Its raining here in LA. Non-stop. Houses in the Hollywood Hills are in danger of slipping down the mountainside because foundations are washing away. Its amazing to me that even though this happens season after season, people still choose to live on the hill. But then, Cool Girl does the same shit over and over until she learns her lesson, so who am I to judge?
About a month ago, before Thanksgiving, Cool Girl played Savior. Who needs the birth of Christ when you have her around? The Little One called. His apartment had flooded badly from a burst pipe. He had nowhere to go. So I cancelled my plans and headed over to his place to help pack up all his belongings while huge, loud drying fans whirred inside his place. Packing while trying to keep things off the wet wall-to-wall carpeting was no easy task. After a good three hours, we were tired and hungry as we headed to my apartment to pretty much move him into my room. He kept thanking me. Over and over. Said he wanted to take me out to dinner the next night before he flew home for the holiday the next day. Then, he stopped himself and said, "Oh, I have plans with a friend tomorrow night so maybe I can take you out for lunch..." The way he said 'plans', you know, with that pause and 'friend'- well, the stutter- he basically told me everything I needed to know. I pretty much stopped talking altogether and slept on my roommate's futon that night.
The next day, I was just as quiet and The Little One noticed . We headed to my favorite place for brunch and he must've finally got sick of holding up the conversation and he asked me what was wrong. I asked him if he was really sure he wanted to know. Truth was, I wasn't sure I wanted him to know. He pressed with a look of concern in his eye and I released a big sigh. I decided to put a muzzle on Cool Girl and come out with the truth.
The truth was that I was hurt that I came second to some girl he'd just met, some girl he didn't feel close enough to to ask if he could stay at HER place while his apartment was being fixed. I had dropped everything to help him and yet he couldn't change his plans to show his appreciation that he allegedly felt. And was he planning on hitting it with this girl and coming back to my place to sleep in MY bed?! For crying out loud. Now, to be clear, my head realized I had no right to ask annnything from him; we were just friends, nothing more. But my heart didn't want to hear about some fucking date he didn't want to break. So I ended up telling him all of this and asked him for some sensitivity, that's all. He said, "If you want me to flake on the date, I'll blow her off. I will." I looked at him and said, "I wanted YOU to want to do that. I know you don't want to, Little One." He grimmaced and said, "It just gets so lonely out here, you know?" Oh, how I did know. Instead of saying that out loud, I kept it in and tears welled up, the truth ringing out in my head. He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. "Please tell me what you're thinking." I took a whoooole bunch of deep breaths and finally looked him in the eye. "I'm afraid... because I think I would do anything for you... even if it was to my own detriment." And my tears flowed. He was quiet. I made a joke about not being sure exactly when that happened. He smiled widely. "I think it was when I drove your keys down from CT after you locked yourself out in NY." "I think it might have been before then," I answered quietly. It felt freeing to be so honest but there was no way to decide our fates at the Larchmont Bungalow. So without settling anything, we left.
The afternoon was lighter until he got ready to go out. "I'm sleeping in my bed tonight," I inform him. "Okay. Do you want me to join you?" Cool Girl answers, "Yes."
I wish I had a recording of our conversation that night. Sleep was impossible because of the quiet tension so after playfully fighting over blankets ( I AM a stealer- I admit it!), we gave in and just talked face-to-face in the dark. All night. He admitted that no other girl that he was with ever had the depth that our thing had. More like discovered that rather than admitted; like it just occurred to him. I found out the truth about the "friend" and asked if she knew about me. She did. "Does she know where you're sleeping?" "Ah, no." "Well, if there's nothing going on here, shouldn't she know?" "I don't think I should tell her." "Because there's something going on?" "Maybe." Let me tell you something about screwing around with young people: The 'Maybes' are the absolute worst part. Its like they have no friggin' point of view on ANYTHING for fear that a decisive answer will come back to haunt them. And for me, it is my biggest pet peeve. I decide to throw the gauntlet down: "SO a 'maybe' is actually a 'no' then, isn't it? Because if its not a 'yes', then anything else is a 'no'." He looks at me completely defeated. I turn into a school marm and lecture, "You don't get to have your cake and eat it too." Except, kids, you and I both know that's exactly what I'm letting him do. I can shove all the pillows between us and it makes no difference. Cool Girl is a master.
