March 20, 2002 | 12:43 PM

7U)### Thurston St.

Let�s talk a little bit about a certain neurotic tendency I have. One that is (I believe) unique to me. If this particular neurosis were given a name, you could look it up in Dorland's Illustrated Medical Dictionary and next to the definition would be a picture of me, drooling, my eyes rolling back in their sockets.

The neurosis is as follows.

In traumatic, difficult or emotional situations, often my first reaction is completely appropriate, realistic, and ethical. However, should the situation have loose ends, should the situation linger on past its initial pulse, my reaction/method of coping becomes increasingly neurotic. The more I analyze, dwell upon, question, and re-think whatever it is that happened, the less appropriate, realistic, and ethical is my behavior.

Case in point.

My initial response to the Angus make-out session was refusing to sleep with him due to the comlicated nature of my feelings.

Very correct. Highly mature.

Unfortunately however, not the end of the matter.

Perhaps I am incurably, delusionally romantic.

Or, maybe I have a very bad habit of gazing at the recent past through rose colored glasses.

Or it�s possible that I was so bored and fed up with my life in general and with The Stupid Company in particular that I subconsciously created a mass drama in order to keep myself amused.

Or it could be that I didn�t receive enough love and attention as a child and thus feel consistently deprived, causing me to repeat the same fruitless pattern over and over by seeking love and attention in places I know I won�t find them.

Or, maybe it�s that I am a self-interested, ego-driven prima donna who must be in the spotlight at all costs.

In all likelihood, the resulting farce is a combination of all these motivations.

After my sexy but sexless evening with Angus, he distances himself from me. He is friendly. Kids around with me. Even makes jokes about our indiscretion. We eat lunch together and even have a couple beers after work sometimes. But the intimacy has been sucked out of our friendship. A wall has been erected.

He doesn�t look at me the way he used to, when his eyes would linger on my face and his lazy smile suggested all sorts of naughty ideas. He won�t touch my hand �accidentally� anymore as he reaches across the desk for his mug of tea. He stops writing me crass little notes. All flirtation ceases. And cruelest of all, no longer does he tell me in that low honest voice, what he�s thinking, what he�s feeling. The intimacy has vanished. By God, if only I'd slept with him.

Now, I�ve lost him.

Sheesh. Am I so unattractive? Is he just going to give up that easily? What�s wrong with me that he isn�t trying harder?

I miss the attention. I miss him wanting me. And I really and truly miss him. I miss all night talks and reading his words. Alone at night sitting at my kitchen table downing too many glasses of wine, I wonder if I've made a terrible mistake.

John is equally well defended. He stays out later and later. There is less and less lovemaking in our relationship, and less and less real communication. If we have a one on one conversation lasting longer than twenty minutes, it�s a good bet the subject matter has to do with the Stupid Company. The tenderness and honesty�the love affair we shared just a short year ago has been displaced by this bland coexistence.

Any halfway insightful person could see how hurt John is by the Angus situation, even though he continually professes that he doesn�t care. Obviously this is a defense mechanism. I, however at this point, am not a halfway insightful person. I am not even a quarterway insightful person. I have no insight regarding myself or anyone else. All I can feel is rage at the way things have been since John graduated. And loneliness. And an insatiable desire for attention.

A few weeks after I turn Angus down, we go out for drinks. John is supposed to join us later. John and Angus actually are drinking buddies. Which makes this entire situation even more surreal.

As Angus shotguns his fifth beer in an hour, we get on the subject of romantic relationships. At first we speak abstractly, philosophically. Then it becomes more personal. His green sea eyes glisten with sadness.

All I want is for someone to love me who I can love back.

I take his hand. I look deeply into his eyes.

What a manipulative little shit I am.

I love you Angus.

His look changes to one of disgust.

I don�t need that kind of love. I need to be with someone who just wants to be with me. Who can say, �you�re the one for me�, and wants to sleep next to me every night. And make love to me every day. Who wants to buy groceries with me. And let me make dinner. I need to be loved that way. The way that I love...

He stops and looks away.

The way that you love what?...

I am breathless. Angus stares at me for a long moment.

Are you retarded? Jesus H Christ, Anna.

Before I have a chance to respond, John walks in the door and sits down next to me.

Hey Tiny Pony,Let me buy you a beer.

