Tonight was the first production meeting for Cowboys & Engines, a short you’ll be hearing a lot more about over the coming weeks. This is a mainstream piece produced by my friend Charles Mead and another fellow who shall remain anonymous for the moment; written & directed by me, and worked on by most of my close friends in some capacity. I’m incredibly excited. I think this will be something we can all be extremely proud of when it’s finished; something we can show at festivals and around town; something that might open doors for all of us.

I was supposed to get together with TQO after the meeting (her idea, much to my surprise) but she had a scene today and was exhausted. Instead, I went to Alcove with LL and got red velvet cake. And no, that isn’t a euphemism for anything.

I’m also excited that my place is really coming together, and beginning to look like a living space. I’ve been busting ass for the last couple weeks, and it’s paying off. Every time the MCWBT tries to take me down, I just go pick a spot to work on and by the time I’m done, it’s gone. Now, if only my mother would stop calling to tell me about friends she’s just discovered are dead. It’s like she just now figured out we’re all mortal… jeez…

All in all, I needed this night. I had lunch with Alice Saturday, which was great. Ink had to cancel at the last minute the night before, and I was a little cranky, so it was good to see a friend and just shoot the shit. Then, Saturday night, all hell broke loose.

I’ve been shutting Vega down over the past week because I feel (yes, I know you’re reading this… everyone say “hi” to Vega) that she’s gotten too hooked on me too quickly. After the experiences I had post-Alabama, I’m trying to be  extremely careful of the emotional states of women I’m banging. Vega is 30, so she should know better, but the fact is, she has fallen right into a domestic pattern I find really uncomfortable. She wants to cook for me… wants me to stay over… wants me to bring my laundry

To me, we went from “casual” to “serious” at a speed that raises some questions about Einstein’s theory of general relativity. And while I’ve bitched — at length, I know, so fuck off — in this blog about tiring of being alone, this is just the wrong thing at the wrong time. Vega is great; she’s smart, experienced, funny, and making every effort to be incredibly dirty… but that’s the problem. I can tell she’s making an effort. I don’t want a woman to ask me to piss in her mouth to make me happy, I want her to ask me to piss in her mouth because it makes her clit hard.

So, Saturday night I canceled my Sunday date with Vega. And I was honest about the reasons.

Note to self: Never do that again.

To say she went ballistic is an understatement. Hell, “understatement” is an understatement. She refused to take “no” for an answer. From around 7 pm Saturday night until 1 am Monday morning, we fought. We fought over who could claim the disinterested high ground; over who is more emotionally damaged; over who has greater fear of intimacy; over who is less stable; even over who is the bigger pervert (c’mon. Really?)

If you’re imagining we were calling each other these things, you’re reading it backwards. It was a completely retarded, emotional bigger dick contest. If I claimed to be a psychological wreck, she would try to top me. If she identified as a sociopath, I would be right there to take the hill. It was one of the strangest, stupidest, most exhausting arguments I’ve ever been a party to, and it went on for hours. To make matters worse, the conflict was a cross-platform, multimedia event on an epic scale. We covered texting, phone calls, e-mail, IM chats, Facebook & Twitter.

After a Sunday afternoon lull during which I thought we’d agreed to disagree and let it go, Vega decided to come over. I told her no fucking way, and she was at my door 40 minutes later anyway. Not raging or crazy or out of control, just wanting to get dinner and make nice. So we did, and, naturally (Guys? Right?) it was a trap. A few not-so-subtle rejoinders, and we were off to the races once again. Finally, at 1 am, as a kind of peace accord (a la détente) I gave in and we fucked for two hours.

And, yes, it was awesome. We did several things she’d never done before (see the earlier paragraph for a hint), and she didn’t try to stay. Still, I know she wanted me to ask her to stay. I haven’t heard from her at all today. We’ll see where this goes.

The worst part in all of it was the realization — a real eureka moment, complete with lighting bolt — that I have been Vega. Not long ago, I was in a similar situation, in reverse; I was the one wanting, but not wanted. As I sat through Vega talking and pleading and reasoning… vacillating between conciliatory and angry and jealous and cold… I understood that I had done the exact same things, over the space of months rather than hours, to the girl that wouldn’t have me and I was suddenly viciously, mercilessly ashamed.

I was such a tool. Such an annoying, needy, wheedling dick. I’m moving on, so I think the worst of it is over, but just typing this now and thinking about it, I’m cringing and my stomach is in knots. Why — how — she still talks to me is a wonder. Women are simply more tolerant of egregious behavior in men. If they weren’t, there wouldn’t be a species.

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