Youtube link to audiobook of Chapter 7 and the rest of the book!

Chapter 7

He that seeks trouble never misses
English Proverb

From:

Subject:  Help this …

To:

Lori, I have a weird complex that I’m trying to figure out. I was discussing it with my friend Joe last night, so I might as well discuss it with you. 

You see, there are certain situations in which I have a tremendous amount of confidence, almost to the point of being arrogant (well, I guess it IS to the point of being arrogant, actually). When I’m in that “zone,” there is nothing I’m afraid to do, say, or try. I have absolutely no fear, and absolutely no regard for potentially negative consequences. This is the attitude I have around certain girls (like Babette, and a few others that I probably never mentioned). However, there are times when I’m basically a pussy. I feel ugly, stupid, and worthless. I often feel that way when I’m surrounded by strangers, which is why I almost NEVER go out anywhere in public, or when I’m in unfamiliar situations. Every so often, it’s like my mind starts focusing on every single little imperfection about myself that I can think of … I’ve got a bad haircut. I don’t dress well. I wear glasses. My teeth aren’t perfect. My voice is goofy. I’m overweight, etc. etc. etc. I can hardly think of a word to say. It’s like I regress to the point of being an insecure teenager who can’t get a date for the school dance. 

Where am I going with this? I don’t even know, but that’s the deal. It’s like I’m drawn to, and I excel in, negative situations, but when something potentially GOOD might happen I completely convince myself that it’s hopeless and I’d better run the other way.

So what do I do? Go into therapy? On the other side of the coin, why are some girls so drawn to me even though I’m an emotional train wreck? It’s a paradox, I tell you. 

Do you think I’ll ever be able to meet your friend Angela?

Anyway, I will speak with thou in a fortnight, for I have been pitched in battle and am weary for a mug of ale and a wench to relieve my weary burden…

Rutherford

From:

Subject:  Re:

To:

LL/SF,

I had a date last night, and it sucked. The guy was just so, I don’t even know how to describe him. Just ICKY is the only word that comes to mind. 

I’m feeling so lonely and vulnerable right now. It seems like most of the guys I’m attracted to just DO NOT look back at me. For whatever reasons, they don’t. When I was on the thin side, guys said I was too skinny. Now that I’m on the heavy side, they say I’m too heavy. And even when I was “just right” in most peoples’ eyes, guys just never really responded to me, sexually. Take my good friend, Carl- the one who chose Stephanie (the Bitch) over me. He always told me he looked at me more as a sister than anything else. My friend Robbie always said the same thing. Yet, I would have gone out with either of these two guys in a heartbeat. I don’t know what it is I lack- but I have never, ever been the type who could “have any guy I wanted.” Not even close. That is why I’ve always felt like I had to take whatever was available. Over the years, when I’d go out to clubs and bars with friends, I would inevitably end up feeling invisible- like the ugly stepsister. I don’t put myself in situations like that anymore … But it left an indelible mark on me. One time I was really interested in this guy named Pete. My friend Karen tried to fix us up … But you know what he said? “I really like Angela, and she’s not bad-looking, but I want someone REALLY attractive.” To this day, I can’t believe Karen TOLD me this, but I pushed her for a reason, and she finally caved in. Later in my life, another guy said virtually the same thing. That he wanted someone beautiful, not just cute. 

So, in sum, I’ve gone through life feeling like I really did not have a choice. I’d let them choose me … and be grateful that every now and then, I was chosen. 

By the way, is your friend Rutherford still interested in meeting me?

Angela 

Rutherford and Lori shared a cold pale lager before meeting Angela at a nearby Springfield pub. Angela stood near a crowded bar, clutching a glass of sparkling Merlot and smiling broadly.  She threw her free arm around Lori.

“Lesbian lover!” Lori exclaimed, hugging her back.

“Shhh!” Angela giggled. “People know me here.” She swept past Lori and enthusiastically shook Rutherford’s hand. Angela had recently begun doing live, nightly newscasts at a local cable station several notches above public-access, and because of her newfound local celebrity had become considerably image conscious. 

That day, Rutherford had looked a little different to Lori, with pink color in his cheeks from long mushroom-hunting expeditions and heightened exposure to the sun. His hair, which was usually long and wispy, was cut now as dark stubble all around his head. A tiny ponytail barely touched the collar of his t-shirt, which accentuated the muscular fullness of his arms. And he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Instead, his large, ebony eyes flashed animatedly from behind his long, brown lashes, and his mouth pursed seductively within his five o’clock shadow. Lori wasn’t sure how much the numbing shot of intoxication through her veins was playing on her psyche that evening, but she was surprised to find herself slightly attracted to her Platonic friend of so many years.

“So to me, decorating your face with tribal war paint is completely conforming to what you think society wants,” Rutherford said, smiling smugly at Angela. “You’re giving in and you’re selling out. That’s the way I see it.”

“And that’s why you’re alone,” Angela said. Lori was just able to detect a set of piercing, defensive fangs sliding down over Angela’s frosty pink lip balm covered smackers as she shot Rutherford a look of blood spraying death. “Your standards are unrealistic.”

Rutherford shrugged. “To me, it just shows that a lot of girls aren’t comfortable in their own skin. And instead of fighting that insecurity, they hide themselves behind something they’ve been brainwashed into believing makes them more attractive to a male. Now for me, it’s more of a turn-on to meet a girl who isn’t afraid of being herself. Who isn’t afraid of being different.”