There defiinitely is more to this story; it may have to be a two-parter. He flew out the next day and let me use his car for the 9 days he was gone and I picked him up from the airport when he returned. His apartment was not to be fixed in a few daaays like he was originally told, but a few weeeks.
He ended up back in my bed.
How do you bail yourself out of a sinking boat you've drilled your own hole in?
To be continued...
Monday, December 20, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Instinct
So, I've talked to my best friend who I will call Stand-Up Yogi (with her approval) and she does not like Cool Girl one bit. She likes The Little One even less. And she did not laugh once at my last entry. Not. Once. Stand-Up Yogi once told me her therapist told her she "was accepting crumbs" from men. I realized Cool Girl was starrrrving and accepting crumbs like a four course meal.
Stand-Up Yogi yells at me. A lot. Mostly I love it and need to hear it. Recently, however, I resisted her Jersey Squawk Box advice because of who it was regarding- The Unicorn. I used to label him by the restaurant we'd met in, and I still like to call him Professor- NOT because of a Gilligan's Island fetish but because of where he works and how our first real non-date date went down... but I'm jumping ahead. Let's go back to February of this year...
I was leaving to go across country on the 20th; Restaurant Week was a few weeks before and my good friend Singer-Songwriter Student wanted to get a bunch of randoms together and get a table late one Monday night. The invite got 10 replies so, including the host, we were 11 in total. I walked up to the bar where she was and made small talk with a few of her friends. I really knew not one person except for SSS and that was a rare occurrence, being in New York for so long; the place was really swanky and I remember feeling like I wished I belonged more but that I would have to fake it til I'd make it. While scanning the room, I saw a very tall, blue-eyed man walking toward the bar and thought "Hooooly shiiiiit." Hot. Very very hot. Irish-looking, great hair, mega tall. I got busted for unabashedly staring; he was so nicely dressed, I figured he was some Wall Street guy coming to meet lawyer friends. And then he was suddenly next to me asking "Are you here with Singer-Songwriter Student?" (Of course, he didn't say THAT, but you know what I mean). I gaaaagged. Totally cracked. Managed to squeak out "Yeah, that's us," pointing around to a a group of people not remotely paying attention to me whatsoever. I'm giggling just remembering it. Cool Girl was NOwhere to be found. I was a raging dork. Thank God SSS spotted him and made a big deal of saying hello because she hadn't seen him since high school. She gave us sweet, over-indulgent introductions and started to grill him on what the hell he was doing in NYC. He had just moved here in December.
Now, I must confess that I have a serious issue when it comes to men. I constantly try to date one of my brothers. This is a very strange thing I have just slooowly begun to accept in the last few years, starting with a college friend practically shaking me like a baby when he met my oldest brother at a wedding. "He is exactly like Bobble Head and that is some creepy shit. You gotta STOP." My older brother and I are not real close and the notion of me trying to mend that relationship through a romantic one is not lost on me. I've taken it to therapy. He is a jock-strap head and when it comes to expressing himself... we don't call him "The Hulk" for nothing. My youngest brother is 12 years my junior, so we can see what guy may be closest to that whole...situation. Then, there is my middle brother, just two and a half years younger than me, and one of the funniest people on the planet. He graduated from a Catholic College with a Theology Degree, did service with the Jesuits for a year after that, now works at a Private Catholic All Boys School in downtown Philly as a service coordinator and takes young men to Mexico or Appalachia or New Orleans to help the poorest of the poor and leads them towards spiritual awakening. Now, if I had to pick qualities of a man I dated to match one of these three, which do you think would make the most sense?
Enter The Unicorn, just 10 days before I am leaving to move 3000 miles away.
He was a nice Irish boy from Boston. He'd moved to New York to be the Dean of Recruitment for a Private Catholic All Boys School that is completely free and one of the best in the country. He teaches a few classes there also. He consequently takes potential scholarship winners away to Scranton every summer for a retreat and leads them to spiritual awakening. You see where this is going?
