Back in the day, I used to talk about my capacity to love like a great violinist with no violin to play. I'd pace up and down Ninth Avenue with a favorite gay, talking about how big it felt inside, this potential I had in me, with no real outlet. "I'm just waiting for my violin!" I'd shout, fists shaking in the air.
Did I mention Big Heartbreaker is a violin player.? Yep-puh. One of the best I've ever heard.
I left you on the street in Midtown Manhattan, giddy and blushing with joy over the two minute phone call I'd had with BH. I was now on Cloud Nine. I became bold. So bold, in fact, that I called A Brother From Another Mothah to tell him the news. "I spent the night with BH last night," I blurted out. I was met with stone-cold silence and then ABFAM said a quick goodbye. I had broke the Bro Code.
Next time I was with the Straight Guy Theatre Crew, Cool Girl had redoubled her efforts. It was also the first time I saw BH. He said hello from across the room with a look in his eye that kept me from approaching him. I became steely. I sat through talk of porn: favorite positions, real tits vs. fake tits, even how they liked their bush, bald or natural. BH made a point of giving his opinion on that last topic while he stared right at me. I turned the color of beets and ran up to the bar for another drink. When I came back, my Hippie Contortionist Friend had joined us; she was a sight for sore eyes. Cool Girl was loosing her grip. She and ABFAM had started hooking up recently, a pairing that was surprising to the rest of us but made things fun. She's fun times.
The night ended without incident and also without acknowledgement. But HCF and I confided in each other all of our feelings about these boys on our own time and I think I would have gone bat-shit crazy without her. One night, we were in a marathon over-share while on the Long Island Rail Road, I wanna say. We fessed up all of our never-to-be mentioned secrets; I gave her every last detail of Valentine's Day, including BH's rant about his feelings for me and my spaztic state of mind ever since. The next time I spoke alone to BH was to let him know I told ABFAM; "I KNOW you did," he growled at me; I had never wanted to share how that made me feel but trusted HCF with the humiliation. She was an insider. She got it. We traded theories on the psychology of the group like goddamn Dr. Phil and Oprah. The best thing was that she was supportive in the idea of me & BH as a couple. "He said he wished that he wasn't this way...so I just have to wait it out, right?! Like, he's messed up about his break-up and needs a minute. It's just too soon." I picked apart every word he had said for HCFs opinion and built a case that no one could argue against.
So BH & I danced around each other amongst this group for weeks; there was sexual innuendo when enough alcohol was involved, but Cool Girl was getting more and more sarcastic and generally snarky. All the while HCF & ABFAM were openly affectionate and entirely into one another. It was on Easter when Cool Girl lost her resolve.
I was house sitting for friends in Queens very close to where BH lived. I called and he answered which was amazing in itself. After a few minutes of friendly banter, I dove in. "I'm house sitting around the corner; why don't you come over?" "I don't think that's a good idea." "It's so close. When do we ever get to be alone?" I was practically begging; in the moment, even I heard it in my voice. Then BH got harsh. "Look, this is not going to be what you want it to be, okay? I know what you think. HCF told me." My heart went into my stomach. She could have said many, many things. "What did she tell you?" I croaked out. "That you're just waiting for me to get sober, stop drinking or whatever because then you think we can be together."
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!"
You know that rarest of moments when what you say & how you say it match perfectly to what is going on in your head? Yeah. It was the "What" Heard 'Round the World. I. Was. Pissed.
"I never, ever said that, BH. Ever." "Well, that's what she said." "And you chose to believe her over me? You have been so fucked up and distant with me because of what SHE said and never ONCE thought about ASKING me about it?!" Beat. "Well, what DID you say?" he asks.
I welled up. Took a big breath. Was silent for a while. He even said my name to make sure I was there.
I chose to tell him the truth. At least part of it.
"Well, you said all of those things to me that night and I figured you'd let me know when you were ready to try something real, because you said you wished you weren't the way you were right then, and I figured you were fucked up from your break-up..." I trailed off. Now it was BH's turn to be silent. I said his name to make sure he was still there.
And then it hit me like a Mack truck: he didn't remember annnything from that night. Not one word he'd said to me. Not one fucking thing.
I gasped at the realization. And I asked him out loud if that was the truth. "What did I say to you?" was my answer. I didn't think it was possible for me to turn more red, but I managed. The human body is an amazing thing.
"I cannot believe this is happening, I cannot believe this is happening," I kept repeating as he begged me to tell him what he'd said. How the tables had turned. "You don't deserve to know," I whispered. He sighed. "Well, what do we do now?" "I'll tell you what I'M going to do. I'm going to San Francisco for two months to do my work and I'm not speaking to you the entire time. That's what I'm doin'." "Well...that sucks." he responded quietly. "Yeah. Lots of things suck." And I hung up. And wailed. Deep wails from my guts that felt like my soul was being wrung out.
At one point, I thought of it being the feast of the Resurrection and yet I felt like I was just dead and buried. And I laughed at the drama of my inner monologue. It's the only thing that stopped my tears.
So I had all of this spaaaace now in my head that BH used to occupy. The only thing that stopped me from imploding was falling in love with San Fran, I think. It took up that space. That, and practically living in a chilly dark theatre while helping create a big, fat hit of a show. It was appropriate; my heart needed to hibernate.
At the end of my San Fran stay, I found myself confessing things to My Show Best Friend on pillows she had bought for the two month stay, from Marshalls, of course. "I've been thinking of contacting him when I get back," I said while picking at the beaded silk in my lap. "You know, to talk to him. To hash it out. We just have so many friends in common..." MSBF found my eyes and asked me, straight up, "If today he said, 'I wanna be with you. Come back and be with me.' would you take him up on his offer?"
I felt the ice-cap melting...
"Yes. Yes I would."
"Then, you should call him."
And I did.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Forget
It's seems like a lot of things in my life lately are challenging me to let the past go. I've had feelings come up that I thought were dead and buried rise like extras in The Walking Dead. My 30-something self is fighting battles my 20-something self never won. I know it's bad when I hear the German version of 99 Red Balloons in this all-night coffee place and I start to cry. "Hab' 'nen Luftballon gefunden. Denk' an dich und lass' ihn fliegen..."
So last entry I was telling you how fucked I was. In the emotional sense, not the physical, unfortunately.
That night, Big Heartbreaker and I did NOT share the bed. He thought it'd be best not to tempt fate. My friend who was in the area came and met me at the hotel bar and BH kindly offered up his side of the bed for her so the two of us could have time to catch up properly. The party moved to the bride & groom's suite after we'd shut that down. It was a late night. And early morning.
I had felt that everything changed that night before, but as we took the long road back to NYC, I overheard a conversation BH was having with his girlfriend that he had "broken up" with while we made a pit stop. We sat in the back of the car and he acted like he wanted to hide it, but didn't. He was asking her what she wanted to have for dinner when he returned- "Should I make lamb chops?" He hung up and I just stared at him. He got defensive as I said nothing. This pretty much summed up our whatever-we-were-doing for the next few months.
I began to pour all of my feelings into journals. Pages and pages. I feel so sorry for The Lead in All the Plays in College who had to live with me during that time. Because discussing anything upfront with BH was way out of the question according to the silent code of the Straight Theatre Guy Crew, she got the brunt of my chaotic emotional life. I am embarrassed when I look back at it. Mainly because I was soooo suuuure. There was no doubt in my mind that it would all work itself out. And I guess it has. Just not in the way I desperately wanted it to.
After a few months, all of the super-analyzing of BH data became exhausting and I began to crave distance. Especially when his ex finally DID move out and I would be privy to dude conversations amongst the STGC about how much pussy BH was getting now that she was gone. Now, these guys were always leaving town for gigs and inevitably would have a "Going Away Party" liiiike, once a month it seemed. A Brother from Another Mothah was leaving next, so I decided I needed to make an appearance. It was one of those fun Midtown nights where everyone in the ten block radius was at the same bar yet BH & I managed to talk in the middle of the roar. "You haven't been around much," he said. "Yeah, and now that ABFAM is going out of town, I guess I'll really NEVER see you, huh?" "Why do say that?" "Well, you'd have to make a plan with meeee, you know, to seeee me." He kind of huffed at the challenge.
I didn't see him for weeks.
Then a text. On Valentine's Day.
I'd worn all black to work because I like to call Valentine's Day "Black Friday" or "Black Whatever the Day of the Week It Falls On." Valentine's Day and I are not friends. The only sign of hope I wore was a small silver heart that at closer look, was in two pieces around my neck. I received the text while at the office and it seemed like it was to a group but I wasn't sure. I didn't really give a fuck, actually.
When I met up with BH at a bar downtown, it was just the two of us after all. He made a comment about trying to reach some of the guys to hang out...but something in his tone sounded like a lie. Like he saw the look on my face when he was by himself and he had to make excuses. I don't doubt that I rolled my eyes just a little at it.
We got to the end of the bar early and held it up until very very late. God, I loved having him to myself. Our conversation flowed like great music: topics that were sweet where we agreed and then turning sharp when we didn't, but always smart and playfully respectful. He made me laugh like no other and equally outraged in the next moment. I was always defending a line of thinking or set of beliefs with him. We had round after round. I got braver with my incidental touching and of course he had to comment on it. "Oh, you're getting a little touchy feely, aren't you now?" he said with a twinkle in his Irish eyes. I blushed into my shoulder, blissfully happy. It was his birthday at midnight and we made a toast to the year ahead. I silently thanked God that he was born. I was unable to hide behind any Cool Girl cover at this point. I beamed unabashedly. While he made his way to the restroom, I asked the bartender to let me take care of the bill. She smiled at me and took my credit card. He sat back down on the stool next to me and I couldn't help but reach up and play with his hair. He took my hand, leaned in, and made the offer I wish I had fully understood and believed when he put it on the table:
"We can be good friends for the next 20, 30 years or...you can come home with me now."
I said, "I wanna come home with you," without missing a beat. He kissed me hard.
Then he exploded with an outpouring of confessions. That he'd never met anyone like me, that we have this thing between us that is so easy and yet so challenging and so right, that I finished thoughts for him and him for me and that he loved me and wished that he wasn't the way he was right now....
I have to admit, my mind tripped at the 'loved me' part. It was all too much. He was basically saying all of the things I felt, and they were like a giant wave crashing over me. I was completely overwhelmed.
The check came and the girl charged me for maybe 4 drinks. I think we drank 14 between us. I tipped her as ridiculously as she undercharged us and when I passed the check back to her, she winked. We stumbled into a cab and BH just realized that he had nothing to do with taking care of the bar tab. "Ssshhhh, don't worry I got it. Happy Birthday." "But I had a thousand drinks..." "She charged us for four." And we both said at the same time, the same exact way, "She totally wanted me." Then we laughed until we cried and kissed and cuddled and I couldn't wrap my head around this actually happening.
He was extra kind as we crossed his threshold, turning into the guy nervous about showing his apartment for the first time. In the kitchen, he asked if I was hungry and I said I'd have whatever he was making and he made us a PB&J sandwich to share with the last of his jelly. "I gave you the side with more jelly," he said with a huge smile on his face, looking like a five year old. We talked some more and it is hazy but I do remember me bringing up my combative nature. "I guess growing up with brothers, I always associate fighting with love. Fighting somehow means loving to me." I stared at him, hoping he understood, praying he could read between the lines. And he replied, "You know the best way not to fight, though? Just chose not to."
He dragged me into his bedroom and gave me some of his comfy clothes to wear that didn't stay on too long. We ended up on the living room floor laying on blankets and pillows like a real sleepover. We passed out in each others arms but I woke up on what felt like the other side of the Universe, by myself, staring at his sleeping face from afar. It was early and I had to get to Brooklyn Heights from his place in Queens to work. I became all business, sneaking away to get back into my work clothes, mentally preparing for the walk of shame across three boroughs. I got him a glass of water and gently touched him just to let him know I was leaving. He was hurting from the ten martinis and seemed really confused. "You're leaving?" I nodded. "Work." "Stay a bit..." "I can't. I'm already late." "Okay..." "You need to sleep, Birthday Boy. Talk to you later?" "Yeah, okay."
I worked the longest shift ever, head in overdrive, still in last night's black clothes. I was excited but still unsure. All of those things he said...how could I doubt now? I'd HEARD it, for Christ's Sake. But he was really drunk and I had butterflies galore and felt like I could play this very badly if I wasn't careful.
No word from him all day so I got cleaned up after work and met up with a friend on 54th between Eighth Ave. & Broadway. While I was waiting on the street, my phone rang.
"Well, hiiiiii."
"Excuse me, was I naked with you last night? Is that what happened?"
"Why, yes, Sir, I think I may have been naked and on your floor until this morning."
A firetruck siren from down the street loudly blares. It flies up Eighth Ave.
"Is that a firetruck going by you? Where are you?"
"54th & Eighth."
"That's funny. That's where I am in my car. That truck just passed me by."
"So what you're saying is that when you decided to call me, we just so happen to be in the same place?"
"Yeah. That's weird. Like it's meant to be or something."
"Yeah. It is."
And that was the last time I felt so sure about us.
...to be continued...
So last entry I was telling you how fucked I was. In the emotional sense, not the physical, unfortunately.
That night, Big Heartbreaker and I did NOT share the bed. He thought it'd be best not to tempt fate. My friend who was in the area came and met me at the hotel bar and BH kindly offered up his side of the bed for her so the two of us could have time to catch up properly. The party moved to the bride & groom's suite after we'd shut that down. It was a late night. And early morning.
I had felt that everything changed that night before, but as we took the long road back to NYC, I overheard a conversation BH was having with his girlfriend that he had "broken up" with while we made a pit stop. We sat in the back of the car and he acted like he wanted to hide it, but didn't. He was asking her what she wanted to have for dinner when he returned- "Should I make lamb chops?" He hung up and I just stared at him. He got defensive as I said nothing. This pretty much summed up our whatever-we-were-doing for the next few months.
I began to pour all of my feelings into journals. Pages and pages. I feel so sorry for The Lead in All the Plays in College who had to live with me during that time. Because discussing anything upfront with BH was way out of the question according to the silent code of the Straight Theatre Guy Crew, she got the brunt of my chaotic emotional life. I am embarrassed when I look back at it. Mainly because I was soooo suuuure. There was no doubt in my mind that it would all work itself out. And I guess it has. Just not in the way I desperately wanted it to.
After a few months, all of the super-analyzing of BH data became exhausting and I began to crave distance. Especially when his ex finally DID move out and I would be privy to dude conversations amongst the STGC about how much pussy BH was getting now that she was gone. Now, these guys were always leaving town for gigs and inevitably would have a "Going Away Party" liiiike, once a month it seemed. A Brother from Another Mothah was leaving next, so I decided I needed to make an appearance. It was one of those fun Midtown nights where everyone in the ten block radius was at the same bar yet BH & I managed to talk in the middle of the roar. "You haven't been around much," he said. "Yeah, and now that ABFAM is going out of town, I guess I'll really NEVER see you, huh?" "Why do say that?" "Well, you'd have to make a plan with meeee, you know, to seeee me." He kind of huffed at the challenge.
I didn't see him for weeks.
Then a text. On Valentine's Day.
I'd worn all black to work because I like to call Valentine's Day "Black Friday" or "Black Whatever the Day of the Week It Falls On." Valentine's Day and I are not friends. The only sign of hope I wore was a small silver heart that at closer look, was in two pieces around my neck. I received the text while at the office and it seemed like it was to a group but I wasn't sure. I didn't really give a fuck, actually.
When I met up with BH at a bar downtown, it was just the two of us after all. He made a comment about trying to reach some of the guys to hang out...but something in his tone sounded like a lie. Like he saw the look on my face when he was by himself and he had to make excuses. I don't doubt that I rolled my eyes just a little at it.
