Saturday, January 23, 2010
I went to Annie's, where Killer Eye was working. I wasn't there before long I spotted The Other Woman, the one Ex left me for. I was kind of taken aback. I did a double take and from across the bar I half mouthed, "Hey. How are you doing?"
She looked like a deer in headlights as she responded, "Good. and you."
"I'm fine." What the fraggle rock was happening. I was on auto pilot and how funny that auto pilot was a nice place not some I-want-to-rip-your-arm-off-and-beat-you-with-it-girly response. After the shock of the moment wore off and I could see she was no longer at the bar, I began telling KIller Eye that my Ex's new woman was there and assuredly so was he.
As the words left my lips, up strolls the little fellow. He taps me on the opposite shoulder, and I look as if I don't know where he is standing. "Hey, how are you?" Knee jerk reaction is to hug him. It is genuine and not awkward.
He asks me about how I have been. How my cats and dog are. If I still live in the same house. I tell him that I am going to take my taxes to him. He says I should, "I already know everything anyway about you." He tells me he had five tax cutomers that day. I express my pleasure for him. The conversation falls silent and I look across the bar while sipping on my soda water. "Well." he says, "It was nice seeing you."
"You too. Take care." We hug again and he disappears into the crowd swaying to the music.
I didn't feel bad or weird or sad. I felt and feel really nothing. That is pretty rad.
Before long Crazy Curly rubs my side. He is drunk and that annoys me. He tells me he has booked the band that we are listening to for the 5th of February and that I should come. "Hmm," I say through straw sips.
And older gentleman hits on me and tries to convince me that he is well off and can do and does whatever adventures he wants.
A bartender I played a round of golf with came up to me and hung out for several minutes, reminiscing about our golf game and the dinner we had after.
I felt tired and wanted to come home early. Back from the bar now and in bed. It was a nice night for me. I feel satisfied with everything.
Sunday morning I am lying in bed and Killer Eye calls me to tell me that the Other Woman was not so endearing to the bartenders. Apparently the bar was slammed and there were people there ten deep. His Woman did not like waiting. Killer told he she would need to wait or leave. She didn't like that too much. She never tipped them and wrote on her bill "Service was terrible". Ex was embarrassed and dropped a $10 and told the bartenders he was sorry.
It is wrong to feel glee that I was classy and she was less than? Yes, yes it is. I will try to be humble. Perhaps I made her uncomfortable. Perhaps she feels guilt and handles the stress with anger and alcohol. Perhaps it has nothing to do with me at all. Maybe she is just a wack-a-doo and I must show compassion for the poor creature. I will, giggling.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
How should I start this letter? How does anyone start this letter? This one! The one that says “it”! The epistle in which is all that is held in my heart. How do I say all the things that have been swimming around inside my head for so long it seems. Secretly, I am screaming them, hoping you would hear, so I would not have to say all of it. Though, I know you do hear, or you would not say, “I wish you didn’t like me so much.” But I do. And you know that, this.
You are the song I sing to myself, the thought that stops me in mid . . . whatever. The glow. The smile. I am swinging around a lamppost in the pouring rain singing some silly tune. You are beautiful. You are motion and sound and, at times, air. For years I have kept you in a scrapbook, the vestige of a fantasy I shared with my pillow and the dark silence of my room. Now, that you are flesh to me, my reality seems more delusive. You are descended from Zeus, born from fire, carved of marble. You are mystery and heat. You are a mythical beast hovering over me. Under you, lying back in your bed, I have thought, “this isn’t happening.” But it was, and it did. And we tasted our sweetness, I yours and you mine. You are my vitamin, my daily dose of essential nutrients - wit, absurdity, sex, verse. I crave your nourishment.
I am wrapped in a mantle of everything that is you, or rather everything I have you built you up to be; no, they are the same. You are a mortal and a god, you are the angelic and the evil, you are the giver and the thief.
If the tomorrows to come find me without you, let the one word, “yes”, sound in your head, as it is the answer to all the questions that I ask myself when you are concerned. Yes. Yes! Yes, I do love you. I love to the depths and the breadth as in sonnets and songs. I love as purely as the princess loves her knight in courtly notions. I love from somewhere deep. As I write these words and reflect on the object of my affections I am inspired, and grateful, and overwhelmed. If ever that day comes when my soft curves no longer draw faint lines in your bed and my scent has vanished from your memory, please know the yesterdays I have shared with you, I will muse for eons to follow.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
There are things about nature boy that seem so mature. He has a worldly air about him that is a turn on. There are times, most times really, that I forget just how old he is. I forget that nearly a decade separates us. On occassion, I am reminded of this fact when I bring up The Great Space Coaster or quote cellulose classics like Better Off Dead or Threesome.
However, none reminds me of our age difference more than his vernacular with regards to his, um, manhood. What is his favorite reference for his phallus you ask? Allow me to enlighten and entertain, WIENER! Yes, that is right. The man-boy refers to his strong arm with the same word sung in commercial jingles, used by Germans when referring to a Viennese small sausage, and by the lovers (and haters) of that four legged waddler, the dachshund.
The thought of this makes me cringe. Did I step into a time warp that dropped me into a Junior High locker room where pimply-faced boys are discussing their limited knowledge of sex and all things related? Who over the age of 12 refers to his junk as his wiener? Call it your johnson or rod. Tell me you want to give me the high hard one. Say your snake needs to be let out of its cage, but please, oh please, stop calling it your wiener.
I have put him on suspension from the word. If he plans on me putting my own special sauce on his oscar meyer, he is forbidden from ever uttering that juvenile term again.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
yesterday, killer eye asked me if i was bringing nature boy as my date to new year's eve at the joe's. i told her i was flying solo. thinking this might be a bad thing she asked me why. i said, "this is the year of the [i.d.], and that is how it should begin, with me in mind."