Lori tilted her head toward Rutherford. “What about underarm hair?” she asked.

“Underarm hair…” he started. He moved his body back in his seat to make room for the sausage- and pepperoni-covered pizza that was placed in front of him. “Well, honestly I like a girl to shave certain areas. I don’t care about a girl’s legs … But I …”

“That is so hypocritical, Rutherford,” Angela interrupted. She slapped a hot, cheese-dripping slice of pie on her plate. “A woman shouldn’t lower herself by trying to enhance her looks a little, but it’s vital for her to suck up to societal expectations by chopping hair off her pits?”

“It’s more of a hygiene thing than an aesthetic thing,” Rutherford said coolly. He bit into the tip of his pizza and began chewing with a vacant, distant look in his eyes.

“And what about you?” Angela asked, her bright blue eyes glaring beneath light patches of emerald green shadow. “What about that … that hair cut of yours? You didn’t do that to attract some attention to yourself? Some female attention?”

“This?” he asked, running his grease- and pizza crumb-covered fingers across his shaven head. “I did this freely. Not to prove anything to anyone. Not to get anything from anyone. Just did it. No thought. Purely spontaneous.”

“But it’s a style,” Lori said, taking hold of Angela’s arm, which was perched like a rocket ready for take-off. “You’ve bought into some kind of fashion meant to draw some kind of attention to yourself. Otherwise you’d be walking around like a fuzzy bearded, long-haired hobo who’s under no one’s influence.”

“I’ll probably end up going back to that look,” he said, smiling at Lori.

She smiled back, and sipped some soda.

 “So… You two have done it, right?” Angela asked Lori, pointing back and forth with one finger between her and Rutherford.

 “What?” Lori’s face contorted. She looked at Angela’s wine glass, which was mostly empty. “Absolutely not!” She glanced quickly over at Rutherford before fixing her gaze again on Angela.

“Thanks,” he said, chuckling.

“No, I mean … You know what I mean. We’ve never … you know. In all this time, we’ve just never …”

Rutherford moved his bushy brown unibrow quickly up and down and smirked at Lori.

Angela’s eyes were wide and glassy. “I just … assumed that you had … I really thought you did.”

Rutherford stood up then and walked behind Lori’s chair. “Well at the very least, we could engage in something like this every once in a while.” He began rubbing Lori’s shoulders and neck very hard, so hard that she did not feel any real pleasurable sensation in them. After several minutes of getting the same tight muscles kneaded like dough, Lori felt Rutherford’s hands slip away and saw him out of the corner of her eye approach Angela. She watched Angela’s eyelids droop and a sleepy grin sweep over her face. 

The day drew to a close.

“Bye!” Angela yelled. She hugged Lori first and then Rutherford. “We’ll have to do this again, sometime!”

“Yeah, sure …” Rutherford said, patting Angela softly on the back. 

They watched Angela get into her car and drive off before they headed back toward Rutherford’s eleven year old Chevrolet with its corroded tire rims and dented fender. As they walked, Lori could tell by the way he was strutting alongside her that he was carrying with him a curious air of self-importance.

“So what do you think of her?” Lori asked.

“Nice,” he said. “Not bad-looking, I guess.” 

“I think she’s attractive,” Lori said.

“I just think she’s a little…” He paused. “Nah. Never mind.” 

Lori sighed. “What?”

“No, I mean, it’s nothin.’ She’s just …”

“What?” Lori asked. “Lively? Animated?” 

“Y-yeah… Animated … Talkative …”

“So what’s the problem?” Lori asked.

 “Nah, nothing. Look, I’d love for all of us, including your buddy there, to get together again,” he said. “I’d really like that.”

“This is you,” Lori said, pointing to his car, which surprisingly wasn’t sitting at a tilt with all of the heavy piles of rubbish filling the back seat. “What is all of that?”

“I have to clean this out at some point. I might actually have some shirts and sweaters that you’d be interested in back there. But they’d have to be washed. Possibly fumigated.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him good-bye, feeling a bizarre rush when he squeezed her tightly back. Before she could really pay close attention to what she was doing, she found herself kissing him softly, and mildly passionately, on his cheek. He looked at her for a few seconds before slowly pulling away, getting into his car, and driving silently off into the distance.

Lori headed back toward her apartment, staring hard into the concrete pavement below her feet as she staggered along. This leaning she seemed to have toward soul-less souls and Dark World entities lurking cryptically in the foreboding shadows was starting to seriously concern her. She wondered if she would ever be able to stare into the face of someone like Paul and not be simultaneously swayed by the potent mix of someone else’s raging testosterone and her own undying demons.  

(stay tuned for chapter 8…)

Here is a link to a real-life illustration of a challenging relationship dynamic, entitled “Reeling.”

And here are some other interesting and pertinent links:

DeMars Coaching – YouTube (DeMars Coaching)

Surviving Narcissism – YouTube (Dr. Les Carter)

NARCDAILY- You Are Not Alone – YouTube (NARCDAILY- You Are Not Alone)

Lisa A. Romano Breakthrough Life Coach Inc – YouTube (Lisa A. Romano Breakthrough Life Coach Inc)

DoctorRamani – YouTube (DoctorRamani)

Dr. Todd Grande – YouTube (Dr. Todd Grande)

Crappy Childhood Fairy – YouTube (Anna Runkle- Crappy Childhood Fairy)

Donielle Jolie Yanez – YouTube (Donielle Jolie Yanez)