We got to the end of the bar early and held it up until very very late. God, I loved having him to myself. Our conversation flowed like great music: topics that were sweet where we agreed and then turning sharp when we didn't, but always smart and playfully respectful. He made me laugh like no other and equally outraged in the next moment. I was always defending a line of thinking or set of beliefs with him. We had round after round. I got braver with my incidental touching and of course he had to comment on it. "Oh, you're getting a little touchy feely, aren't you now?" he said with a twinkle in his Irish eyes. I blushed into my shoulder, blissfully happy. It was his birthday at midnight and we made a toast to the year ahead. I silently thanked God that he was born. I was unable to hide behind any Cool Girl cover at this point. I beamed unabashedly. While he made his way to the restroom, I asked the bartender to let me take care of the bill. She smiled at me and took my credit card. He sat back down on the stool next to me and I couldn't help but reach up and play with his hair. He took my hand, leaned in, and made the offer I wish I had fully understood and believed when he put it on the table:
"We can be good friends for the next 20, 30 years or...you can come home with me now."
I said, "I wanna come home with you," without missing a beat. He kissed me hard.
Then he exploded with an outpouring of confessions. That he'd never met anyone like me, that we have this thing between us that is so easy and yet so challenging and so right, that I finished thoughts for him and him for me and that he loved me and wished that he wasn't the way he was right now....
I have to admit, my mind tripped at the 'loved me' part. It was all too much. He was basically saying all of the things I felt, and they were like a giant wave crashing over me. I was completely overwhelmed.
The check came and the girl charged me for maybe 4 drinks. I think we drank 14 between us. I tipped her as ridiculously as she undercharged us and when I passed the check back to her, she winked. We stumbled into a cab and BH just realized that he had nothing to do with taking care of the bar tab. "Ssshhhh, don't worry I got it. Happy Birthday." "But I had a thousand drinks..." "She charged us for four." And we both said at the same time, the same exact way, "She totally wanted me." Then we laughed until we cried and kissed and cuddled and I couldn't wrap my head around this actually happening.
He was extra kind as we crossed his threshold, turning into the guy nervous about showing his apartment for the first time. In the kitchen, he asked if I was hungry and I said I'd have whatever he was making and he made us a PB&J sandwich to share with the last of his jelly. "I gave you the side with more jelly," he said with a huge smile on his face, looking like a five year old. We talked some more and it is hazy but I do remember me bringing up my combative nature. "I guess growing up with brothers, I always associate fighting with love. Fighting somehow means loving to me." I stared at him, hoping he understood, praying he could read between the lines. And he replied, "You know the best way not to fight, though? Just chose not to."
He dragged me into his bedroom and gave me some of his comfy clothes to wear that didn't stay on too long. We ended up on the living room floor laying on blankets and pillows like a real sleepover. We passed out in each others arms but I woke up on what felt like the other side of the Universe, by myself, staring at his sleeping face from afar. It was early and I had to get to Brooklyn Heights from his place in Queens to work. I became all business, sneaking away to get back into my work clothes, mentally preparing for the walk of shame across three boroughs. I got him a glass of water and gently touched him just to let him know I was leaving. He was hurting from the ten martinis and seemed really confused. "You're leaving?" I nodded. "Work." "Stay a bit..." "I can't. I'm already late." "Okay..." "You need to sleep, Birthday Boy. Talk to you later?" "Yeah, okay."
I worked the longest shift ever, head in overdrive, still in last night's black clothes. I was excited but still unsure. All of those things he said...how could I doubt now? I'd HEARD it, for Christ's Sake. But he was really drunk and I had butterflies galore and felt like I could play this very badly if I wasn't careful.
No word from him all day so I got cleaned up after work and met up with a friend on 54th between Eighth Ave. & Broadway. While I was waiting on the street, my phone rang.
"Well, hiiiiii."
"Excuse me, was I naked with you last night? Is that what happened?"
"Why, yes, Sir, I think I may have been naked and on your floor until this morning."
A firetruck siren from down the street loudly blares. It flies up Eighth Ave.
"Is that a firetruck going by you? Where are you?"
"54th & Eighth."
"That's funny. That's where I am in my car. That truck just passed me by."
"So what you're saying is that when you decided to call me, we just so happen to be in the same place?"
"Yeah. That's weird. Like it's meant to be or something."
"Yeah. It is."
And that was the last time I felt so sure about us.
...to be continued...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Forgive
It's 9/11 and I went to church tonight. All of the readings were about forgiveness. I got loooots of forgiving to do. Mostly, I gotta forgive myself for my busted behavior.
I have avoided writing about the Big Heartbreaker since I started this blog last year. I gave him barely a mention using my Flute Playah's nickname, Bobble Head. So I guess either way, BH will do. The years my heart wasted on him! I was the coolest Cool Girl I could be with him and it didn't work. There is a song by The Script called Breakeven and the whole song is genius but the title line in the chorus says it all: "And when a heart breaks, no it don't break even." I was broken for years after. I am friends with every guy I've ever messed around with, something Stand-Up Yogi gives me shit for, but with him, I am not. We sure tried. Several times. But today, if I saw him on the street, I probably would run in the other direction to avoid him.
What's amazing to me is when two people sharing the same space at the same time can actually be on two different planets. I've erased a bunch of what I've written sofar about this because I realized there is that part of me that wants to give the proof. I want all of you to rise up and say, "You are RIGHT. He DID love you! You're not CRAZY!!" But in the end, it's just a point of view, isn't it? And the only thing that I can change is myself. Learn & Grow, Learn & Grow... my new mantra.
I will give a little of the beginning and some of the end for you.
I first ran into BH while I was running into the Actor's Federal Credit Union on West 48th in New York. He was hopping out of A Brother From Another Mothah's car- they had been driving across country on tour together, just making a pit stop in the city, really. It was quite incredible timing. I saw him and air left my lungs. And my next thought was "Why do I have to have overalls on right now?! And my hair's in pigtails? Really?!" Blue-green eyes and thick beautiful hair and his hello was like he knew me forever... In less than a minute, he was gone.
When he got off of the tour, he became a part of a group of dudes I would hang out with at the bars in Midtown. I drank lots of Jaeger then. I wouldn't see him too often, but when I did it was crazy fun. Then he had a girlfriend who moved in and I reeeally didn't see him. I figured they were on the road to getting married. Then he came to my 29th Birthday Party.
My friend Biscuit was turning 30 and since our birthdays were close, she asked me if I wanted to do a huge dual party. We rented out the Frying Pan, a rusty boat permanently docked on a Pier off the West Side Highway in Chelsea. Like the good Philadelphian I am, I ordered two 6 foot long hoagies and a whole bunch of sides from a deli in Park Slope, Brooklyn to bring. Around noon on the day of the party, a friend went with me to pick up the order in her car and with the hoagies between us, headed to Manhattan, I get a distress call from Biscuit: The Frying Pan was shut down because of a shooting the night before! Yes, as in guns, not film. Three Hundred people had to be contacted before 8pm and told...what?! We needed a new venue. I frantically put out the calls to my posse. The Lead In All the Plays In College came through! I now had a place to go with the hoagies: The Gaslight just 10 blocks away. TLIAPIC knew the owner. He greeted me and my food with open arms. I cried with relief.
Needless to say, Biscuit and I celebrated by getting waaaasted with tiaras on our Leonine heads. 278 peeps still made it! And it was a par-TAY. And then ABFAM shoves his way to the bar with BH traveling close behind. I light up like a Christmas Tree- no girlfriend in tow! We start to chat and I ask, "So, you engaged yet?" And he turns pink and may have choked on his vodka gimlet. "No, NO. We broke up. She's moving out tonight, actually." I really try hard to have the correct response, but I know the alcohol is preventing that as I smile through my "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I get distracted by some new people who have arrived but when I put my attention back on him, I have made a decision to do the boldest thing I've ever done in my 29 years. "So can I ask you for a birthday present?", I say, tiara cocked to the side. "Of course," he answers. "Can you kiss me before you leave? Just as a birthday gift, you know." He grins. "I can do that." "GOOD!" I exclaim and scurry away. I hang with college buddies for a while and laugh til my drunk belly hurts. A guy I will only now call Hickey Man (story to come in a later blog entry) who is one of the We've Been Intimate But of COURSE I'll Just Be Your Friend dudes in my life, has pulled me aside because crowds freak him out and he wants some one on one time with me. I'm smiling up at HM's face which is far away from me because he's so tall and wondering if we will ever do a repeat of our shenanigans, when out of the blue, BH marches up to me with his coat on, drags me into a corner and makes out with me. It was really hot. When I finally stopped trying to talk during it. "Wooow. Thanks," I squeak out. "You're welcome. See you soon." And he's gone. Needless to say, all of my college buddies jaws were on the floor and then erupted into shouting as HM kept his attention on the bottom of his drink.
It was a damn good birthday.
But BH's girlfriend did NOT move out that night and yet I saw him out socially more and more with the Straight Theatre Guy Crew. Flute Playah came out one night randomly and saw our interaction and confirmed for me, "Kathy, he's soooo into you!" I tended to agree since he made comments about how nice my ass looked in my black velvet pants throughout the night. Yet it's strange being the Girl Friday in the middle of a group of straight guys. There is an unspoken understanding that certain lines do not get crossed and if they DO for some reason, you do not discuss it.
One of the STGC was getting married in Virginia in the fall. He moved away before BH was around so much so he didn't get an invite. But I got to bring a guest. So I asked him to go. I am sitting here shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. And he totally said yes. Just to be clear- he was not my DATE. It was like I was making up for an oversight. I was completing the STGC circle that had been broken, like only Cool Girl could. His ex or girlfriend or whatever she was still lived at his apartment.
We had one night alone- the rest of the Crew were at a rehearsal, I think. Me & BH headed to the mall. It was nice having quality time. He complimented my outfit and we were strolling passed the GAP and Orange Julius with our hands almost touching, and talking without being under the usual influence of alcohol was nice. We went into a men's store and I helped him pick out a dress shirt. Deep green. He said he liked the color because it made his eyes pop. He added, "It makes your eyes pop, too." Then he made some comment about my adorable Irish nose... you could cut the tension with a knife. But we rejoined the masses without incident and went karaoke-ing at a local dive bar.
Back at our hotel room, there were two queen sized beds and four of us staying there. Instead of having a discussion, BH decided to tackle me onto the bed and then bounced on it like Tigger next to me. Decision made. When the lights went out, we slowly began to cross the line from sharing space to cuddling but he put on the brakes, much to my disappointment. I didn't sleep a wink. Never in my LIFE had I been so tortured.
The boys were all going bowling the next morn before the ceremony that night and I was left to my own devices and did the girly-est thing I could think of- I got a pedicure. But what I really did was think about the previous day's events over & over... "He must like me. He MUST." Somehow, we ended up at a bar just a few hours before the wedding, BH, ABFAM & I and they played Golden Tee and I watched. Eventually, I looked at the time and only said, "I will not be rushed. Just so you guys know." I will never forget the look on BH's face. He guffawed. And we left to get our shiz together at the hotel, which included Red Headed Sluts in the bathroom...I have never seen such a sticky mess. And have never been so drunk before a wedding ceremony before or since.
The ceremony was beautiful, the couple fit like stunning, giant Arian bookends- she at 6 feet and him at 6'7", both with blond manes of hair and smiles that could light a small country. I'm sure I cried, especially when one of the STGC's sang from the balcony of the small colonial church. But there was partying to do! And we sure did. There was no assigned seating and we grabbed a table in the back; there was a buffet SOMEwhere, but I only seemed to find the mountain of fruits & vegetables I passed on the way to the bar. There were many, many drinks and little eating... I'm sure I begged BH to dance with me at one point but he was very on guard and I think I got a half a song out of him. Then the Groom asked if I would sing with the wedding band- an old-school R&B band with guys who looked like they stepped out of a Rolling Stone photo from 1963. Wasted, I did a version of Respect that I thiiiink lasted 15 minutes and sounded more like Janis Joplin than Aretha. The crowd went ape-shit. And BH swept me up and took me to a private table where he bombarded me with questions about what I wanted to do with my life and where I saw myself in 10 years and deep shit like that. I loved that he wanted to be close with me, alone with me, that he wanted to get inside my head and cared about what I thought and felt and was passionate about. But most of all, I loved that he was challenging- he made me think. I looked into his face and realized there would never be a dull moment with him. He was unbelievably funny and smart and talented and magnetic and sexy and interested in the world and perfect for me. We were bookends, too. I was convinced, even in my drunken haze. We could be a POWER couple, for Christ's Sake!
Eventually, we got interrupted by the STGC who were "wondering where the fuck we were."
I got up from that table and realized I was in love. And completely fucked.
This has been very difficult to write. SO this is the end of the beginning. The beginning of the end coming soon...
I have avoided writing about the Big Heartbreaker since I started this blog last year. I gave him barely a mention using my Flute Playah's nickname, Bobble Head. So I guess either way, BH will do. The years my heart wasted on him! I was the coolest Cool Girl I could be with him and it didn't work. There is a song by The Script called Breakeven and the whole song is genius but the title line in the chorus says it all: "And when a heart breaks, no it don't break even." I was broken for years after. I am friends with every guy I've ever messed around with, something Stand-Up Yogi gives me shit for, but with him, I am not. We sure tried. Several times. But today, if I saw him on the street, I probably would run in the other direction to avoid him.
What's amazing to me is when two people sharing the same space at the same time can actually be on two different planets. I've erased a bunch of what I've written sofar about this because I realized there is that part of me that wants to give the proof. I want all of you to rise up and say, "You are RIGHT. He DID love you! You're not CRAZY!!" But in the end, it's just a point of view, isn't it? And the only thing that I can change is myself. Learn & Grow, Learn & Grow... my new mantra.
I will give a little of the beginning and some of the end for you.
I first ran into BH while I was running into the Actor's Federal Credit Union on West 48th in New York. He was hopping out of A Brother From Another Mothah's car- they had been driving across country on tour together, just making a pit stop in the city, really. It was quite incredible timing. I saw him and air left my lungs. And my next thought was "Why do I have to have overalls on right now?! And my hair's in pigtails? Really?!" Blue-green eyes and thick beautiful hair and his hello was like he knew me forever... In less than a minute, he was gone.
When he got off of the tour, he became a part of a group of dudes I would hang out with at the bars in Midtown. I drank lots of Jaeger then. I wouldn't see him too often, but when I did it was crazy fun. Then he had a girlfriend who moved in and I reeeally didn't see him. I figured they were on the road to getting married. Then he came to my 29th Birthday Party.
My friend Biscuit was turning 30 and since our birthdays were close, she asked me if I wanted to do a huge dual party. We rented out the Frying Pan, a rusty boat permanently docked on a Pier off the West Side Highway in Chelsea. Like the good Philadelphian I am, I ordered two 6 foot long hoagies and a whole bunch of sides from a deli in Park Slope, Brooklyn to bring. Around noon on the day of the party, a friend went with me to pick up the order in her car and with the hoagies between us, headed to Manhattan, I get a distress call from Biscuit: The Frying Pan was shut down because of a shooting the night before! Yes, as in guns, not film. Three Hundred people had to be contacted before 8pm and told...what?! We needed a new venue. I frantically put out the calls to my posse. The Lead In All the Plays In College came through! I now had a place to go with the hoagies: The Gaslight just 10 blocks away. TLIAPIC knew the owner. He greeted me and my food with open arms. I cried with relief.
