Am I a mess?
Probably. I look so different from when I started working a stable job for the city of L.A. I was so happy that I landed this job because not only was I back in the city, but my job was in a department I had been striving for since I left it in 1982. It was melancholia mixed with successful endeavors all in one. I kept one of those goatees that you see on the three muskateers, but trimmed close to my skin, and my hair was also trimmed every two weeks.
Now? My hair is tied in the back and my goatee is longer with razor stubble along my upper lip. Mustaches were always difficult for me to groom so I finally decided that I'm not a mustache kinda guy. If my hair gets any grayer, I'd be the poster child for Uncle Sam. The people who knew me back in my straight edge grooming days say they liked me better when I had short hair. I'm even offered dates, in the form of a bribe, if I would just get rid of the pony tail. Well, here's the deal. I've always been shy and never able to flirt with very much success back in the days when I did portray a presentable young gentleman-caller.
These set-backs in the dating game caused me a lot of stress that ended in drunken stupors. I'd been kicked out of places to the point of being physically dragged out of the premises. Forgive me if I decided that I would quit drinking that way and change the way I look so that I would hardly resemble the same bloke to people who've seen how far I can get in a bend. The way I look now gives me confidence that I can walk into a place without wondering if people still remember me. Yes, it's sad. I suppose one can look at it as though women everywhere have finally achieved their sweet revenge against guys like me. Although I'm really not such a bad guy.
If it's a bad thing to vow to stay in love with the first person who's ever stolen my heart, then I hope it's understood that karma is on my side where relationships gone bad are concerned. I'm a real fucking mess, but I won't change. Those hot young horny girls who think they can charm their way into my heart are mistaken. I'd blindly enter a marriage with a total stranger as long as she is who I know I'm in love with, but because sexuality is weird and some women you think you might have the hots for could actually be a dude, a former dude, a dyke, etc. I gladly hold true to my ideals of first loves being the one and only love there is in life.
Then there's the conspiracy of the customer from hell I will refer to as Mister. Mister dropped by yesterday and made threats in the form of suggestive inquisitiveness. Apparently, this person I'm talking about is similar to me in that they've always been known by a shortened version of their real name. Now they're finding that they are having identity theft problems with their account with their local library. It's weird because I searched for their account under their real name and nothing was in the system. I couldn't help wonder that something like this might be a way to make me out to be incompetent but I searched high and low for their account. The threat comes in the form of bringing this issue to the headquarters of library services where they might find it suitable to investigate even the employees habits in an effort to find some corruptness in the system. Oh, Mister came off as being genuinely concerned about the mistaken identity issue, but if Mister did bring the issue of having receiving correspondence to their address under a different name, I wouldn't run it past an investigative team cracking down on the little branch where I work to try to find the cause of the problem. Would they then overlook minor incidences like slackers who don't raise the American Flag? What a nag