The Unicorn is who I always dreamt of being with in high school (to my defense, before my middle brother even decided that's who he'd be) but absolutely gave up on after living in the city for a few years (especially since being in Musical Theatre left me with few straight-guy options). He was the practicing Catholic who loved Jesus, but not in a creepy way, who wasn't afraid to talk about Spirit and Inspiration and Vocation and could still drink a Dewer's on the rocks and swear a little. I didn't really believe he existed anymore. Or even if he ever did in the first place.
Our first conversation at the bar were about all those things. He spoke of finding out what he was called to do and I mentioned a book called If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland that spoke of Creativity as the Holy Spirit. We spoke of following Passion and how being a Teacher was actually the best way to learn and how waking up every day trying to do what God created you to do was a great way to start a day. I was giddy. I was flying. Cool Girl was no where in sight and I was myself. All this before we'd even left the bar to sit and eat.
Once we were in the booth, things got sillier. I laaaaughed. He made me laugh so friggin hard and jokes that everyone else would have let die 20 minutes before, we kept going and going with. We shared our food. We pretty much ignored everyone else at the table. I told him about places he needed to see in the city and he said several times "Why do you have to move?" Time went by quickly and before long we were saying our goodbyes on the street as a line gathered outside to get into the trendy club level downstairs. I gave him my card, hoping- no, PRAYing he would use it before I was gone.
After three long days, he did.
We managed to avoid the whole Valentine's Day awkwardness and decided to meet on a weekday in the afternoon at my favorite tea place right off Union Square. It was snowing. We sat upstairs and looked down onto East 13th Street. Spent hours together. One of my besties was drinking at happy hour in the East Village and asked us to join. We walked eastward and stopped in at a thrift store, and he began making up stories about weird objects while humming along to the Beatles' song that was playing. I dragged him into The Strand Bookstore and headed to the section where I had bought Brenda Ueland's book before for $3.00. When I couldn't find it, I left him in the poetry section while I asked someone to look it up. One left! I walked over to him and hid it behind my back, making him guess what I went away to look for. I can still see the way his eyes lit up when I revealed it and the incredulous look he gave me when I kept it from him because I wanted to buy it for him. He scrunched up his face and dove into a shelf of poetry books, pulling out a small collection by Mary Oliver, a poet from Cape Cod asking if I was familiar. I wasn't but loved poetry and he decided he would buy it for me. It was, after all, just $3.00.
The night went on and on this way and after nine hours of hanging out with my friends and then their friends, we finally piled into a cab. This is where things got a little strange. The ride was very... chaste. Him clearly not wanting to cross any lines in the back seat, making sure he didn't touch me at all. He gave me a polite kiss on the cheek before getting out and said hopefully we'd be in touch before I left. And he did. He was very brave and showed up to my going away party which was more like a Midtown Zoo. I got to spend very little precious time with him but kept sending friends over to chat because he really only knew SSS who came later that night.
And then I left.
I spoke to the same college friend who'd outed me as a Brother Lover, who I'll call Flute Playah and he said I should send him a postcard. He did not mean buy postcards along the way from Memphis and San Antonio. I knew exactly what he meant. I'd picked up watercolors while in school and over summers sent painted watercolor postcards with poetry or quotes on them to friends while we were separated. Gave me an artistic outlet while slaving away at the JC Penney Credit & Catalog Department, raising money for the next semester.
Making a postcard for him was serious business. And took balls. And definitely would not be a Cool Girl thing to do.
So I did it.
And I wrote a poem from the book he'd bought me on it:
"There isn't anything in this world but mad love. Not in this world. No tame love, calm love, mild love, no so-so love. And, of course, no reasonable love. Also there are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But who wants easier?"
It was the most romantic thing I had done in, easily, ten years. I had been more capable of such things when I was younger but the city made me hard around my soft center. And this sweet, Jesus-loving man dissolved me to my core. And I was brave and sent it with a note on the back that talked about God's timing and me wanting to keep him in my life even if it was just to find out God's reasoning behind it all. He'd sent me a text message of acknowledgement and when I saw him for a few hours at a bar during a brief east coast visit, he'd mentioned it again and quoted the poem back to me... "But who wants easier?"