Needless to say, Biscuit and I celebrated by getting waaaasted with tiaras on our Leonine heads. 278 peeps still made it! And it was a par-TAY. And then ABFAM shoves his way to the bar with BH traveling close behind. I light up like a Christmas Tree- no girlfriend in tow! We start to chat and I ask, "So, you engaged yet?" And he turns pink and may have choked on his vodka gimlet. "No, NO. We broke up. She's moving out tonight, actually." I really try hard to have the correct response, but I know the alcohol is preventing that as I smile through my "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I get distracted by some new people who have arrived but when I put my attention back on him, I have made a decision to do the boldest thing I've ever done in my 29 years. "So can I ask you for a birthday present?", I say, tiara cocked to the side. "Of course," he answers. "Can you kiss me before you leave? Just as a birthday gift, you know." He grins. "I can do that." "GOOD!" I exclaim and scurry away. I hang with college buddies for a while and laugh til my drunk belly hurts. A guy I will only now call Hickey Man (story to come in a later blog entry) who is one of the We've Been Intimate But of COURSE I'll Just Be Your Friend dudes in my life, has pulled me aside because crowds freak him out and he wants some one on one time with me. I'm smiling up at HM's face which is far away from me because he's so tall and wondering if we will ever do a repeat of our shenanigans, when out of the blue, BH marches up to me with his coat on, drags me into a corner and makes out with me. It was really hot. When I finally stopped trying to talk during it. "Wooow. Thanks," I squeak out. "You're welcome. See you soon." And he's gone. Needless to say, all of my college buddies jaws were on the floor and then erupted into shouting as HM kept his attention on the bottom of his drink.
It was a damn good birthday.
But BH's girlfriend did NOT move out that night and yet I saw him out socially more and more with the Straight Theatre Guy Crew. Flute Playah came out one night randomly and saw our interaction and confirmed for me, "Kathy, he's soooo into you!" I tended to agree since he made comments about how nice my ass looked in my black velvet pants throughout the night. Yet it's strange being the Girl Friday in the middle of a group of straight guys. There is an unspoken understanding that certain lines do not get crossed and if they DO for some reason, you do not discuss it.
One of the STGC was getting married in Virginia in the fall. He moved away before BH was around so much so he didn't get an invite. But I got to bring a guest. So I asked him to go. I am sitting here shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. And he totally said yes. Just to be clear- he was not my DATE. It was like I was making up for an oversight. I was completing the STGC circle that had been broken, like only Cool Girl could. His ex or girlfriend or whatever she was still lived at his apartment.
We had one night alone- the rest of the Crew were at a rehearsal, I think. Me & BH headed to the mall. It was nice having quality time. He complimented my outfit and we were strolling passed the GAP and Orange Julius with our hands almost touching, and talking without being under the usual influence of alcohol was nice. We went into a men's store and I helped him pick out a dress shirt. Deep green. He said he liked the color because it made his eyes pop. He added, "It makes your eyes pop, too." Then he made some comment about my adorable Irish nose... you could cut the tension with a knife. But we rejoined the masses without incident and went karaoke-ing at a local dive bar.
Back at our hotel room, there were two queen sized beds and four of us staying there. Instead of having a discussion, BH decided to tackle me onto the bed and then bounced on it like Tigger next to me. Decision made. When the lights went out, we slowly began to cross the line from sharing space to cuddling but he put on the brakes, much to my disappointment. I didn't sleep a wink. Never in my LIFE had I been so tortured.
The boys were all going bowling the next morn before the ceremony that night and I was left to my own devices and did the girly-est thing I could think of- I got a pedicure. But what I really did was think about the previous day's events over & over... "He must like me. He MUST." Somehow, we ended up at a bar just a few hours before the wedding, BH, ABFAM & I and they played Golden Tee and I watched. Eventually, I looked at the time and only said, "I will not be rushed. Just so you guys know." I will never forget the look on BH's face. He guffawed. And we left to get our shiz together at the hotel, which included Red Headed Sluts in the bathroom...I have never seen such a sticky mess. And have never been so drunk before a wedding ceremony before or since.
The ceremony was beautiful, the couple fit like stunning, giant Arian bookends- she at 6 feet and him at 6'7", both with blond manes of hair and smiles that could light a small country. I'm sure I cried, especially when one of the STGC's sang from the balcony of the small colonial church. But there was partying to do! And we sure did. There was no assigned seating and we grabbed a table in the back; there was a buffet SOMEwhere, but I only seemed to find the mountain of fruits & vegetables I passed on the way to the bar. There were many, many drinks and little eating... I'm sure I begged BH to dance with me at one point but he was very on guard and I think I got a half a song out of him. Then the Groom asked if I would sing with the wedding band- an old-school R&B band with guys who looked like they stepped out of a Rolling Stone photo from 1963. Wasted, I did a version of Respect that I thiiiink lasted 15 minutes and sounded more like Janis Joplin than Aretha. The crowd went ape-shit. And BH swept me up and took me to a private table where he bombarded me with questions about what I wanted to do with my life and where I saw myself in 10 years and deep shit like that. I loved that he wanted to be close with me, alone with me, that he wanted to get inside my head and cared about what I thought and felt and was passionate about. But most of all, I loved that he was challenging- he made me think. I looked into his face and realized there would never be a dull moment with him. He was unbelievably funny and smart and talented and magnetic and sexy and interested in the world and perfect for me. We were bookends, too. I was convinced, even in my drunken haze. We could be a POWER couple, for Christ's Sake!
Eventually, we got interrupted by the STGC who were "wondering where the fuck we were."
I got up from that table and realized I was in love. And completely fucked.
This has been very difficult to write. SO this is the end of the beginning. The beginning of the end coming soon...
Monday, September 5, 2011
Close
Being single in LA has got to be one of the single most bizarre experiences of my life. Guys are hot here. Like, incredibly hot. And also very concerned about their look- for the most part, they are very put together even if the look IS that they're NOT put together...does that make sense? A New Yorker may call them very Williamsburg Hipster, if you will. Problem is, besides being intimidated by men prettier than me, if any one of them said they were gay, it would not surprise me in the least. They all could quite possibly be into dudes and I would not flinch. At least, in NYC, I knew a straight guy when I saw one. And I think I know enough gays in New York to actually be considered a Gay Icon, so I feel like I've met them all already. Here, I'm just...confused.
And, let's be honest- hard up. Which is why the following two occurrences fucked me up a bit.
So, I decided that, in order to combat the slight amount of depression I was feeling around my birthday, I would do what I love and sing somewhere. A Musical Theatre Composer who I did not know was put in touch with me by a mutual friend and asked me to sing a song of his at a new writers' showcase here in LA the night of my birthday and the evening after. His birthday was two days after mine so we promised to celebrate; he was flying in and out pretty quickly from NYC for the weekend. Over the phone he was very witty and, at times, downright sassy. When we met for the first time at a rehearsal, he looked like how I expected him to look- clean cut, glasses, button down shirt, very sweet-faced. A Southern Gentleman. He didn't give a lot up as far as his feelings about how I sounded on his song, but a couple of incidental touches made me feel like he approved of my work. Yet I felt this strong desire to impress him and I went home determined to work until I felt extremely comfy with the new tune. Gotta make the sistah proud!
On my actual birthday, I was running around like a cookoo, had a meeting here, a coaching there, I ended up having a lil diva fit at sound check as only I can do (it was taking waaay too long and my car was in a tow away zone!) and I had an amazing dinner with my Show Biz Cousin before the actual performance and was strolling in at showtime instead of the half hour before as requested, using the "Birthday Girl" excuse. The crowd was very dignified and polite, a bit on the older side to appreciate some of the more contemporary material, especially my song which was about a girl having her first lesbian experience but I remembered all the words and managed to stay in the moment. We were all asked to stay until the end to do a group bow and mingle afterwards, which meant that those of us done early were huddled in the back "dressing room", which was more of a storage space with a desk. MTC looked very relieved about how his set went and gave little touches to my hair and long necklace. He even managed to give me a side-squeeze or two while thanking me for doing this on my birthday. I had made him happy. My task was complete. Afterwards, I ran off to another friend's birthday party in Los Feliz which was a pajama party with giant pizzas and karaoke- fun times.
The next night, everyone was much more relaxed, the crowd was a hair bit hipper and the performers (all of whom were incredible, btw) were looser and sharing much more in the back room at the club. This one brilliant singer was somewhere between Martin Short & Joel Grey, a Broadway doll with great stories, and he had us hootin' and hollerin' in no time. All kinds of inappropriate jokes (my favorite) being made all around. At one point, it was just MTC & MS/JG chillin' and we discussed hanging out for MTC's birthday. "I am so happy to put an end to this year- it was a doozy;" MTC offered up, "I had two break-ups in one year." "Two?!", MS/JG and I spoke in stereo. "Yeah, one just happened right before I flew here." MS/JG dramatically said, "Whoooo was it?!" "Renee So & So." "Well, let me at that Mary and I'll take care of her!", MS/JG exclaimed. MTC blushed a little. "It actually IS a woman, by the way," he let us know. We. Were. SHOCKED. And Did. Not. Hide it. "Reeeally?!" MS/JG squeaked out. I was speechless with a dropped jaw. "I know, people think I'm gay all of the time. I don't even try to explain or defend anymore. I'm light. I know it," he said so sweetly in his slight draw. And all I could think about was how differently all of those touches were all of a sudden. We continued talking and horsing around but now when MTC made a blue joke, MS/JG and I would pause and then say, "Nope. It's awwwl different now. Not the same. Completely different." It was a very fun and bouncy back & forth.
At the end of this show, we all stood around the piano as we had the night before and were about to bow when the host started to go on a tangent about music and muses and suddenly asked a girl who sang that night to sit on a stool as her composer boyfriend sat at the piano; he proceeded to sing a song he had written for her and at the end got on his knee with a ring and proposed. It was... amazing. No one knew. NO ONE. Such a brilliant surprise. We all were DEFinitely headed out after now to celebrate.
As we mingled amongst the very excited crowd, MTC still continued with his hair-playing and jewelry-fondling and with every hug, I decided to let go and lean into each one a little bit. I decided that I would take what I was given. I decided that cuddling felt good. And we sat next to each other in the booth at the big long table at the bar and he talked quietly about the end of his relationship close to my ear and I offered advice and tried to keep it positive. MS/JG was telling us stories about a serious girlfriend he had in New York before he came out who is now a pretty famous actress. We started talking about sexuality and the difference between gays who have had sex with women and those who have not (I can always tell). The straight piano player was a very good sport listening and participating in our shenanigans. Then somehow, I took a cue about being lonely to mention my use of X-Tube since I've moved out here to LA. Now, while writing THIS, I blush. That night? Just brazen. All three men stopped everything they were doing and looked at me, eyebrows raised. "What? It's free!" And then they kinda looked at each other as if to silently say, "Oh THIS is where this is going right now?" And it did. We had the porn conversation. And as I watched MTC participate, I thought to myself, "I will go to his hotel room if he asks. But he's gotta ask. He's gotta seal the deal." I wasn't even sure if he was staying in his own hotel room; the piano player could have been crashing with him. They had crazy early flights and it was already after two am...details, deschmails. I would work something out. Then MTC says, "I wish you lived in NYC. So we could be...good...friends..." UGH. This shit again. "What keeps us from being friends now?" I ask. "Well, guess we could facebook and text-" "And CALL," I add. "We could be bi-coastal friends. I am thinking of coming back for a visit in the fall. Will be there around Thanksgiving definitely." "Well, I'm down in Alabama teaching this semester. I won't be there." "Then why are you wishing that I WAS?!" He just smiled at my yelling. A moment passed. I thought he'd ask. Or kiss me. Or something. But he didn't close. We got up with the group and walked to our cars. Said a polite goodbye in front of everyone. And, poof-gone.
We've texteded a couple times where I have (unsuccessfully) tried to steer him into sexy banter. Even used "Sadist & masochist" in one of them. Boo, hiss.
Now, this brings me to the NEXT time I sang in public, which was just this passed week. There is a kick-ass R&B cover band with a standing gig every Wednesday night at a dive bar in Culver City my friends and I stumbled upon one week which has a craaaazy brilliant lead singer living his life like it's golden. During our first time there, someone managed to convince the band, sight unseen, to let me sing Respect with them. They invited me back. This is our return trip. My roommate, nurse by day, rock 'n' roll groupie by night and my college girlfriend who is Full On Jersey Italian are my partners in crime, part of a group of, like, seven or eight of us holding up the bar. I sing. It's crazy fun; packed bar joins in on Natural Woman (I only like to do crowd pleasers) and I get random hugs from strangers as I make my way back to my tribe. A very cute inebriated guy approaches at the urging of his more sober friend. "That was amazing." "Thank you-isn't this band great? I love singing with them." We introduce ourselves and I ask, "So, is that shirt a uniform or just something that Abercrombie sells?" "Oh, no, I actually came from playing Volleyball- it's real." We talk about that. He has a job where he's alone in a room all day editing so he likes to do stuff to keep social. I tease, "Lemme guess, you are in a dodgeball league, too?" He blushes. He IS. We laugh. We have, what I think, is a very lovely conversation filled with chemistry and fun and jokes and it's very easy talking to Drunk Volleyball Guy. And then, then conversation goes to a place about 'the Next Time' which I'm thinking is a natural place for him to ask me for my number. I wait. And... NOTHING. He DOESN'T CLOSE. Just awkward staring. Like a guppy. WTF?!?! So eventually, Rock n Roll Nurse saves me and says, "Well, that's just a blog entry happening live, isn't it?!" and FOJI says, "He's wasted, he's wasted." Sigh. I look over and DVG's back is to me and his Wingman over his shoulder signals wordlessly to me from across the bar, "Wha happened?!" and I frantically sign back "He didn't ask me for my number!!" holding up an air-cell phone to my ear as I shrug. DVGW throws his hands up in the air and mouths "I'm sorry" to me. Me and my crew leave after the band's set is over.
It's RnRN, FOJI, and I in the car with a friend who's on a TV show and is the Straightest Acting Gay Guy I know. No one ever EVER thinks he's gay. Now, he's not tryyying to be straight by ANY means, he just happens to be a very non-femmy, out homosexual. We're passing the In & Out Burger on Venice, and I shout, "I'm buying us all milkshakes!!" and we drive thru. And we recap the night's events. And here's how I see it- I, for the life of me, can't understand why I can't get a lil somethin' somethin' after singing somewhere. I mean, that is me at my most ME, it's me being completely off of myself & in the middle of doing what I love, Cool Girl is NOwhere to be found, surely SOMEone must think that's HOT? ANYone?! FOJI says, "It's intimidating, it's intimidating." And SAGG says, "You know, it's weird because I go through a similar thing being on TV. People don't know how to approach me and they already think I may not be gay or am not out because of the show... I think FOJI might be right." I suck down my black & white in two seconds flat.
Good gravy.
I will end with this: I belieeeeve in Love but sometimes it's reeeeally haaaaard to. But I guess that's what Faith is. It's real easy to have it when things are honky-dory, but it's when things are fucked that it counts the most.
And I am going to do a duet with that singer some Wednesday soon... :)
And, let's be honest- hard up. Which is why the following two occurrences fucked me up a bit.
So, I decided that, in order to combat the slight amount of depression I was feeling around my birthday, I would do what I love and sing somewhere. A Musical Theatre Composer who I did not know was put in touch with me by a mutual friend and asked me to sing a song of his at a new writers' showcase here in LA the night of my birthday and the evening after. His birthday was two days after mine so we promised to celebrate; he was flying in and out pretty quickly from NYC for the weekend. Over the phone he was very witty and, at times, downright sassy. When we met for the first time at a rehearsal, he looked like how I expected him to look- clean cut, glasses, button down shirt, very sweet-faced. A Southern Gentleman. He didn't give a lot up as far as his feelings about how I sounded on his song, but a couple of incidental touches made me feel like he approved of my work. Yet I felt this strong desire to impress him and I went home determined to work until I felt extremely comfy with the new tune. Gotta make the sistah proud!
On my actual birthday, I was running around like a cookoo, had a meeting here, a coaching there, I ended up having a lil diva fit at sound check as only I can do (it was taking waaay too long and my car was in a tow away zone!) and I had an amazing dinner with my Show Biz Cousin before the actual performance and was strolling in at showtime instead of the half hour before as requested, using the "Birthday Girl" excuse. The crowd was very dignified and polite, a bit on the older side to appreciate some of the more contemporary material, especially my song which was about a girl having her first lesbian experience but I remembered all the words and managed to stay in the moment. We were all asked to stay until the end to do a group bow and mingle afterwards, which meant that those of us done early were huddled in the back "dressing room", which was more of a storage space with a desk. MTC looked very relieved about how his set went and gave little touches to my hair and long necklace. He even managed to give me a side-squeeze or two while thanking me for doing this on my birthday. I had made him happy. My task was complete. Afterwards, I ran off to another friend's birthday party in Los Feliz which was a pajama party with giant pizzas and karaoke- fun times.