The three of us spend the next couple hours getting sloshed on cheap hops, and the conversation is light and silly. We gossip about The Stupid Company (of course). We discuss the relative merits of various bands. John and Angus get into their 110th argument over whether Iron Maiden has any artistic merit. At some point the conversation switches to movies. Angus slurringly professes his love for Bruce Campbell, and we ruminate over the possibility of Bruce Campbell�s supposed upcoming biography. A lengthy and repetitive debate ensues over Brisco County Junior. I still don�t remember the outcome.

By midnight, everyone is snockered. Especially Angus.

Angus is so drunk that neither John nor I trust him to get home, so we drag him back to our place.

Angus has gotten to a state of drunkenness where he doesn�t see any problem with insulting the taxi driver�s choice of radio station.

Whathafuck is thiss shiiiit, man? I mean, fuckin� stupid fuckin� lame fuckin... why d�we havta listena thiss shit. Thiss Barry Manilow shiit?

Luckily, Angus is nearly incomprehensible and the cabbie doesn�t know much English.

When we get upstairs, John promptly retires to bed, and I get the futon ready for Angus. The two of chat as I find a pillow and blanket for him. We sit down on the futon and talk for a few more minutes. Finally I can barely keep my head up any longer.

Good night, Angus.

I move to leave. He grabs my hand.

Can I have a hug?

Sitting there, about to pass out, he looks just like a little boy. And I feel guilty and sorry for him that I am such a scheming atrocious excuse for a friend, and angry too that he ill only express this affection for me when he's intoxicated or needy. I reach out my arms and give him a hug.

Is this a hug? No. It�s not a hug.

He sloppily, drunkenly runs his hand up my skirt and presses up against me. I topple backwards, Angus trapping me beneath him. The whole thing strikes me as comical beyond all reason. It occurrs to me that as badly as I want Angus, I am always in the position where I have to refuse him.

You�re so pretty. So fuckin� pretty. I haveta say.

I am nearly as drunk as he is. I know he doesn�t know what he�s doing. The whole situation strikes me as ridiculous and I can�t help laughing.

Angus, get off.

At this point he can�t even hear me. I gently remove his hand from my thigh. He places his other hand on my breast as he starts singing off key into my ear.

Pretty pretty pretty pretty such a pretty girl. Pretty pretty you�re so pretty. Such a pretty girl

At that moment John walks in.

I am well aware of how this must look.

Fuck.

Hey guys.

John stares at Angus and I. He is smiling. There is total silence in the room. Finally I say,

Hi honey. I thought you went to bed.

There is a pause. Angus looks up at John but doesn�t speak.

I try to get up but am trapped beneath Angus, who has become dead weight. John intervenes.

Anna do you want to go to bed now?

I nod. Suddenly I feel miserable. I want to cry. Somehow, this is all my fault.

Angus rolls off of me, John pulls me from the futon and kisses my cheek, causing shame to rise up and flsuh my face. Angus has managed to sit up and is staring at the floor. John sits down next to Angus on the futon. He puts his arm around him.

Hey buddy. You�re pretty drunk, huh?

Angus nods.

It would probably be a great idea for you to go to sleep now, huh?

Angus nods again and lays down on the futon. John puts a blanket over him and follows me into the bedroom.

I feel so awful I can�t even speak.

In the morning Angus tells us the last thing he remembers about the previous evening is getting into the taxi. Neither John nor I tell him what happened.

You would think this is the end of the story. You would also think this is the worst of my behavior. But you�d be wrong. We still have one more act in this sick little play. I still haven�t told you about what happens at the party.

Stay Tuned for Part the Thirty-Eighth...

Ooh, a storm is threatening my very life today!

If I don't get some shelter, oh yeah I'm gonna fade away!

War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away!

Ooh, see the fire is sweepin, our very streets today!

Burns like a red coal carpet, mad bull lost its way!

Rape, murder, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away!

Mmm, the flood is threatening, my very life today!

Gimme, gimme shelter, or I'm gonna fade away!

War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away!

It's just a shot away!

it's just a thought away!

it's just a shot away!

So dodge them bullets and read the SAGA from The Very Beginning

time capsule from heaven - Sunday, Aug. 21, 2011
31 - Saturday, Mar. 15, 2008
Dead/Alive - Monday, Mar. 10, 2008
Do not trustTIAA-CREF-- they are fucking their customers - Friday, Jul. 28, 2006
Shilling - Tuesday, Jul. 11, 2006

Before After