That was in May.
This October I had a three week trip to New York scheduled and although it was chock full of things to do, I wanted The Unicorn to be included in my plans. I'd won a contest (!!!), part of which was a $200 gift certificate to any restaurant I wanted to go to in the city. I decided I wanted to go to One If By Land and that I was asking him to go with me. On a date. And when I asked I would make that clear. I'd thought I had killed that Cool Girl bitch FO SHO.
I called and left the dorkiest message on his answering machine, including a reminder of who I was ("This is Kathy, we met at Butter...") and telling him about my prize and my desire to share it with him. On a date. A dinner date. I was reeeal smoooth. *eye roll* He called back and after a little bit of chit chat, we got to the task at hand: when to go and was One If By Land acceptable. He was very gracious and allowed me to lead the way but then broke the news to me gently: "Well, I would be able to go on a Friday after work but I should tell you...I've been dating someone and see them on Saturdays. If you wanna take someone else out, I totally understand..." I think I heard my heart fall into my stomach. And then, like lightning, Cool Girl took over. "Oh noooo, NOOOO...", she squealed in my highest soprano, "I wanna go with yooou, don't be sillyyyyy." And then, like a ninja, I came up with a way to put the decision on him within seconds: "Well, is this going to be okay with her, you going out to a nice dinner with a strange girl, I mean, would she get maaaad?" All I could think was, "Please take the heat, please be the bad guy, I can't bear it, please just say, 'I guess you have a point...'". But he didn't. Instead he said "No, its fine, its fine, we can totally go!"
So now I was stuck going on a non-date to the most romantic five-star restaurant in all five boroughs.
Which brings me right back to Stand-Up Yogi. I had not told her one iota of this story. I do not keep secrets from her ever but I knew, I felt it in my bones that she would not take this Cool Girl Stunt well. And I managed to keep my mouth shut for over a week. It was the damn playoffs that weakened my resolve.
We were watching the Yankees play at a bar I knew well and I let my guard down with a few drinks. When she asked about my plans for the next night, I told her the whole story.
She. Was. Livid.
"So basically", she spat out, "you are going on a non-date with an unavailable guy to the most romantic place in all of the city?" Yes, I said, I figured that out already. But I really wanted to try the food. And every time I pass by, I press my nose to the glass and wonder what its like inside. "You DO know what they say about that place in Zagats, right?!?! It basically says if you don't get laid after eating there, you're an idiot." I choked on my vodka-cran. "You have to call him. Call him right now and tell him you won't go. Call and cancel the reservation." I protested. I was not going to do that. "Why are you putting yourself through this?!?!" I told her the truth: I wanted to spend time with him and I wanted to spend time with him there. Alone. The torture Cool Girl withstood would be worth it. And Stand-Up Yogi looked at me with tears in her eyes and sighed so deeply for my well being, shook her head and shrugged knowing there was nothing she could do. Thank God the Yankees won or she may have pushed me into traffic on the way out. Just to save me from myself.
And the three hour dinner at One If By Land with the Unicorn was maybe the best time I've spent on this earth sofar.
Stand-Up Yogi yells at me. A lot. Mostly I love it and need to hear it. Recently, however, I resisted her Jersey Squawk Box advice because of who it was regarding- The Unicorn. I used to label him by the restaurant we'd met in, and I still like to call him Professor- NOT because of a Gilligan's Island fetish but because of where he works and how our first real non-date date went down... but I'm jumping ahead. Let's go back to February of this year...