The next night, everyone was much more relaxed, the crowd was a hair bit hipper and the performers (all of whom were incredible, btw) were looser and sharing much more in the back room at the club. This one brilliant singer was somewhere between Martin Short & Joel Grey, a Broadway doll with great stories, and he had us hootin' and hollerin' in no time. All kinds of inappropriate jokes (my favorite) being made all around. At one point, it was just MTC & MS/JG chillin' and we discussed hanging out for MTC's birthday. "I am so happy to put an end to this year- it was a doozy;" MTC offered up, "I had two break-ups in one year." "Two?!", MS/JG and I spoke in stereo. "Yeah, one just happened right before I flew here." MS/JG dramatically said, "Whoooo was it?!" "Renee So & So." "Well, let me at that Mary and I'll take care of her!", MS/JG exclaimed. MTC blushed a little. "It actually IS a woman, by the way," he let us know. We. Were. SHOCKED. And Did. Not. Hide it. "Reeeally?!" MS/JG squeaked out. I was speechless with a dropped jaw. "I know, people think I'm gay all of the time. I don't even try to explain or defend anymore. I'm light. I know it," he said so sweetly in his slight draw. And all I could think about was how differently all of those touches were all of a sudden. We continued talking and horsing around but now when MTC made a blue joke, MS/JG and I would pause and then say, "Nope. It's awwwl different now. Not the same. Completely different." It was a very fun and bouncy back & forth.
At the end of this show, we all stood around the piano as we had the night before and were about to bow when the host started to go on a tangent about music and muses and suddenly asked a girl who sang that night to sit on a stool as her composer boyfriend sat at the piano; he proceeded to sing a song he had written for her and at the end got on his knee with a ring and proposed. It was... amazing. No one knew. NO ONE. Such a brilliant surprise. We all were DEFinitely headed out after now to celebrate.
As we mingled amongst the very excited crowd, MTC still continued with his hair-playing and jewelry-fondling and with every hug, I decided to let go and lean into each one a little bit. I decided that I would take what I was given. I decided that cuddling felt good. And we sat next to each other in the booth at the big long table at the bar and he talked quietly about the end of his relationship close to my ear and I offered advice and tried to keep it positive. MS/JG was telling us stories about a serious girlfriend he had in New York before he came out who is now a pretty famous actress. We started talking about sexuality and the difference between gays who have had sex with women and those who have not (I can always tell). The straight piano player was a very good sport listening and participating in our shenanigans. Then somehow, I took a cue about being lonely to mention my use of X-Tube since I've moved out here to LA. Now, while writing THIS, I blush. That night? Just brazen. All three men stopped everything they were doing and looked at me, eyebrows raised. "What? It's free!" And then they kinda looked at each other as if to silently say, "Oh THIS is where this is going right now?" And it did. We had the porn conversation. And as I watched MTC participate, I thought to myself, "I will go to his hotel room if he asks. But he's gotta ask. He's gotta seal the deal." I wasn't even sure if he was staying in his own hotel room; the piano player could have been crashing with him. They had crazy early flights and it was already after two am...details, deschmails. I would work something out. Then MTC says, "I wish you lived in NYC. So we could be...good...friends..." UGH. This shit again. "What keeps us from being friends now?" I ask. "Well, guess we could facebook and text-" "And CALL," I add. "We could be bi-coastal friends. I am thinking of coming back for a visit in the fall. Will be there around Thanksgiving definitely." "Well, I'm down in Alabama teaching this semester. I won't be there." "Then why are you wishing that I WAS?!" He just smiled at my yelling. A moment passed. I thought he'd ask. Or kiss me. Or something. But he didn't close. We got up with the group and walked to our cars. Said a polite goodbye in front of everyone. And, poof-gone.
We've texteded a couple times where I have (unsuccessfully) tried to steer him into sexy banter. Even used "Sadist & masochist" in one of them. Boo, hiss.
Now, this brings me to the NEXT time I sang in public, which was just this passed week. There is a kick-ass R&B cover band with a standing gig every Wednesday night at a dive bar in Culver City my friends and I stumbled upon one week which has a craaaazy brilliant lead singer living his life like it's golden. During our first time there, someone managed to convince the band, sight unseen, to let me sing Respect with them. They invited me back. This is our return trip. My roommate, nurse by day, rock 'n' roll groupie by night and my college girlfriend who is Full On Jersey Italian are my partners in crime, part of a group of, like, seven or eight of us holding up the bar. I sing. It's crazy fun; packed bar joins in on Natural Woman (I only like to do crowd pleasers) and I get random hugs from strangers as I make my way back to my tribe. A very cute inebriated guy approaches at the urging of his more sober friend. "That was amazing." "Thank you-isn't this band great? I love singing with them." We introduce ourselves and I ask, "So, is that shirt a uniform or just something that Abercrombie sells?" "Oh, no, I actually came from playing Volleyball- it's real." We talk about that. He has a job where he's alone in a room all day editing so he likes to do stuff to keep social. I tease, "Lemme guess, you are in a dodgeball league, too?" He blushes. He IS. We laugh. We have, what I think, is a very lovely conversation filled with chemistry and fun and jokes and it's very easy talking to Drunk Volleyball Guy. And then, then conversation goes to a place about 'the Next Time' which I'm thinking is a natural place for him to ask me for my number. I wait. And... NOTHING. He DOESN'T CLOSE. Just awkward staring. Like a guppy. WTF?!?! So eventually, Rock n Roll Nurse saves me and says, "Well, that's just a blog entry happening live, isn't it?!" and FOJI says, "He's wasted, he's wasted." Sigh. I look over and DVG's back is to me and his Wingman over his shoulder signals wordlessly to me from across the bar, "Wha happened?!" and I frantically sign back "He didn't ask me for my number!!" holding up an air-cell phone to my ear as I shrug. DVGW throws his hands up in the air and mouths "I'm sorry" to me. Me and my crew leave after the band's set is over.
It's RnRN, FOJI, and I in the car with a friend who's on a TV show and is the Straightest Acting Gay Guy I know. No one ever EVER thinks he's gay. Now, he's not tryyying to be straight by ANY means, he just happens to be a very non-femmy, out homosexual. We're passing the In & Out Burger on Venice, and I shout, "I'm buying us all milkshakes!!" and we drive thru. And we recap the night's events. And here's how I see it- I, for the life of me, can't understand why I can't get a lil somethin' somethin' after singing somewhere. I mean, that is me at my most ME, it's me being completely off of myself & in the middle of doing what I love, Cool Girl is NOwhere to be found, surely SOMEone must think that's HOT? ANYone?! FOJI says, "It's intimidating, it's intimidating." And SAGG says, "You know, it's weird because I go through a similar thing being on TV. People don't know how to approach me and they already think I may not be gay or am not out because of the show... I think FOJI might be right." I suck down my black & white in two seconds flat.
Good gravy.
I will end with this: I belieeeeve in Love but sometimes it's reeeeally haaaaard to. But I guess that's what Faith is. It's real easy to have it when things are honky-dory, but it's when things are fucked that it counts the most.
And I am going to do a duet with that singer some Wednesday soon... :)
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Curse
I'm back in LA. Actually spent more than ten days in a row here. It's a 2011 Summer Miracle. I spent an unexpected 6 weeks on the East Coast and then sang at two weddings north of here in July. The Big Gay Wedding in Vancouver kinda changed my life. And now I'm back. My birthday is in 3 days. Would it be wrong to hope for a Birthday Miracle as well?
Because I am a bit spent and a lot lost. And when I get into this state, I often do the worst thing possible: pine for the terminally unavailable.
A quick update before I begin THAT tangent: sooooo I did the reading of this blog in New York. Another life changing moment. I had left things with The Unicorn kind of open ended ("I'm not sure what I'm capable of; lemme feel out whether I can be friends or not"), but he still text messaged me the day after the show to ask me how it went. ??? I'll tell ya, for someone who is RAREly speechless, I've been dumbfounded quite a bit during this whole scenario. So I responded that although it was weird to be texting instead of talking about it, that it went very well and thanks for asking. Of course I haaaaad to leave him a voice mail later, tryyying to connect, and he left one back; we were going to try to meet the day before my flight back.
That day, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer...everywhere. And I cancelled my flight because it wouldn't be long for him. I didn't even think about The Unicorn at all that day. He sent me a text the next day, wishing me a safe flight back and "sorry my day was crazy like I'd thought and I couldn't make time to hang."
I wrote back that I actually was not leaving. My grandfather was very ill and I was going down to see him in Philly while I could.
He wrote back, "Bummer."
And that is how I got over The Unicorn.
Okay, back to pining... I am now regressing to my teens where I bide my time crushing on celebrities, guys in relationships and gays. Mostly gays in particular this time round- I feel like Michele Bachmann, praying the gay away or at least praying that even though they may like having sex with men, they could like having sex with me too! I just KNOW they could!
I mean, I haven't been this way since The President of Delta Nu broke my Touch of Gay Curse during my junior year of college. I had such a record of digging gays at school, my classmates joked that instead of the Midas Touch, the Touch of Gold, I had the Touch of Gay. Made a lil sketch out of it and everything. I crushed on someone, BOOM, they came out. One day, on the way down to the cafeteria, TPDN ambushed me and handed me a strip of condoms with Delta Nu written on them with a Sharpie. "Don't use 'em all at once," he said with what ended up being his signature smirk. I went purple with rage. At the time, my three roommates and I were known for being good girls, certainly in no need of condoms; people in the Theatre Department lovingly called us the God Squad. I thought TPDN was making fun of me. I think I blurted out, "Oh, don't worry, I WON'T." I may have mumbled "Dirt Bag" under my breath. Delta Nu was notorious for being scum bags and were always on the brink of being kicked off campus. I'm sure handing out condoms was their community service activity.
ANYwho, I continued grumbling downstairs at a big table of friends about it. One of my gays suggested, "I think that means he likes you." I was...shocked. That had not even been a part of my process. I had been so swaddled in Gay Love that I didn't even recognize genuine Hetero Testosterone when it was thrown at me. Of course, that's all the permission I needed. It was ON.
TPDN was dating another girl who was in Delta Nu's sister sorority and I didn't know her well but I'd always thought she was cool. I went to support a play she produced & performed in at the Studio Theatre on campus. And of course he was in it too. And he was GOOD. And I was amazed he wasn't a Theatre Major. I basically went up to him after and told him so. I made some comment about it "being nice working with your girlfriend so closely" and he said something to the effect of, "Or it can ruin a relationship altogether. Especially if she cheats on you." The confession was startling. But he gave me a look that said it all. Like he would pounce if he could. Weak knees. We politely said goodbye, but it was ab-so-fucking-lute-ly just the beginning.
I went into Anti-Cool-Girl-Stalker Mode. Got his mailbox number, and left a poem in it anonymously. (I know, I just puked in my mouth, too.) It was a very sexy poem about our legs being tangled under a willow tree or some shiz like that. I put a purple cow stamp on the bottom of it. Ha. So 90's. He came to see me in my acting class' scene night and my scene happened to start with me having sex with a very good looking classmate. TPDN gave me a pineapple he stole from the caf after and complimented me on my "work." I died. He said nothing about my poem though. The next day at lunch I gave him an egg I dyed in the caf with melted down Jello- Easter was coming soon. We were hipsters before our time.
We talked a lot on our campus phones and he invited me to hang out on the Delta Nu floor in his room. I was a nervous wreck when I got there. It was just like Animal House. His room, however, was a civilized haven. I traced my fingers along his chess set. "Do you play?" he asked. "No." "Well then I'll have to teach you." Laying on his bed, he thumbed through a copy a book of student poetry and prose published by the school and started to read one of my poems called "Tennessee". "You're very good." "Did you get the one I wrote for you?" "What one?" "In your mailbox...with the purple cow on it..." He sat up straight. "That was you? Of course. I thought it might be...nevermind." He pulled it out of his bedside drawer. "This is what you imagine with me?" I blushed. "Yep." We kissed. I consider it my first kiss. It was not. I had sloppy kisses with too much tongue amongst braces before and tentative, lemme-try-this-girl-thing-out-even-though-I'm-into-boys kisses but this..this was a DUDE kiss. Hungry, unrelenting. He took. I let him. We stopped and I took out my book of Rilke and asked him to read in German for me. He was a German-slash-International Business Major. He obliged. To this day, I cannot hear German without getting a little tingly in my girly bits. I managed to leave his room having only been kissed. I had such principles then. *sigh* I turned before I left and asked him to the Music Department formal. He said yes. I floated across campus and felt his kiss for days after.
We had a magical night at the formal; he breakdanced, full-on windmill in the middle of the dance floor. I was horrified. He made up for it by slow dancing with me. SO good. The first slow song was Whitney's I Will Always Love You and he said, "This was me and my ex's song. Appropriate, huh? It is about a break-up." The next song was Harry Connick Jr.'s Forever For Now, which was absolutely prophetic for us, it turns out. At the end of the night, he wanted more than I could give. He had no idea I was a good girl after all. We talked about it over a picnic later that week and he told me I was too good for him. I was too stubborn to cry; Cool Girl swept in and kept it together for me. Even chatted him up about when he lost his virginity and argued that there was NO way he could've been in love with a girl at 13. He swore he could and he was. If I'm not mistaken, she ended up being his first wife...
He graduated soon after and we kept in touch a bit. He showed up to my graduation a year later looking like...a dream. Dressed in beige drawstring linen pants and a white button down linen shirt, Birkenstocks, leather strap necklace and hair chin-length, gold-kissed by the sun, bronzed skin, blue eyes a-blaze. He had spent months camping somewhere in Central America. My acting professor spied our entire exchange and beelined for me when he walked away. "Whooo was thaaaat handsome maaaan?!" he shouted in his Dallas draw. "Well, you are just all flushed, aren't you?" I certainly was.
Last I heard, TPDN's had 3 or 4 wives and 4 or 5 kids. I can't thank him enough for breaking the Touch of Gay Curse. I could use someone like him right about now. I was working on the red carpet of the Teen Choice Awards as PA and practically made a scene the way I drooled over Taylor Lautner. If I could only lick his mocha abs while he kept absolutely silent... And the Barely Legal Jonas' guns in Hairspray at the Hollywood Bowl haunted my dreams for a week after. So you can add "Cougar Bait" to my inappropriate crushes. While you're at it, add Harry Potter to that list, too.
Right now, the Curse feels more like a trance... I need to snap the hell out of it somehow. Hypnotherapist's been gone for 6 weeks and just emailed me about starting up next week. Maybe one trance can cure me of another. This state also has me looking around for who I am, like I've forgotten all of a sudden. I can't seem to decide what I wanna be...and I AM grown up. It's an issue.
One thing I remember about TPDN that I will always cherish: it was the one an only college Homecoming I'd ever gone to a few years after my graduation and he introduced me to the girl he lost his virginity to as "My Poet Friend..." It was such a simple, generous gesture and reminds me that even when the details get murky, the feelings that surround a memory of profound change do not.
Because I am a bit spent and a lot lost. And when I get into this state, I often do the worst thing possible: pine for the terminally unavailable.
A quick update before I begin THAT tangent: sooooo I did the reading of this blog in New York. Another life changing moment. I had left things with The Unicorn kind of open ended ("I'm not sure what I'm capable of; lemme feel out whether I can be friends or not"), but he still text messaged me the day after the show to ask me how it went. ??? I'll tell ya, for someone who is RAREly speechless, I've been dumbfounded quite a bit during this whole scenario. So I responded that although it was weird to be texting instead of talking about it, that it went very well and thanks for asking. Of course I haaaaad to leave him a voice mail later, tryyying to connect, and he left one back; we were going to try to meet the day before my flight back.
