so that her perfect feet and wiggling toes are mere inches from my salivating mouth…

****, sorry. That’s for another chapter.     

          More Alyssa rules -

- She only smokes half a cigarette at a time. The other halves gets placed on my patio table where they will sit for days until a gust of wind finally blows them to the ground where I will eventually pick them up and throw them away.

- No stupid TV shows. In order to obey this Alyssa rule you must first run every show by her in order to find out which ones are in fact stupid. I don’t watch TV much anymore.

- No fooling around until after a sufficient buzz is established. I hate this rule because it means I can’t touch her hand or bury my nose in her skin or rub her feet or…

****. It means I can’t do anything until after like the fifth beer.

And trust me, now I always have at least a twelve pack in my fridge. And I don’t even particularly like beer. I’m a booze guy.

Speaking of which. (pause to finish bottle) ((belch))

Well, This has been fun hasn’t it. Right. I would rather be with her than you. No offense. I do appreciate you coming to listen to me rant about this sensational human being.

Did I tell you I love her?

Well don’t believe me. I am just drunk.