I was leaving to go across country on the 20th; Restaurant Week was a few weeks before and my good friend Singer-Songwriter Student wanted to get a bunch of randoms together and get a table late one Monday night. The invite got 10 replies so, including the host, we were 11 in total. I walked up to the bar where she was and made small talk with a few of her friends. I really knew not one person except for SSS and that was a rare occurrence, being in New York for so long; the place was really swanky and I remember feeling like I wished I belonged more but that I would have to fake it til I'd make it. While scanning the room, I saw a very tall, blue-eyed man walking toward the bar and thought "Hooooly shiiiiit." Hot. Very very hot. Irish-looking, great hair, mega tall. I got busted for unabashedly staring; he was so nicely dressed, I figured he was some Wall Street guy coming to meet lawyer friends. And then he was suddenly next to me asking "Are you here with Singer-Songwriter Student?" (Of course, he didn't say THAT, but you know what I mean). I gaaaagged. Totally cracked. Managed to squeak out "Yeah, that's us," pointing around to a a group of people not remotely paying attention to me whatsoever. I'm giggling just remembering it. Cool Girl was NOwhere to be found. I was a raging dork. Thank God SSS spotted him and made a big deal of saying hello because she hadn't seen him since high school. She gave us sweet, over-indulgent introductions and started to grill him on what the hell he was doing in NYC. He had just moved here in December.
Now, I must confess that I have a serious issue when it comes to men. I constantly try to date one of my brothers. This is a very strange thing I have just slooowly begun to accept in the last few years, starting with a college friend practically shaking me like a baby when he met my oldest brother at a wedding. "He is exactly like Bobble Head and that is some creepy shit. You gotta STOP." My older brother and I are not real close and the notion of me trying to mend that relationship through a romantic one is not lost on me. I've taken it to therapy. He is a jock-strap head and when it comes to expressing himself... we don't call him "The Hulk" for nothing. My youngest brother is 12 years my junior, so we can see what guy may be closest to that whole...situation. Then, there is my middle brother, just two and a half years younger than me, and one of the funniest people on the planet. He graduated from a Catholic College with a Theology Degree, did service with the Jesuits for a year after that, now works at a Private Catholic All Boys School in downtown Philly as a service coordinator and takes young men to Mexico or Appalachia or New Orleans to help the poorest of the poor and leads them towards spiritual awakening. Now, if I had to pick qualities of a man I dated to match one of these three, which do you think would make the most sense?
Enter The Unicorn, just 10 days before I am leaving to move 3000 miles away.
He was a nice Irish boy from Boston. He'd moved to New York to be the Dean of Recruitment for a Private Catholic All Boys School that is completely free and one of the best in the country. He teaches a few classes there also. He consequently takes potential scholarship winners away to Scranton every summer for a retreat and leads them to spiritual awakening. You see where this is going?
The Unicorn is who I always dreamt of being with in high school (to my defense, before my middle brother even decided that's who he'd be) but absolutely gave up on after living in the city for a few years (especially since being in Musical Theatre left me with few straight-guy options). He was the practicing Catholic who loved Jesus, but not in a creepy way, who wasn't afraid to talk about Spirit and Inspiration and Vocation and could still drink a Dewer's on the rocks and swear a little. I didn't really believe he existed anymore. Or even if he ever did in the first place.
Our first conversation at the bar were about all those things. He spoke of finding out what he was called to do and I mentioned a book called If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland that spoke of Creativity as the Holy Spirit. We spoke of following Passion and how being a Teacher was actually the best way to learn and how waking up every day trying to do what God created you to do was a great way to start a day. I was giddy. I was flying. Cool Girl was no where in sight and I was myself. All this before we'd even left the bar to sit and eat.
Once we were in the booth, things got sillier. I laaaaughed. He made me laugh so friggin hard and jokes that everyone else would have let die 20 minutes before, we kept going and going with. We shared our food. We pretty much ignored everyone else at the table. I told him about places he needed to see in the city and he said several times "Why do you have to move?" Time went by quickly and before long we were saying our goodbyes on the street as a line gathered outside to get into the trendy club level downstairs. I gave him my card, hoping- no, PRAYing he would use it before I was gone.
After three long days, he did.