That day, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer...everywhere. And I cancelled my flight because it wouldn't be long for him. I didn't even think about The Unicorn at all that day. He sent me a text the next day, wishing me a safe flight back and "sorry my day was crazy like I'd thought and I couldn't make time to hang."
I wrote back that I actually was not leaving. My grandfather was very ill and I was going down to see him in Philly while I could.
He wrote back, "Bummer."
And that is how I got over The Unicorn.
Okay, back to pining... I am now regressing to my teens where I bide my time crushing on celebrities, guys in relationships and gays. Mostly gays in particular this time round- I feel like Michele Bachmann, praying the gay away or at least praying that even though they may like having sex with men, they could like having sex with me too! I just KNOW they could!
I mean, I haven't been this way since The President of Delta Nu broke my Touch of Gay Curse during my junior year of college. I had such a record of digging gays at school, my classmates joked that instead of the Midas Touch, the Touch of Gold, I had the Touch of Gay. Made a lil sketch out of it and everything. I crushed on someone, BOOM, they came out. One day, on the way down to the cafeteria, TPDN ambushed me and handed me a strip of condoms with Delta Nu written on them with a Sharpie. "Don't use 'em all at once," he said with what ended up being his signature smirk. I went purple with rage. At the time, my three roommates and I were known for being good girls, certainly in no need of condoms; people in the Theatre Department lovingly called us the God Squad. I thought TPDN was making fun of me. I think I blurted out, "Oh, don't worry, I WON'T." I may have mumbled "Dirt Bag" under my breath. Delta Nu was notorious for being scum bags and were always on the brink of being kicked off campus. I'm sure handing out condoms was their community service activity.
ANYwho, I continued grumbling downstairs at a big table of friends about it. One of my gays suggested, "I think that means he likes you." I was...shocked. That had not even been a part of my process. I had been so swaddled in Gay Love that I didn't even recognize genuine Hetero Testosterone when it was thrown at me. Of course, that's all the permission I needed. It was ON.
TPDN was dating another girl who was in Delta Nu's sister sorority and I didn't know her well but I'd always thought she was cool. I went to support a play she produced & performed in at the Studio Theatre on campus. And of course he was in it too. And he was GOOD. And I was amazed he wasn't a Theatre Major. I basically went up to him after and told him so. I made some comment about it "being nice working with your girlfriend so closely" and he said something to the effect of, "Or it can ruin a relationship altogether. Especially if she cheats on you." The confession was startling. But he gave me a look that said it all. Like he would pounce if he could. Weak knees. We politely said goodbye, but it was ab-so-fucking-lute-ly just the beginning.
I went into Anti-Cool-Girl-Stalker Mode. Got his mailbox number, and left a poem in it anonymously. (I know, I just puked in my mouth, too.) It was a very sexy poem about our legs being tangled under a willow tree or some shiz like that. I put a purple cow stamp on the bottom of it. Ha. So 90's. He came to see me in my acting class' scene night and my scene happened to start with me having sex with a very good looking classmate. TPDN gave me a pineapple he stole from the caf after and complimented me on my "work." I died. He said nothing about my poem though. The next day at lunch I gave him an egg I dyed in the caf with melted down Jello- Easter was coming soon. We were hipsters before our time.
We talked a lot on our campus phones and he invited me to hang out on the Delta Nu floor in his room. I was a nervous wreck when I got there. It was just like Animal House. His room, however, was a civilized haven. I traced my fingers along his chess set. "Do you play?" he asked. "No." "Well then I'll have to teach you." Laying on his bed, he thumbed through a copy a book of student poetry and prose published by the school and started to read one of my poems called "Tennessee". "You're very good." "Did you get the one I wrote for you?" "What one?" "In your mailbox...with the purple cow on it..." He sat up straight. "That was you? Of course. I thought it might be...nevermind." He pulled it out of his bedside drawer. "This is what you imagine with me?" I blushed. "Yep." We kissed. I consider it my first kiss. It was not. I had sloppy kisses with too much tongue amongst braces before and tentative, lemme-try-this-girl-thing-out-even-though-I'm-into-boys kisses but this..this was a DUDE kiss. Hungry, unrelenting. He took. I let him. We stopped and I took out my book of Rilke and asked him to read in German for me. He was a German-slash-International Business Major. He obliged. To this day, I cannot hear German without getting a little tingly in my girly bits. I managed to leave his room having only been kissed. I had such principles then. *sigh* I turned before I left and asked him to the Music Department formal. He said yes. I floated across campus and felt his kiss for days after.
We had a magical night at the formal; he breakdanced, full-on windmill in the middle of the dance floor. I was horrified. He made up for it by slow dancing with me. SO good. The first slow song was Whitney's I Will Always Love You and he said, "This was me and my ex's song. Appropriate, huh? It is about a break-up." The next song was Harry Connick Jr.'s Forever For Now, which was absolutely prophetic for us, it turns out. At the end of the night, he wanted more than I could give. He had no idea I was a good girl after all. We talked about it over a picnic later that week and he told me I was too good for him. I was too stubborn to cry; Cool Girl swept in and kept it together for me. Even chatted him up about when he lost his virginity and argued that there was NO way he could've been in love with a girl at 13. He swore he could and he was. If I'm not mistaken, she ended up being his first wife...
He graduated soon after and we kept in touch a bit. He showed up to my graduation a year later looking like...a dream. Dressed in beige drawstring linen pants and a white button down linen shirt, Birkenstocks, leather strap necklace and hair chin-length, gold-kissed by the sun, bronzed skin, blue eyes a-blaze. He had spent months camping somewhere in Central America. My acting professor spied our entire exchange and beelined for me when he walked away. "Whooo was thaaaat handsome maaaan?!" he shouted in his Dallas draw. "Well, you are just all flushed, aren't you?" I certainly was.
Last I heard, TPDN's had 3 or 4 wives and 4 or 5 kids. I can't thank him enough for breaking the Touch of Gay Curse. I could use someone like him right about now. I was working on the red carpet of the Teen Choice Awards as PA and practically made a scene the way I drooled over Taylor Lautner. If I could only lick his mocha abs while he kept absolutely silent... And the Barely Legal Jonas' guns in Hairspray at the Hollywood Bowl haunted my dreams for a week after. So you can add "Cougar Bait" to my inappropriate crushes. While you're at it, add Harry Potter to that list, too.
Right now, the Curse feels more like a trance... I need to snap the hell out of it somehow. Hypnotherapist's been gone for 6 weeks and just emailed me about starting up next week. Maybe one trance can cure me of another. This state also has me looking around for who I am, like I've forgotten all of a sudden. I can't seem to decide what I wanna be...and I AM grown up. It's an issue.
One thing I remember about TPDN that I will always cherish: it was the one an only college Homecoming I'd ever gone to a few years after my graduation and he introduced me to the girl he lost his virginity to as "My Poet Friend..." It was such a simple, generous gesture and reminds me that even when the details get murky, the feelings that surround a memory of profound change do not.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Cracked
Back in NYC again. Its Tony Time and all I wanna do on my trip is see shows. A couple of my good friends get together to see another good friend in her show and we do the whole backstage rigmarole afterwards. Now, there is a man in the show that me and my Wicked Friend Who Saves the Children have worked with before. We’re having a debate on whether or not to approach him and say hi- will he remember us, won’t he. We both are leaning towards the side of “He’ll never have any idea who I am.” For my purposes, I’ll call him Garrison David.
About to make a beeline to the elevator, I instead decide to put on the brakes and stop to say hi to Mr. David in the doorway, truly expecting dead eyes. Well, to my surprise, he lit up like a Christmas Tree and WFWSC was next to me, impressed. “Hiiiiii! You came to see your girl in our show?!” “Yes, yes and you were fantastic, too!” “Well how about you? You’re doing well, I hear!” Before I can ask what he’s heard he says, “I mean, I see! You’re on the sides of buses all over town!” Now, I am NOT on buses all over town, but the girl who did Wicked on tour w Garrison IS, because she has a hit TV show. And I…CRACKED. I mean, my face SPLIT in two. WFWSC is still next to me shaking with joy, trying not to burst and I really just want to make my escape to the elevator, so I don’t correct him. “Yeah, things are good. Just in for a visit! Exciting stuff.” Thanks, Cool Girl. Garrison turns to WFWSC and starts to introduce himself and she says through a HUGE smile, “Oh, I did Broadway with you for a minute. I’ve straightened my hair so I look different…” “Oh my GOD, of COURSE,” he gushes and we skedaddle into the elevator where I lean against the wall cracking up as WFWSC manages to recount the events for the rest of our friends. Oh, if that was the only time I cracked this week.
I’ve reached out to The Unicorn to have a hang. He invited me to his Improv show the same night as the play so I couldn’t attend but we made plans to see each other a few nights later. Now, he knows nothing of my blog or the stage reading of my blog I am planning during this trip and most of all he does not know my true feelings about him. That is to say, the words have never come out of my mouth. I’ve tried so often to say it with my eeeyes…
I meet up with him in Worldwide Plaza, a place he’s never been but where I practically lived when I was here and we get interrupted by people I know quite a bit. “Everyone’s just so happy to see you. All the time. Wherever we go,” he says to me. And for some reason I feel the need to apologize for that. And I don’t mention that my friend Flute Playah is seeing a show in the same complex as us and may meet up later. I’m all kinds of in my head about everything.
So after a very short, pointless musical, I wait around after to chat with more friends who were in the thing and watching the thing. The Unicorn excuses himself and takes a phone call outside. I see Flute Playah as I’m heading out and he’s waiting for HIS friends in the show HE saw and we all decide to head to a cafe across the street for drinks and stuff. But I guess the two never really met. And we sit at separate tables in the restaurant so they really had no interaction. Until we’re walking to the subway.
As we’re headed along 42nd street, the very first thing Flute Playah says to The Unicorn is, “So are you coming to Cool Girl’s show Sunday night?” *CRAAACK* My hand turns into a claw and grips Flute Playah’s shoulder. My eyes are crazed with panic as I stare him down. We both start giggling uncomfortably. Finally, The Unicorn interjects, “Oh, I have to go to Boston this weekend. My friend’s parent died. That was the phone call I took. But what are you doing on Sunday?” He looks at me and I wanna crawl into a hole because of the small amount of hurt I see there. I start to ramble. “Well, it really isn’t anything yet, just an idea I’d like to work out in front of…like if 10, 15 people come, I’d be thrilled, just my inner INNER circle I invited, if you know what I mean…” Smooth, Cool Girl. Just tell the boy he’s not in your inner circle. What kind of jackass are you?
Flute Playah and his boyfriend slip out to get on the A train and I awkwardly leave The Unicorn on the subway platform waiting for the express while I get on the 1. I’m pretty sure I banged my head on the closing doors instead of standing clear like the nice man asked me on the PA. I get uptown and call Flute Playah immediately. I may have screamed into the phone. “You’re supposed to be my best Gay!!! What have you doooone?!?!” I’m doing that horrible laughing while panicked thing as he defends, “I didn’t KNOW it was HIM. You didn’t introDUCE meeee!!” And then we got down to the nitty gritty. I held my head in my hands and FP quietly suggested, “Maybe its time to tell him the truth.” It was after midnight by the time we hung up and I was not going to wake him up to talk about this. Instead I wrote him an email:
Re: Hiya. Remember earlier when I said I wasn’t a good liar? Well…
I think I turned a knife in Cool Girl’s gut that night. Needless to say, very little sleep was had.
The next morning was a slow one for me, spent mainly emailing students and friends and catching up on things I had fallen behind on while on this trip. I’d left to go out for the day and there was no response as of yet.
I met up with a friend for coffee before I who is an avid reader of Cool Girl Is Dead because she totally relates. I told her all of the previous night’s events and we laughed until we cried. I was putting up a brave front.
She gives me a big hug at the door of the massage place’s building and right before I enter, my phone beeps. It’s an email from him.
I scan quickly through the email and tears come to my eyes. I won’t print his response here but I will tell you he used the word “friendship” four times and “friend” once.
I see the sweet Larry the Rub Guy and I fall apart. Every time I see him it seems like I’m going through a major life crisis of some sort. He always listens, to every part, by the way. I lay face down on the massage table and my tears fall through the opening of the headrest. And I thank God for LRG.
Everyone keeps telling me how “brave” it is that I’m doing this and how “courageous” I am for “speaking my truth”. All I can say is the last thing I wanna do is be brave. I wanna lay like a pile of fleshy pulp and have someone pick me up from the middle of the street and take care of me. In the movie The Family Stone, Luke Wilson’s character talks to Sarah Jessica Parker’s about a dream he’s had about her. He says something to the effect of, “You were a little girl and you were shoveling snow. Except I was the snow. Everywhere. And you were scooping me up.” That’s the relief I want. Just to be taken care of for five minutes. That would be just so…nice.
And of course, all I wanna do now is be a total whore. I wanna make bad decisions. And I want a LOT of chocolate brownies. But empty calories will not fill up these cracks.
About to make a beeline to the elevator, I instead decide to put on the brakes and stop to say hi to Mr. David in the doorway, truly expecting dead eyes. Well, to my surprise, he lit up like a Christmas Tree and WFWSC was next to me, impressed. “Hiiiiii! You came to see your girl in our show?!” “Yes, yes and you were fantastic, too!” “Well how about you? You’re doing well, I hear!” Before I can ask what he’s heard he says, “I mean, I see! You’re on the sides of buses all over town!” Now, I am NOT on buses all over town, but the girl who did Wicked on tour w Garrison IS, because she has a hit TV show. And I…CRACKED. I mean, my face SPLIT in two. WFWSC is still next to me shaking with joy, trying not to burst and I really just want to make my escape to the elevator, so I don’t correct him. “Yeah, things are good. Just in for a visit! Exciting stuff.” Thanks, Cool Girl. Garrison turns to WFWSC and starts to introduce himself and she says through a HUGE smile, “Oh, I did Broadway with you for a minute. I’ve straightened my hair so I look different…” “Oh my GOD, of COURSE,” he gushes and we skedaddle into the elevator where I lean against the wall cracking up as WFWSC manages to recount the events for the rest of our friends. Oh, if that was the only time I cracked this week.
I’ve reached out to The Unicorn to have a hang. He invited me to his Improv show the same night as the play so I couldn’t attend but we made plans to see each other a few nights later. Now, he knows nothing of my blog or the stage reading of my blog I am planning during this trip and most of all he does not know my true feelings about him. That is to say, the words have never come out of my mouth. I’ve tried so often to say it with my eeeyes…
I meet up with him in Worldwide Plaza, a place he’s never been but where I practically lived when I was here and we get interrupted by people I know quite a bit. “Everyone’s just so happy to see you. All the time. Wherever we go,” he says to me. And for some reason I feel the need to apologize for that. And I don’t mention that my friend Flute Playah is seeing a show in the same complex as us and may meet up later. I’m all kinds of in my head about everything.
So after a very short, pointless musical, I wait around after to chat with more friends who were in the thing and watching the thing. The Unicorn excuses himself and takes a phone call outside. I see Flute Playah as I’m heading out and he’s waiting for HIS friends in the show HE saw and we all decide to head to a cafe across the street for drinks and stuff. But I guess the two never really met. And we sit at separate tables in the restaurant so they really had no interaction. Until we’re walking to the subway.
As we’re headed along 42nd street, the very first thing Flute Playah says to The Unicorn is, “So are you coming to Cool Girl’s show Sunday night?” *CRAAACK* My hand turns into a claw and grips Flute Playah’s shoulder. My eyes are crazed with panic as I stare him down. We both start giggling uncomfortably. Finally, The Unicorn interjects, “Oh, I have to go to Boston this weekend. My friend’s parent died. That was the phone call I took. But what are you doing on Sunday?” He looks at me and I wanna crawl into a hole because of the small amount of hurt I see there. I start to ramble. “Well, it really isn’t anything yet, just an idea I’d like to work out in front of…like if 10, 15 people come, I’d be thrilled, just my inner INNER circle I invited, if you know what I mean…” Smooth, Cool Girl. Just tell the boy he’s not in your inner circle. What kind of jackass are you?
Flute Playah and his boyfriend slip out to get on the A train and I awkwardly leave The Unicorn on the subway platform waiting for the express while I get on the 1. I’m pretty sure I banged my head on the closing doors instead of standing clear like the nice man asked me on the PA. I get uptown and call Flute Playah immediately. I may have screamed into the phone. “You’re supposed to be my best Gay!!! What have you doooone?!?!” I’m doing that horrible laughing while panicked thing as he defends, “I didn’t KNOW it was HIM. You didn’t introDUCE meeee!!” And then we got down to the nitty gritty. I held my head in my hands and FP quietly suggested, “Maybe its time to tell him the truth.” It was after midnight by the time we hung up and I was not going to wake him up to talk about this. Instead I wrote him an email:
Re: Hiya. Remember earlier when I said I wasn’t a good liar? Well…
I'm really not. And I think you may of have an inkling of when I was bullshitting my way out of being busted by my friend Jason tonight.
This is so hard for me to do, and I went to call you three times after I got in tonight but I know you're getting up for work tomorrow and I didn't want you to have to deal with MY crap when you were trying to go to bed.
*deep breath*
K, I actually am only inviting a small group of peeps to see this show on Sunday night. It will be one of the hardest things I've ever done bc its crazy personal and is ACTually about MY life and not about a character I've made up or anything. And the reason why I never told you about it is because I plan to talk about you in it. Names have been changed to protect the innocent, of course.
There are things that I cop to in the play that I haven't confessed to you, although I feel like you must have a tiny glimmer of my feelings at the VERY least... I stupidly thought that I could get away with quite literally going behind your back and do this without actually telling you. I'm a fool, really.
The truth is when you say things like "I wish you still lived here", I want to scream back "MEEEEE TOOOOO!" bc one of the hardest things about being away is not getting to spend time with you. And then, when I reeeally listen to what you're saying, I realize that it may just be bc you think I'm a really good Julie from the Love Boat or something...
The truth is that when I met you, I had given up on believing that a guy like you even exSISTed, let alone could roll up into my life. There are so many things that are a part of me that I feel like most people our age aren't even open to hearing about, like Mass or Faith or how I think sex is a precious thing and I don't give it away for shits and giggles; things that I would never feel the need to hide from you. Its so freeing knowing someone out there actually gets all that stuff w/o judgement or fear of them looking at me like I'm from Mars or something.
The truth is that I am crazy about you. You make me laugh. And think. And wanna be a better person. And I could just fall into your face sometimes... I am so going out on a limb here that its crazy but I realize that even if you don't return my feelings, I will not die and actually telling the truth will be better for me in the end. I am trusting that it is what God wants me to do. Bc its right.
If you're reading this, its bc I had the balls to hit 'send'. Good for me.
I hope you can forgive me for feeling like it was okay to tell "the world" all of this before I actually told you. And I am praying you opened this at a time that wasn't totally filling your life with fuckery.
KD
I think I turned a knife in Cool Girl’s gut that night. Needless to say, very little sleep was had.
The next morning was a slow one for me, spent mainly emailing students and friends and catching up on things I had fallen behind on while on this trip. I’d left to go out for the day and there was no response as of yet.
I met up with a friend for coffee before I who is an avid reader of Cool Girl Is Dead because she totally relates. I told her all of the previous night’s events and we laughed until we cried. I was putting up a brave front.
She gives me a big hug at the door of the massage place’s building and right before I enter, my phone beeps. It’s an email from him.
I scan quickly through the email and tears come to my eyes. I won’t print his response here but I will tell you he used the word “friendship” four times and “friend” once.
I see the sweet Larry the Rub Guy and I fall apart. Every time I see him it seems like I’m going through a major life crisis of some sort. He always listens, to every part, by the way. I lay face down on the massage table and my tears fall through the opening of the headrest. And I thank God for LRG.
Everyone keeps telling me how “brave” it is that I’m doing this and how “courageous” I am for “speaking my truth”. All I can say is the last thing I wanna do is be brave. I wanna lay like a pile of fleshy pulp and have someone pick me up from the middle of the street and take care of me. In the movie The Family Stone, Luke Wilson’s character talks to Sarah Jessica Parker’s about a dream he’s had about her. He says something to the effect of, “You were a little girl and you were shoveling snow. Except I was the snow. Everywhere. And you were scooping me up.” That’s the relief I want. Just to be taken care of for five minutes. That would be just so…nice.
And of course, all I wanna do now is be a total whore. I wanna make bad decisions. And I want a LOT of chocolate brownies. But empty calories will not fill up these cracks.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Adele
"Don't forget me- I beg. I remember you said, 'Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.'"
Fuckin' Adele.
This song crept up on me. When I listened to 21 straight through the first time, One & Only was the one that took me out. Its like she read about my Unicorn and wrote a song for me to sing to him. But this song, this Someone Like You song... it goes out to ALL the ones that didn't work out, doesn't it? Or for me, those that never really were in the first place.
One of my best friends in high school just got married in the fall. He played Jesus in Godspell our senior year. Those of you who are musical theatre enthusiasts know the type- limitlessly charming, childlike, a Pied Piper, bringing everyone up for it on the ride. And we were in separable. We started as two people who really didn't like each other in art class to finally connecting as friends and then got incredibly close while we had rehearsal every night after school. He & I lived far away so we would just hang in the auditorium until rehearsal, maybe grabbing McDonalds in between, until our director got wind of this and invited us for dinner at her house nearby every afternoon. And that...was magical. Her kitchen was where my life would expand, having 'grown-up' discussions about faith and love and art for the first time. It was where I became an Artist, with a capital A. She always saw us as equals and we blossomed under her care. Although I tried so hard to avoid it, I began to fall in love with JIG. I fought harder to not show it.
Cool Girl was all I was at that time; my feelings for JIG in a tight vault. He talked about love and sex and girls and I would bristle with excitement on the inside but was debating and challenging on the outside. Then I liked Love in broad terms; the specifics were not a safe place in my world. His big blue eyes surrounded by impossibly long eyelashes and thick curly hair and long fingers that danced across the piano and husky voice that sang the blues were landmines. If he did not return my feelings, I surely would die. So I'd just add another number to the vault's combination. I learned to pour cement around my heart. The three of us were a happy trio, banter and ideas ran freely, and I was in my own private, safe Heaven.
And then he invited her over for dinner.
Her being The Popular Girl who was in the play as well. She didn't need to come to the director's after school; she lived nearby. She was there because he wanted her. I shriveled up inside. But here's the thing, at rehearsals, TPG and I had a blast. We loved singing harmonies together (I think we beat to death "More Than Words" HA.) and had a great time doing the play. But it was clear she wanted him, too. And all of a sudden, I was the third wheel. And it suuuucked.
One rare moment in her kitchen, our director and I were alone. JIG & TPG were off somewhere perhaps; I don't really remember. She cautiously brought up the topic of them being a couple. I thought it was because she was concerned about the play if they, God-forbid, broke up. She shook her head. "I just don't know if she's someone who's right for him." I was taken a-back. I asked, "Well, who would be right for him, then?" I mean, she was everything: rich, popular, thin, smart, funny. And then she looked me right in the eye and said, "You. I was always hoping he'd be with you." Tears welled immediately. She'd cracked my vault. I felt naked. I think I literally folded up inside myself on the bench in her kitchen. She silently came to sit by me and wrapped her arm around me. And we sat like that for a while.
Over the next few weeks, I took refuge in our director being 'in my corner', like it was a fight, or something. But JIP asked TPG to the prom, which he gave me every last romantic detail of. And Cool Girl strengthened her resolve. He kept asking me who I was going to the prom with. Cool Girl was so fierce, she was not going to the prom at ALL. He protested. I stuck to my guns and my excuses. The Junior Prom sucked (it did for me), I didn't have money (I'd stopped working my part time job to do the play), it was something made for couples and not for friends (the closest one that revealed the truth). At one point he begged. I was stubborn and said a firm, "No."
He made love to her for the first time after the Prom. I kept a good game face as he spilt the specifics. The play ended; our time together slowly became less and less frequent. I saw him in art class still at least. Dating the popular girl wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I didn't think they'd make it passed graduation. But they did.
I got accepted to a small Liberal Arts college in Staten Island that none of my 630 classmates managed to find out about. It was a chance for me to start over. He went to a college in Amish Country. This ended up shaping our futures more than we realized at the time. He & TPG eventually broke up for good and I had quickly become the biggest fag hag this side of the Staten Island Ferry. My first 'boyfriend' in college ended up being gay. I made a joke that instead of the Midas Touch, the Touch of Gold, I had the Touch of Gay. Even made a skit out of it with my good friend Wesley Boozer. It was the hit of the theatre department. I saw JIG when I went home for Thanksgiving, sometimes Christmas, sometimes Easter. He always had serious, intense long term relationships and I had my career aspirations. He became a real hippie and started a great trance band which he still makes music with. I sang with them once when they played in NYC. He even had a pottery shop once.
He met a woman studying to be a doctor. They married last year and he'll follow her to wherever her residency takes them: Arizona or Vermont I think were the last choices I heard about.
I had the heartbreaking task of telling him I couldn't afford to fly in for his wedding. Sometimes being an Artist with a capital A sucks. Maybe the Universe was protecting me (and him) from my reaction. I hardly think I would've pulled an "I Object!" moment at his ceremony but with this new found truthfulness I've been growing into, a church-side confessional about all my hidden high-school feelings may have slipped out. Very Non-Cool-Girl but very selfish.
I love JIG, but in such a different way now. He's someone who is safe with my dreams; to this day, I can always slip into a beautiful conversation with him about faith and love and art just like we learned to all those many years ago in that warm kitchen. And Adele's lyrics could never be truer...
"Nevermind, I'll find someone like you. I wish nothing but the best for you two."
I had a strange daydream during Mother's Day Mass on Sunday night. The priest invited all mothers and mothers-to-be to stand about the altar for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. I had a vision of me at next year's mass joining them with a baby bump of my own. It made me believe in the possibility of tomorrow like I haven't in a long time. Who knows what it will bring...
Fuckin' Adele.
This song crept up on me. When I listened to 21 straight through the first time, One & Only was the one that took me out. Its like she read about my Unicorn and wrote a song for me to sing to him. But this song, this Someone Like You song... it goes out to ALL the ones that didn't work out, doesn't it? Or for me, those that never really were in the first place.
One of my best friends in high school just got married in the fall. He played Jesus in Godspell our senior year. Those of you who are musical theatre enthusiasts know the type- limitlessly charming, childlike, a Pied Piper, bringing everyone up for it on the ride. And we were in separable. We started as two people who really didn't like each other in art class to finally connecting as friends and then got incredibly close while we had rehearsal every night after school. He & I lived far away so we would just hang in the auditorium until rehearsal, maybe grabbing McDonalds in between, until our director got wind of this and invited us for dinner at her house nearby every afternoon. And that...was magical. Her kitchen was where my life would expand, having 'grown-up' discussions about faith and love and art for the first time. It was where I became an Artist, with a capital A. She always saw us as equals and we blossomed under her care. Although I tried so hard to avoid it, I began to fall in love with JIG. I fought harder to not show it.
Cool Girl was all I was at that time; my feelings for JIG in a tight vault. He talked about love and sex and girls and I would bristle with excitement on the inside but was debating and challenging on the outside. Then I liked Love in broad terms; the specifics were not a safe place in my world. His big blue eyes surrounded by impossibly long eyelashes and thick curly hair and long fingers that danced across the piano and husky voice that sang the blues were landmines. If he did not return my feelings, I surely would die. So I'd just add another number to the vault's combination. I learned to pour cement around my heart. The three of us were a happy trio, banter and ideas ran freely, and I was in my own private, safe Heaven.
And then he invited her over for dinner.
Her being The Popular Girl who was in the play as well. She didn't need to come to the director's after school; she lived nearby. She was there because he wanted her. I shriveled up inside. But here's the thing, at rehearsals, TPG and I had a blast. We loved singing harmonies together (I think we beat to death "More Than Words" HA.) and had a great time doing the play. But it was clear she wanted him, too. And all of a sudden, I was the third wheel. And it suuuucked.
One rare moment in her kitchen, our director and I were alone. JIG & TPG were off somewhere perhaps; I don't really remember. She cautiously brought up the topic of them being a couple. I thought it was because she was concerned about the play if they, God-forbid, broke up. She shook her head. "I just don't know if she's someone who's right for him." I was taken a-back. I asked, "Well, who would be right for him, then?" I mean, she was everything: rich, popular, thin, smart, funny. And then she looked me right in the eye and said, "You. I was always hoping he'd be with you." Tears welled immediately. She'd cracked my vault. I felt naked. I think I literally folded up inside myself on the bench in her kitchen. She silently came to sit by me and wrapped her arm around me. And we sat like that for a while.
Over the next few weeks, I took refuge in our director being 'in my corner', like it was a fight, or something. But JIP asked TPG to the prom, which he gave me every last romantic detail of. And Cool Girl strengthened her resolve. He kept asking me who I was going to the prom with. Cool Girl was so fierce, she was not going to the prom at ALL. He protested. I stuck to my guns and my excuses. The Junior Prom sucked (it did for me), I didn't have money (I'd stopped working my part time job to do the play), it was something made for couples and not for friends (the closest one that revealed the truth). At one point he begged. I was stubborn and said a firm, "No."
He made love to her for the first time after the Prom. I kept a good game face as he spilt the specifics. The play ended; our time together slowly became less and less frequent. I saw him in art class still at least. Dating the popular girl wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I didn't think they'd make it passed graduation. But they did.
I got accepted to a small Liberal Arts college in Staten Island that none of my 630 classmates managed to find out about. It was a chance for me to start over. He went to a college in Amish Country. This ended up shaping our futures more than we realized at the time. He & TPG eventually broke up for good and I had quickly become the biggest fag hag this side of the Staten Island Ferry. My first 'boyfriend' in college ended up being gay. I made a joke that instead of the Midas Touch, the Touch of Gold, I had the Touch of Gay. Even made a skit out of it with my good friend Wesley Boozer. It was the hit of the theatre department. I saw JIG when I went home for Thanksgiving, sometimes Christmas, sometimes Easter. He always had serious, intense long term relationships and I had my career aspirations. He became a real hippie and started a great trance band which he still makes music with. I sang with them once when they played in NYC. He even had a pottery shop once.
He met a woman studying to be a doctor. They married last year and he'll follow her to wherever her residency takes them: Arizona or Vermont I think were the last choices I heard about.
I had the heartbreaking task of telling him I couldn't afford to fly in for his wedding. Sometimes being an Artist with a capital A sucks. Maybe the Universe was protecting me (and him) from my reaction. I hardly think I would've pulled an "I Object!" moment at his ceremony but with this new found truthfulness I've been growing into, a church-side confessional about all my hidden high-school feelings may have slipped out. Very Non-Cool-Girl but very selfish.
I love JIG, but in such a different way now. He's someone who is safe with my dreams; to this day, I can always slip into a beautiful conversation with him about faith and love and art just like we learned to all those many years ago in that warm kitchen. And Adele's lyrics could never be truer...
"Nevermind, I'll find someone like you. I wish nothing but the best for you two."
I had a strange daydream during Mother's Day Mass on Sunday night. The priest invited all mothers and mothers-to-be to stand about the altar for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. I had a vision of me at next year's mass joining them with a baby bump of my own. It made me believe in the possibility of tomorrow like I haven't in a long time. Who knows what it will bring...
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Wink
Internet Dating. Its been like the scary movie I don't want to go near. People can tell me how much fun it is and how they had such a great time but all I see is disemboweling and lots of blood. It has always been the thing that just the mere idea of doing sends me into a tailspin, every insecurity I have swirling about my head as I drown in a sea of self-doubt. And this is on a good day.
So I try it.