We managed to avoid the whole Valentine's Day awkwardness and decided to meet on a weekday in the afternoon at my favorite tea place right off Union Square. It was snowing. We sat upstairs and looked down onto East 13th Street. Spent hours together. One of my besties was drinking at happy hour in the East Village and asked us to join. We walked eastward and stopped in at a thrift store, and he began making up stories about weird objects while humming along to the Beatles' song that was playing. I dragged him into The Strand Bookstore and headed to the section where I had bought Brenda Ueland's book before for $3.00. When I couldn't find it, I left him in the poetry section while I asked someone to look it up. One left! I walked over to him and hid it behind my back, making him guess what I went away to look for. I can still see the way his eyes lit up when I revealed it and the incredulous look he gave me when I kept it from him because I wanted to buy it for him. He scrunched up his face and dove into a shelf of poetry books, pulling out a small collection by Mary Oliver, a poet from Cape Cod asking if I was familiar. I wasn't but loved poetry and he decided he would buy it for me. It was, after all, just $3.00.
The night went on and on this way and after nine hours of hanging out with my friends and then their friends, we finally piled into a cab. This is where things got a little strange. The ride was very... chaste. Him clearly not wanting to cross any lines in the back seat, making sure he didn't touch me at all. He gave me a polite kiss on the cheek before getting out and said hopefully we'd be in touch before I left. And he did. He was very brave and showed up to my going away party which was more like a Midtown Zoo. I got to spend very little precious time with him but kept sending friends over to chat because he really only knew SSS who came later that night.
And then I left.
I spoke to the same college friend who'd outed me as a Brother Lover, who I'll call Flute Playah and he said I should send him a postcard. He did not mean buy postcards along the way from Memphis and San Antonio. I knew exactly what he meant. I'd picked up watercolors while in school and over summers sent painted watercolor postcards with poetry or quotes on them to friends while we were separated. Gave me an artistic outlet while slaving away at the JC Penney Credit & Catalog Department, raising money for the next semester.
Making a postcard for him was serious business. And took balls. And definitely would not be a Cool Girl thing to do.
So I did it.
And I wrote a poem from the book he'd bought me on it:
"There isn't anything in this world but mad love. Not in this world. No tame love, calm love, mild love, no so-so love. And, of course, no reasonable love. Also there are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But who wants easier?"
It was the most romantic thing I had done in, easily, ten years. I had been more capable of such things when I was younger but the city made me hard around my soft center. And this sweet, Jesus-loving man dissolved me to my core. And I was brave and sent it with a note on the back that talked about God's timing and me wanting to keep him in my life even if it was just to find out God's reasoning behind it all. He'd sent me a text message of acknowledgement and when I saw him for a few hours at a bar during a brief east coast visit, he'd mentioned it again and quoted the poem back to me... "But who wants easier?"
That was in May.
This October I had a three week trip to New York scheduled and although it was chock full of things to do, I wanted The Unicorn to be included in my plans. I'd won a contest (!!!), part of which was a $200 gift certificate to any restaurant I wanted to go to in the city. I decided I wanted to go to One If By Land and that I was asking him to go with me. On a date. And when I asked I would make that clear. I'd thought I had killed that Cool Girl bitch FO SHO.
I called and left the dorkiest message on his answering machine, including a reminder of who I was ("This is Kathy, we met at Butter...") and telling him about my prize and my desire to share it with him. On a date. A dinner date. I was reeeal smoooth. *eye roll* He called back and after a little bit of chit chat, we got to the task at hand: when to go and was One If By Land acceptable. He was very gracious and allowed me to lead the way but then broke the news to me gently: "Well, I would be able to go on a Friday after work but I should tell you...I've been dating someone and see them on Saturdays. If you wanna take someone else out, I totally understand..." I think I heard my heart fall into my stomach. And then, like lightning, Cool Girl took over. "Oh noooo, NOOOO...", she squealed in my highest soprano, "I wanna go with yooou, don't be sillyyyyy." And then, like a ninja, I came up with a way to put the decision on him within seconds: "Well, is this going to be okay with her, you going out to a nice dinner with a strange girl, I mean, would she get maaaad?" All I could think was, "Please take the heat, please be the bad guy, I can't bear it, please just say, 'I guess you have a point...'". But he didn't. Instead he said "No, its fine, its fine, we can totally go!"
So now I was stuck going on a non-date to the most romantic five-star restaurant in all five boroughs.
Which brings me right back to Stand-Up Yogi. I had not told her one iota of this story. I do not keep secrets from her ever but I knew, I felt it in my bones that she would not take this Cool Girl Stunt well. And I managed to keep my mouth shut for over a week. It was the damn playoffs that weakened my resolve.
We were watching the Yankees play at a bar I knew well and I let my guard down with a few drinks. When she asked about my plans for the next night, I told her the whole story.
She. Was. Livid.
"So basically", she spat out, "you are going on a non-date with an unavailable guy to the most romantic place in all of the city?" Yes, I said, I figured that out already. But I really wanted to try the food. And every time I pass by, I press my nose to the glass and wonder what its like inside. "You DO know what they say about that place in Zagats, right?!?! It basically says if you don't get laid after eating there, you're an idiot." I choked on my vodka-cran. "You have to call him. Call him right now and tell him you won't go. Call and cancel the reservation." I protested. I was not going to do that. "Why are you putting yourself through this?!?!" I told her the truth: I wanted to spend time with him and I wanted to spend time with him there. Alone. The torture Cool Girl withstood would be worth it. And Stand-Up Yogi looked at me with tears in her eyes and sighed so deeply for my well being, shook her head and shrugged knowing there was nothing she could do. Thank God the Yankees won or she may have pushed me into traffic on the way out. Just to save me from myself.
And the three hour dinner at One If By Land with the Unicorn was maybe the best time I've spent on this earth sofar.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Impetus
I'm snuggled neatly on the couch with The Little One and its about 5pm. Just twelve hours before, I was rubbing his back and handing him Wet Ones while he puked up cherry vodka & scotch into my toilet. Now, he had taken care of me beautifully when a night of free Jaeger shots with vodka cran chasers had gone horribly wrong in a New York bar over a year ago, and that's what kept me in my bathroom for hours without so much as gagging. I owed him. Big.
We have been watching tv and recapping through belly-laughter for hours with my four buddies, all recouping from the birthday party the night (well, morning) before. As everyone drifted away from the couch, trying as best they could to get out of pj's or at least showering before putting them back on, I motioned for The Little One to sit next to me. This was about a half hour ago. The Little One is 15 years my junior and my first and only venture into Cougarville. We are not together. We never really were 'together' except for a couple weeks at a regional theatre we had worked at 2 years ago. But I am comfortable with his affection and we are toying with each others hands under a pillow. He had been giving me sweet lil pecks towards the end of the party and now that he has graduated and moved just seven minutes away, the thought of getting some physical release is becoming a bit obsessive. I have had no such release in the 8 months I've been living here in LA.
Then something happened. His cell rang. And he practically leapt like a superhero off of the couch and onto our small landing out the back door. For privacy.
And that, my readers, is why I started writing this blog.
I'd like to explain my Cool Girl persona for just a minute.
Cool Girl can hang with the guys. She does shots of brown liquor without chasers. She uses words like 'cock' and 'pussy' without pause. She sometimes yells like Belushi in Animal House. She introduces guys she thinks are hot to her Broadway-dancer girlfriends in hopes that they will get together. She doesn't mind when someone she's messed around with talks about a new girl he's seeing and she definitely, DEFINITELY does NOT flinch when a sweet young thang she has been up for hours taking care of runs off to answer the call from a girl he met in this very house at a party she has hosted the very night before.
Cool Girl. Needs. To DIIIIIIIE.
I am writing this because I want to remind myself constantly about what Cool Girl has gotten me. Besides a buncha bullshit? NOTHING.
Here's the great irony of this situation: Cool Girl is at fault for begining the whole Summer/Winter Shenanigans in the first place. I was doing my first professional Shakespeare gig and was tooootally intimidated by the Yale-ies and the Julliards and all the other Ivy League-Smarty-Pants in the cast with me. I was the sole female of the clowns, so all I did was work with the boys all day and they were funny, funny fuckers and... terrifying. There were seven college kids studying theatre who were ensemble players and one of the young girls had every man in the room drooling; they even wrote a song on a ukulele about how her 20 year old breasts made them want to time travel. After listening to hushed mumblings about her for the fifth morning in a row, I leaned into the two clowns and, pointing across the room at The Little One, whispered, "See that boy over there? I hear he loves Jesus. I'm gonna take him back to my room, read him some New Testament and fuck him." Just gangsta. And of course, it won me the respect of the boys from then on. What I didn't know was that somewhere in my naughty little head, there was truth in jest. But I did manage to leave Jesus out of it.