'Cause here's the thing- I have been conquering my fears one at a time out here on the West Coast. I had a major phobia of driving and I got my license in October and now scoot around town in a car I'm renting from a friend. And living with three other single 30-somethings is terrifying after living alone for so long. And admitting I had a real addiction to sugar has not been a walk in the park. So, Internet Dating it is!
I'm so sure I'm acting like I came to this decision all on my own. Such a liar. I had a friend and her fiance' who met on Match give me a good talking to about it while in NYC last. She was so good, in fact, I convinced her to start an Internet Dating Coaching Business. I referred her to her first client and she even has business cards now, I think. I'll call her Internet Dating Coach, and her fiance' who is just finishing up his residency, Dr. Internet Dating Coach. They are the cutest things EVER and just got married last weekend.
I gave my usual protests: that the idea of 'shopping' for someone was totally unappealing, that the idea of someone shopping for ME and judging me based on photos made me throw up in my mouth, that I have so much wonderful emotional fulfillment in my gay male relationships that straight guys don't stand a chance in comparison, that I have a chubby chaser issue...the list went on and on.
Now IDC had been through the Match.com wringer for two whole years, making every mistake she could, which she herself admits. The last straw for me was, when she was going back and forth on instant messages with a new guy while at work in our dressing room, she asked if there was a 24 hour Starbucks because she wanted to meet the guy for the first time at one in the morning. (!!!) I quietly sank into the chair next to her and whispered intensely, "You are going to text message me when you get there and then every ten minutes until you are home and in your bed, understood?" It was then IDC realized she was being a bit reckless. She was a recent divorcee and going balls to the wall- eventually she developed a good vetting process and soon found Dr. IDC.
So many of my fabulous gay friends had also suggested Match ("You should live your life, Boo; take a chance; get your kiki on!") and IDC was a firm believer obviously but it wasn't until a late night debate with her & her man that I warmed up to the concept. "You don't have to do any of the work if you don't want to," Dr. IDC said. "You can literally let them come to you. And they will." It was like I got the ultimate green light to be passive aggressive. Which is not like me. I am aggressive-aggressive (one of my favorite quotes from I HEART HUCKABEES, by the way). Or was. Or I am in most of my life but in order to swallow the pill of Internet Dating, I was going to HAVE to be the other. It was just too damn frightening.
I feel like I should give a little more explanation about why I have such resistance to meeting up with strangers for "dates". The summer after I graduated college, I found a job working as a telemarketer for the New York City Ballet in fundraising. Basically calling up people who had been to the ballet at some point during the year and landed on the NYCB mailing list and chatting. Its amazing how many single guys had bought Nutcracker tickets that year. I feel like I talked to all of them. And I was a telemarketing whore. I gave phone sex voice until they gave me a $100 donation. Of course some of them wanted to meet the girl at the ballet in person, stupidly assuming I was a ballerina apparently. Almost every date was a complete disaster except for the 40 year old who look liked he was Richard Dryfus' hot younger brother, but our age difference even bothered him. Blind dating was never an option ever again after that summer. I even had one charmer say to me over the phone, "I'll take an ugly girl over a fat girl any day because even if a girl is ugly with a hot body, you can always turn off the lights." Ugh. What a douche.
OkCupid is where I have ended up and it is kind of a nightmare. I've gotten a lot of serial killer looking dudes, 45 year old Marilyn Manson wannabes and 60 year old Asian men writing to me. But I did finally hear from a guy who was first-date worthy and I went. And it was nice. Fine even. Ends up he was at my friend's zeppole booth at the San Genaro Festival in September when I was working for her; he even had pics from it. He knew a guy who was working with us- such a small world. We had a great conversation that never lulled. But I didn't feel the chemistry. You know, that lil crackle in the air that has a hint of danger in it. Like you'd kinda wanna do stupid things with someone. And my inner voice kept chanting "Give it a chance, give it a chance..." so when it came time to leave, First Internet Date put his hand on the table and said, "Next time I'll take you to where the good pizza is in LA," and I, making a conscience choice to not be closed off, reached out to put my hand on top of his as I said, "That'd be great!" but instead of us touching, FID FLINCHED away and I MISSED. The moment suspended in time as we stared at the set of hands on the table and as if he was a wide receiver trying to salvage the fumble, he awkwardly placed his pinky and tip of his ring finger on top of my knuckle. *sigh* Awky McAwkwardton, anyone?
A few hours later I met up with a few peeps at the Villiage Idiot. One was heelarious Asian Gay Man, another was the 90 lbs. Slip of a Blonde who I had done a show with for a minute; she's a bit looney tunes in a good way and funny as a result. One was this guy I had met at a party in LA and we exchanged info because he had a short film he wanted me to read but I heard nothing from him. He lit up when he saw me. WE had mad chemistry. The crackle was obvious. He was a real flirt in general but we cracked each other up during our first meeting and picked up where we left off immediately. This is what I was talkin' 'bout. I know this exists.
And because Cool Girl can't be satisfied with personal growth, she immediately took in Slip of a Blonde and this guy and said, "Why aren't you going out with him?" and basically, after about 20 minutes, successfully bullied them into dating. *sigh* Its like the bar was named after me...
I just checked OkCupid. Nothin'. Not even a 'wink'. I think I may need the services of Mrs. IDC. STAT.
So I try it.
'Cause here's the thing- I have been conquering my fears one at a time out here on the West Coast. I had a major phobia of driving and I got my license in October and now scoot around town in a car I'm renting from a friend. And living with three other single 30-somethings is terrifying after living alone for so long. And admitting I had a real addiction to sugar has not been a walk in the park. So, Internet Dating it is!
I'm so sure I'm acting like I came to this decision all on my own. Such a liar. I had a friend and her fiance' who met on Match give me a good talking to about it while in NYC last. She was so good, in fact, I convinced her to start an Internet Dating Coaching Business. I referred her to her first client and she even has business cards now, I think. I'll call her Internet Dating Coach, and her fiance' who is just finishing up his residency, Dr. Internet Dating Coach. They are the cutest things EVER and just got married last weekend.
I gave my usual protests: that the idea of 'shopping' for someone was totally unappealing, that the idea of someone shopping for ME and judging me based on photos made me throw up in my mouth, that I have so much wonderful emotional fulfillment in my gay male relationships that straight guys don't stand a chance in comparison, that I have a chubby chaser issue...the list went on and on.
Now IDC had been through the Match.com wringer for two whole years, making every mistake she could, which she herself admits. The last straw for me was, when she was going back and forth on instant messages with a new guy while at work in our dressing room, she asked if there was a 24 hour Starbucks because she wanted to meet the guy for the first time at one in the morning. (!!!) I quietly sank into the chair next to her and whispered intensely, "You are going to text message me when you get there and then every ten minutes until you are home and in your bed, understood?" It was then IDC realized she was being a bit reckless. She was a recent divorcee and going balls to the wall- eventually she developed a good vetting process and soon found Dr. IDC.
So many of my fabulous gay friends had also suggested Match ("You should live your life, Boo; take a chance; get your kiki on!") and IDC was a firm believer obviously but it wasn't until a late night debate with her & her man that I warmed up to the concept. "You don't have to do any of the work if you don't want to," Dr. IDC said. "You can literally let them come to you. And they will." It was like I got the ultimate green light to be passive aggressive. Which is not like me. I am aggressive-aggressive (one of my favorite quotes from I HEART HUCKABEES, by the way). Or was. Or I am in most of my life but in order to swallow the pill of Internet Dating, I was going to HAVE to be the other. It was just too damn frightening.
I feel like I should give a little more explanation about why I have such resistance to meeting up with strangers for "dates". The summer after I graduated college, I found a job working as a telemarketer for the New York City Ballet in fundraising. Basically calling up people who had been to the ballet at some point during the year and landed on the NYCB mailing list and chatting. Its amazing how many single guys had bought Nutcracker tickets that year. I feel like I talked to all of them. And I was a telemarketing whore. I gave phone sex voice until they gave me a $100 donation. Of course some of them wanted to meet the girl at the ballet in person, stupidly assuming I was a ballerina apparently. Almost every date was a complete disaster except for the 40 year old who look liked he was Richard Dryfus' hot younger brother, but our age difference even bothered him. Blind dating was never an option ever again after that summer. I even had one charmer say to me over the phone, "I'll take an ugly girl over a fat girl any day because even if a girl is ugly with a hot body, you can always turn off the lights." Ugh. What a douche.
OkCupid is where I have ended up and it is kind of a nightmare. I've gotten a lot of serial killer looking dudes, 45 year old Marilyn Manson wannabes and 60 year old Asian men writing to me. But I did finally hear from a guy who was first-date worthy and I went. And it was nice. Fine even. Ends up he was at my friend's zeppole booth at the San Genaro Festival in September when I was working for her; he even had pics from it. He knew a guy who was working with us- such a small world. We had a great conversation that never lulled. But I didn't feel the chemistry. You know, that lil crackle in the air that has a hint of danger in it. Like you'd kinda wanna do stupid things with someone. And my inner voice kept chanting "Give it a chance, give it a chance..." so when it came time to leave, First Internet Date put his hand on the table and said, "Next time I'll take you to where the good pizza is in LA," and I, making a conscience choice to not be closed off, reached out to put my hand on top of his as I said, "That'd be great!" but instead of us touching, FID FLINCHED away and I MISSED. The moment suspended in time as we stared at the set of hands on the table and as if he was a wide receiver trying to salvage the fumble, he awkwardly placed his pinky and tip of his ring finger on top of my knuckle. *sigh* Awky McAwkwardton, anyone?
A few hours later I met up with a few peeps at the Villiage Idiot. One was heelarious Asian Gay Man, another was the 90 lbs. Slip of a Blonde who I had done a show with for a minute; she's a bit looney tunes in a good way and funny as a result. One was this guy I had met at a party in LA and we exchanged info because he had a short film he wanted me to read but I heard nothing from him. He lit up when he saw me. WE had mad chemistry. The crackle was obvious. He was a real flirt in general but we cracked each other up during our first meeting and picked up where we left off immediately. This is what I was talkin' 'bout. I know this exists.
And because Cool Girl can't be satisfied with personal growth, she immediately took in Slip of a Blonde and this guy and said, "Why aren't you going out with him?" and basically, after about 20 minutes, successfully bullied them into dating. *sigh* Its like the bar was named after me...
I just checked OkCupid. Nothin'. Not even a 'wink'. I think I may need the services of Mrs. IDC. STAT.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Dream
I've mentioned that I'm in Hypnotherapy. There is a misconception that you don't remember anything while hypnotized and that you actually have someone manipulate you during sleep. *buzzer* Wrong.
What DOES happen is that you have a guided meditation while in a highly relaxed state and basically get to daydream. I daydream all the time. Maybe to a fault. Certainly in the past this has been the case. I'll never forget the first time I realized that some people don't daydream.
My best friend from high school was in love with her Neighbor. Like, the Neighbor she grew up with who was about 5 doors down from her mom's house. He had just bought his childhood home from his parents who retired and moved away, I think. My BFFHS was spending aloooot of time there, doing a Cool Girl thing with him. Which was unusual because she usually went right for what she wanted and got it in relationships, and I spent many years of our friendship wishing I could be more like her. To quote When Harry Met Sally, guys were always crossing a room to talk to My BFFHS; even my own older brother said she was pretty enough to be a model. And although people would often think we were sisters, I always felt like she was the Pretty One and I was the Funny One.
This friendship of theirs blossomed while I was about to leave for a European Tour, right after I graduated college, and after hearing so much about him, the three of us hung out. We had a very long night of drinking and laughing at his house and by the end understood why My BFFHS was head over heals for him- he was a good time. And they had mad chemistry.
Fast forward to my third or fourth month on tour; it was all snail mail then, folks, no laptops or cell phone (I'm so old!) and I got a large manila envelope handed to me from my company manager. Inside were 8 pages or so of beautiful white draft paper with gorgeous printing- The Neighbor had written to me. And it was a strange letter that I read several times to understand- he basically wrote out a "date" he was having with me. I was stunned. First of all, when you meet a guy your friend likes, they may as well be a cousin to you. Period. This is how I roll. And second of all, I could not wrap my head around him choosing me over My BFFHS- would not accept it. So... I left it alone. And didn't mention it to anyone, especially not to her. It was the first secret I'd ever kept from her.
I returned to NYC in the summertime and began living with a good friend from tour in Park Slope, Brooklyn. The Neighbor contacted me to see about a visit. I, of course, contacted My BFFHS to see if she was planning on joining. She said she'd try but then something happened about when she could come and the Neighbor and her were no longer coming up together. She ended up not coming at all. And I remember it being preventable but I didn't prevent it. He came through my front door with a big hug and got comfy on my "new" area rug (it was so a newly-cleaned hand-me-down) which is where he was when my roommate met him. When she and I had a moment alone in our tiny kitchen, she whispered, "Okay, who's the sexy man lying on our rug right now?!" Sexy. I couldn't believe it. Or wouldn't is probably more like it. I was a hot stinking mess after her comment and when she excused herself very discreetly to leave us alone, I think I was purple with rosacia. Flushed from head to toe. I was in a pickle and couldn't get out.
To this day, I couldn't tell you how we got there, but at one point the Neighbor came up behind me, put his arms around me, whispered in my ear and asked me to give him a chance. I am tearing up right now thinking about it. I squeaked out, "What about My BFFHS?" and then pled my case with my "you're like a cousin to me" reasoning and he resisted only a bit before agreeing not to push but that he hoped I'd change my mind one day. Now I had a bigger secret to keep from My BFFHS.
It was the first fight she and I ever had. Over a guy. I was at a complete loss. My life-skills had not prepared me for this. She was very hurt about not being included in the weekend and we didn't speak for a few months. I was devastated. She was the only girlfriend from home I still kept in touch with and was my oldest friend.
During those months, my college friend was in the West Side Story tour which was making a stop in Delaware and I decided to go. And I boldly asked the Neighbor to come with. I don't know why I did it- to see if we could be friends? That's the answer I told myself, I guess. On the drive down, he asked me what I thought of CT and if I thought I could live there; he obviously hadn't given up on "us." I thought he was delusional.
We got there early and decided to walk around in the historic downtown area and began talking about our dreams while strolling along the cobblestone streets. Hopes may be a more appropriate word. I started talking about my daydreams and actually used that word and he stopped me- "You actually daydream?" he asked, wide-eyed, looking at me like I was some exotic creature that took his breath away. "Well, of course," I answered, "I like to imagine what my life will be like while I'm awake, not just by chance while I'm asleep." He beamed. "That is so cool," he said. My heart became so very sad for him. You see, he spent time imagining a life with me, but never on what HE wanted for HIS life. And I realized that day that not everyone daydreamed like I did.
My dreams have changed greatly and so have my friendships. I haven't spoken to My BFFHS in over a year because of a falling out we've had. I was terribly heartbroken and still am. I do daydream about making amends. I hope it one day does come true.
I sometimes daydream about what life would have been like for me if I took a chance on the Neighbor. I wonder if anyone will ever be bold enough again to wrap his arms around my waist and ask me to take a chance. In my dreams, my heart says "Yes."
What DOES happen is that you have a guided meditation while in a highly relaxed state and basically get to daydream. I daydream all the time. Maybe to a fault. Certainly in the past this has been the case. I'll never forget the first time I realized that some people don't daydream.
My best friend from high school was in love with her Neighbor. Like, the Neighbor she grew up with who was about 5 doors down from her mom's house. He had just bought his childhood home from his parents who retired and moved away, I think. My BFFHS was spending aloooot of time there, doing a Cool Girl thing with him. Which was unusual because she usually went right for what she wanted and got it in relationships, and I spent many years of our friendship wishing I could be more like her. To quote When Harry Met Sally, guys were always crossing a room to talk to My BFFHS; even my own older brother said she was pretty enough to be a model. And although people would often think we were sisters, I always felt like she was the Pretty One and I was the Funny One.
This friendship of theirs blossomed while I was about to leave for a European Tour, right after I graduated college, and after hearing so much about him, the three of us hung out. We had a very long night of drinking and laughing at his house and by the end understood why My BFFHS was head over heals for him- he was a good time. And they had mad chemistry.