There will be more of THAT story to come. As well as other choice situations Cool Girl has conjured up. That is the point of this blog- to remind myself that Cool Girl does NOT WORK. And I must act like Freddy and slay her as many times as I possibly can so that she truly stays dead and buried.
The Little One comes back to the couch with a bounce in his step and beams as he says, "That really hot girl I was talking to last night is gonna try to get me a comp to see her sing with her band tonight." Funny how I sat through two and a half hours of his puking last night and now I've suddenly thrown up in my mouth.
We have been watching tv and recapping through belly-laughter for hours with my four buddies, all recouping from the birthday party the night (well, morning) before. As everyone drifted away from the couch, trying as best they could to get out of pj's or at least showering before putting them back on, I motioned for The Little One to sit next to me. This was about a half hour ago. The Little One is 15 years my junior and my first and only venture into Cougarville. We are not together. We never really were 'together' except for a couple weeks at a regional theatre we had worked at 2 years ago. But I am comfortable with his affection and we are toying with each others hands under a pillow. He had been giving me sweet lil pecks towards the end of the party and now that he has graduated and moved just seven minutes away, the thought of getting some physical release is becoming a bit obsessive. I have had no such release in the 8 months I've been living here in LA.
Then something happened. His cell rang. And he practically leapt like a superhero off of the couch and onto our small landing out the back door. For privacy.
And that, my readers, is why I started writing this blog.
I'd like to explain my Cool Girl persona for just a minute.
Cool Girl can hang with the guys. She does shots of brown liquor without chasers. She uses words like 'cock' and 'pussy' without pause. She sometimes yells like Belushi in Animal House. She introduces guys she thinks are hot to her Broadway-dancer girlfriends in hopes that they will get together. She doesn't mind when someone she's messed around with talks about a new girl he's seeing and she definitely, DEFINITELY does NOT flinch when a sweet young thang she has been up for hours taking care of runs off to answer the call from a girl he met in this very house at a party she has hosted the very night before.
Cool Girl. Needs. To DIIIIIIIE.
I am writing this because I want to remind myself constantly about what Cool Girl has gotten me. Besides a buncha bullshit? NOTHING.
Here's the great irony of this situation: Cool Girl is at fault for begining the whole Summer/Winter Shenanigans in the first place. I was doing my first professional Shakespeare gig and was tooootally intimidated by the Yale-ies and the Julliards and all the other Ivy League-Smarty-Pants in the cast with me. I was the sole female of the clowns, so all I did was work with the boys all day and they were funny, funny fuckers and... terrifying. There were seven college kids studying theatre who were ensemble players and one of the young girls had every man in the room drooling; they even wrote a song on a ukulele about how her 20 year old breasts made them want to time travel. After listening to hushed mumblings about her for the fifth morning in a row, I leaned into the two clowns and, pointing across the room at The Little One, whispered, "See that boy over there? I hear he loves Jesus. I'm gonna take him back to my room, read him some New Testament and fuck him." Just gangsta. And of course, it won me the respect of the boys from then on. What I didn't know was that somewhere in my naughty little head, there was truth in jest. But I did manage to leave Jesus out of it.
There will be more of THAT story to come. As well as other choice situations Cool Girl has conjured up. That is the point of this blog- to remind myself that Cool Girl does NOT WORK. And I must act like Freddy and slay her as many times as I possibly can so that she truly stays dead and buried.
The Little One comes back to the couch with a bounce in his step and beams as he says, "That really hot girl I was talking to last night is gonna try to get me a comp to see her sing with her band tonight." Funny how I sat through two and a half hours of his puking last night and now I've suddenly thrown up in my mouth.
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