Fast forward to my third or fourth month on tour; it was all snail mail then, folks, no laptops or cell phone (I'm so old!) and I got a large manila envelope handed to me from my company manager. Inside were 8 pages or so of beautiful white draft paper with gorgeous printing- The Neighbor had written to me. And it was a strange letter that I read several times to understand- he basically wrote out a "date" he was having with me. I was stunned. First of all, when you meet a guy your friend likes, they may as well be a cousin to you. Period. This is how I roll. And second of all, I could not wrap my head around him choosing me over My BFFHS- would not accept it. So... I left it alone. And didn't mention it to anyone, especially not to her. It was the first secret I'd ever kept from her.
I returned to NYC in the summertime and began living with a good friend from tour in Park Slope, Brooklyn. The Neighbor contacted me to see about a visit. I, of course, contacted My BFFHS to see if she was planning on joining. She said she'd try but then something happened about when she could come and the Neighbor and her were no longer coming up together. She ended up not coming at all. And I remember it being preventable but I didn't prevent it. He came through my front door with a big hug and got comfy on my "new" area rug (it was so a newly-cleaned hand-me-down) which is where he was when my roommate met him. When she and I had a moment alone in our tiny kitchen, she whispered, "Okay, who's the sexy man lying on our rug right now?!" Sexy. I couldn't believe it. Or wouldn't is probably more like it. I was a hot stinking mess after her comment and when she excused herself very discreetly to leave us alone, I think I was purple with rosacia. Flushed from head to toe. I was in a pickle and couldn't get out.
To this day, I couldn't tell you how we got there, but at one point the Neighbor came up behind me, put his arms around me, whispered in my ear and asked me to give him a chance. I am tearing up right now thinking about it. I squeaked out, "What about My BFFHS?" and then pled my case with my "you're like a cousin to me" reasoning and he resisted only a bit before agreeing not to push but that he hoped I'd change my mind one day. Now I had a bigger secret to keep from My BFFHS.
It was the first fight she and I ever had. Over a guy. I was at a complete loss. My life-skills had not prepared me for this. She was very hurt about not being included in the weekend and we didn't speak for a few months. I was devastated. She was the only girlfriend from home I still kept in touch with and was my oldest friend.
During those months, my college friend was in the West Side Story tour which was making a stop in Delaware and I decided to go. And I boldly asked the Neighbor to come with. I don't know why I did it- to see if we could be friends? That's the answer I told myself, I guess. On the drive down, he asked me what I thought of CT and if I thought I could live there; he obviously hadn't given up on "us." I thought he was delusional.
We got there early and decided to walk around in the historic downtown area and began talking about our dreams while strolling along the cobblestone streets. Hopes may be a more appropriate word. I started talking about my daydreams and actually used that word and he stopped me- "You actually daydream?" he asked, wide-eyed, looking at me like I was some exotic creature that took his breath away. "Well, of course," I answered, "I like to imagine what my life will be like while I'm awake, not just by chance while I'm asleep." He beamed. "That is so cool," he said. My heart became so very sad for him. You see, he spent time imagining a life with me, but never on what HE wanted for HIS life. And I realized that day that not everyone daydreamed like I did.
My dreams have changed greatly and so have my friendships. I haven't spoken to My BFFHS in over a year because of a falling out we've had. I was terribly heartbroken and still am. I do daydream about making amends. I hope it one day does come true.
I sometimes daydream about what life would have been like for me if I took a chance on the Neighbor. I wonder if anyone will ever be bold enough again to wrap his arms around my waist and ask me to take a chance. In my dreams, my heart says "Yes."
Friday, January 21, 2011
Blizzard
Effing cold. Its effing cold here in New York. I wanted a White Christmas and one snuck in just under the wire that night. And another one is coming. Happy New Year.
It actually IS a happy 2011; many beautiful things are a-brewin' in the Year of Fruition, as my insightful roommate has dubbed it. Our hard work in LA has had a major breakthrough, I actually have had a job I applied for back in November call me, which is extraordinary. Now if I could just get Cool Girl to knock it the fuck off.
So I left you in LA, hanging as it were, with the Little One invading my space. Literally. God provided an intervention in the form of an audition for a Broadway play in New York that I had to pick up and run to. The play is Neil LaBute's FAT PIG and is about a guy who dates a very overweight girl and is madly in love with her but is so embarrassed that he is with her, that he hides her from his work friends, who are horrible, horrible people. The part was for the title character. I hate this play and generally do not enjoy Mr. LaBute's work. To be precise, his plays make me want to write answer plays like rappers did in the 80's; the song may have a good beat to it, but GOD is the message awful. And the thought of being googled for the rest of my life and having "FAT PIG" come up next to my name was not my ego's idea of a good time. But my ego WAS down with the idea of creating a role on Broadway that I could be Tony Nominated for...oooooh.
So I went.
Preparing for the audition ended up bringing me face to face with one of my awful core beliefs; that I was too fat to be truly loved; if someone loved me, it was because I did all I could to get them forget what I looked like. (Ask me if I think this has ever worked, by the way.) I am so self-hating that I actually have a phobia of chubby-chasers. Its true. I am currently undergoing hypnotherapy to deal with this issue- I'd like to lose the weight or accept myself at the weight I am or, best case scenario, both. Right now, its neither and it really can't continue if I expect to be in a healthy, non-Cool-Girl relationship with someone.
Cool Girl was created when I realized that being overweight was the kiss of death when it came to boys, at arooound kindergarden when I was chasing Danny O around the giant cement turtle in the schoolyard. I have since come to know, intellectually, that this is ridiculous but not until Cool Girl made her way into every relationship with a guy I've ever had. And my heart, my poor heart, already believed this to be true. It needs to be bitch-slapped.
I should confess that once I wrote the first sentence of the paragraph above, I was not able to get beyond it for a good nine days. You know when you write something so true about yourself, it stops you cold, the truth ringing in your ears, taking up all your head space? Well, that happened. And I've sat on it for a week and a half.
K- back to FAT PIG and all the unearthing it did to me just auDItioning for the damn thing. I gave the best, TONY award-winning performance I could at that audition, and left floating on cloud nine. Practically buzzing, I wandered along Fifth Ave., checked out the store windows tricked out for Christmas and called the Unicorn. I was going to meet him near his work on the Upper East Side, and by the time I got there I was sweaty & starving. It was a great pub named for some Irish Movie or some movie set in Ireland and had Guinness but NO FOOD. They give you small bags of chips at the bar as a condolence. I'm sure you're predicting this whole scenario- I am about to get wasted on one drink with the Unicorn. Key-Righst.
He's lovely, as usual. I wanna fall into his face. I wanna take his huge hand in mine and kiss every knuckle, I wanna tug on the thick hair on his head as I attack his mouth. This is probably TMI...but what I ACTually do is talk about how hungry I am and how I walked all over beejesus in the cold to get to him. Thanks, Cool Girl, thanks. We fall into comfortable conversation right away; he's always very generous with is inquiry about my life which must seem Looney Tunes to him and after a hefty dose of what my world's been like and how his work's been I ask: "So, how's your personal life?" Cool Girl wanted to torture me with details of the girl he's skipped over the Disney Stage with- wait.
I did not explain this my Instinct entry. Cool Girl thought it was a good idea back in October to ask The Unicorn about this girl he was dating who would be okay with him going to an extra-special-fancy meal with me. He said they were only seeing each other for three weeks or so (3 weeks! So CLOSE!) and I said, "Oh, so you're in the Disney Stage, huh?" He had no idea what I meant so I explained, "You know, the first three months of going out with someone is the Disney Stage- all flowers and butterflies and songs..." He kinda huffed and said quietly, "Well, I think we may have skipped over that part." I squinched up my face into the phone. I couldn't tell if this meant they have gotten serious quickly or that she...sucked. So after a beat, I made a joke,"What, are you already holding her hair back while she pukes into a toilet, or what?!" And thank God, he cracked up laughing and we went on a tangent about thaaaat...
Back to December..."personal life?" and he scratched his beard which looked about a month old and he said "Oh, well, I actually am not seeing that girl anymore. It ended kinda badly." "Hence, the beard?" He sideway'd smiled at me. *melting* Went through the whole story. Basically, she DOES suck.
So now I have emotionally raw Unicorn completely unattached at this cozy bar with me and I am drinking on an empty stomach and we start to talk about the play I came in to audition for. Now, what I love about his non-theatre-boy ass is that he asks questions about the play and what it's trying to say to the world and not whether I think I booked the gig or not. *gagging sound* After going through the play and its premise and how I feel about it and how I feel about mySELF doing the work that is required for the part, he asks with such beautiful sincerity, "So, how would you feel about having to perform that play every night? Wouldn't that affect you?" My eyes went wide. "Just preparing for this audition has affected me!" and, gagging Cool Girl and throwing her in a closet, I actually tell the truth about my weight and hypnotherapy and dating and all of it. And instead of feeling small and weak I feel relieved and strong, taller even.
Our time is way too short and I have to go actually eat something with Stand-Up Yogi and a couple of her clients on the West Side, so we grab a cab together. Walking has made me realize how drunk I am. I think he is too. But instead of acting all quiet like usual, I push through and start acting reedickulous and we're laughing and he's making really baaad sexual innuendos and I feel like I'm in 6th grade but happy. We stop outside of his place, which I have never done and before he gets out, I say "Uh-oh. Now I know where you live. Now I can stalk you sooo easily. Watch out." He giggled nervously, bent down, kissed me on the cheek and said, "Okay I'll watch my back. Have a safe trip back."
And that's it. Blueballed. Ugh.
Well, its really not it bc I think I may have drunk-texteded him something about Ducky riding by Andie's house on a bike over and over in Pretty In Pink. Bad Business.
The first order of business when I returned to LA? Telling the Little One he no longer could sleep in my bed. He had to sleep on our couch.
I think this Hypnotherapy shit is working.
It actually IS a happy 2011; many beautiful things are a-brewin' in the Year of Fruition, as my insightful roommate has dubbed it. Our hard work in LA has had a major breakthrough, I actually have had a job I applied for back in November call me, which is extraordinary. Now if I could just get Cool Girl to knock it the fuck off.
So I left you in LA, hanging as it were, with the Little One invading my space. Literally. God provided an intervention in the form of an audition for a Broadway play in New York that I had to pick up and run to. The play is Neil LaBute's FAT PIG and is about a guy who dates a very overweight girl and is madly in love with her but is so embarrassed that he is with her, that he hides her from his work friends, who are horrible, horrible people. The part was for the title character. I hate this play and generally do not enjoy Mr. LaBute's work. To be precise, his plays make me want to write answer plays like rappers did in the 80's; the song may have a good beat to it, but GOD is the message awful. And the thought of being googled for the rest of my life and having "FAT PIG" come up next to my name was not my ego's idea of a good time. But my ego WAS down with the idea of creating a role on Broadway that I could be Tony Nominated for...oooooh.
So I went.
Preparing for the audition ended up bringing me face to face with one of my awful core beliefs; that I was too fat to be truly loved; if someone loved me, it was because I did all I could to get them forget what I looked like. (Ask me if I think this has ever worked, by the way.) I am so self-hating that I actually have a phobia of chubby-chasers. Its true. I am currently undergoing hypnotherapy to deal with this issue- I'd like to lose the weight or accept myself at the weight I am or, best case scenario, both. Right now, its neither and it really can't continue if I expect to be in a healthy, non-Cool-Girl relationship with someone.
Cool Girl was created when I realized that being overweight was the kiss of death when it came to boys, at arooound kindergarden when I was chasing Danny O around the giant cement turtle in the schoolyard. I have since come to know, intellectually, that this is ridiculous but not until Cool Girl made her way into every relationship with a guy I've ever had. And my heart, my poor heart, already believed this to be true. It needs to be bitch-slapped.
I should confess that once I wrote the first sentence of the paragraph above, I was not able to get beyond it for a good nine days. You know when you write something so true about yourself, it stops you cold, the truth ringing in your ears, taking up all your head space? Well, that happened. And I've sat on it for a week and a half.
K- back to FAT PIG and all the unearthing it did to me just auDItioning for the damn thing. I gave the best, TONY award-winning performance I could at that audition, and left floating on cloud nine. Practically buzzing, I wandered along Fifth Ave., checked out the store windows tricked out for Christmas and called the Unicorn. I was going to meet him near his work on the Upper East Side, and by the time I got there I was sweaty & starving. It was a great pub named for some Irish Movie or some movie set in Ireland and had Guinness but NO FOOD. They give you small bags of chips at the bar as a condolence. I'm sure you're predicting this whole scenario- I am about to get wasted on one drink with the Unicorn. Key-Righst.
He's lovely, as usual. I wanna fall into his face. I wanna take his huge hand in mine and kiss every knuckle, I wanna tug on the thick hair on his head as I attack his mouth. This is probably TMI...but what I ACTually do is talk about how hungry I am and how I walked all over beejesus in the cold to get to him. Thanks, Cool Girl, thanks. We fall into comfortable conversation right away; he's always very generous with is inquiry about my life which must seem Looney Tunes to him and after a hefty dose of what my world's been like and how his work's been I ask: "So, how's your personal life?" Cool Girl wanted to torture me with details of the girl he's skipped over the Disney Stage with- wait.
I did not explain this my Instinct entry. Cool Girl thought it was a good idea back in October to ask The Unicorn about this girl he was dating who would be okay with him going to an extra-special-fancy meal with me. He said they were only seeing each other for three weeks or so (3 weeks! So CLOSE!) and I said, "Oh, so you're in the Disney Stage, huh?" He had no idea what I meant so I explained, "You know, the first three months of going out with someone is the Disney Stage- all flowers and butterflies and songs..." He kinda huffed and said quietly, "Well, I think we may have skipped over that part." I squinched up my face into the phone. I couldn't tell if this meant they have gotten serious quickly or that she...sucked. So after a beat, I made a joke,"What, are you already holding her hair back while she pukes into a toilet, or what?!" And thank God, he cracked up laughing and we went on a tangent about thaaaat...
Back to December..."personal life?" and he scratched his beard which looked about a month old and he said "Oh, well, I actually am not seeing that girl anymore. It ended kinda badly." "Hence, the beard?" He sideway'd smiled at me. *melting* Went through the whole story. Basically, she DOES suck.
So now I have emotionally raw Unicorn completely unattached at this cozy bar with me and I am drinking on an empty stomach and we start to talk about the play I came in to audition for. Now, what I love about his non-theatre-boy ass is that he asks questions about the play and what it's trying to say to the world and not whether I think I booked the gig or not. *gagging sound* After going through the play and its premise and how I feel about it and how I feel about mySELF doing the work that is required for the part, he asks with such beautiful sincerity, "So, how would you feel about having to perform that play every night? Wouldn't that affect you?" My eyes went wide. "Just preparing for this audition has affected me!" and, gagging Cool Girl and throwing her in a closet, I actually tell the truth about my weight and hypnotherapy and dating and all of it. And instead of feeling small and weak I feel relieved and strong, taller even.
Our time is way too short and I have to go actually eat something with Stand-Up Yogi and a couple of her clients on the West Side, so we grab a cab together. Walking has made me realize how drunk I am. I think he is too. But instead of acting all quiet like usual, I push through and start acting reedickulous and we're laughing and he's making really baaad sexual innuendos and I feel like I'm in 6th grade but happy. We stop outside of his place, which I have never done and before he gets out, I say "Uh-oh. Now I know where you live. Now I can stalk you sooo easily. Watch out." He giggled nervously, bent down, kissed me on the cheek and said, "Okay I'll watch my back. Have a safe trip back."
And that's it. Blueballed. Ugh.
Well, its really not it bc I think I may have drunk-texteded him something about Ducky riding by Andie's house on a bike over and over in Pretty In Pink. Bad Business.
The first order of business when I returned to LA? Telling the Little One he no longer could sleep in my bed. He had to sleep on our couch.
I think this Hypnotherapy shit is working.
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