My All

I realize I will just never, ever, finish the previous post — the fact that it is still up, unmolested, months later... is a testament to a level of honesty I normally never flirt with. That said, the rest of that night? Is going down alone.

That won't stop me from posting this, tonight, when I should be working, very quickly:

GOD DAMN he is pretty great. 2 half-days in his light, high-altitude presence... I realize I am way off my game. It is, as ever, only a work event. He is, as ever, ADORED by everyone. And I am half-completely-convinced that more than a few times, he was watching me. A younger me would be completely convinced of this. The slightly (slightly! not nearly enough) thinner me is maybe pondering this. The rational me knows he's just observant, and he watched a lot of people. He has a CIA's agent sense of who is in any room & why. There would be something to figure out where that level of self-awareness or self-protection comes from, but...

Jesus he's solid, though. And very nice to lean against.
DAMMIT!

I want that. I would give... a lot, if not my all to that.



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Now playing: Mariah Carey - My All (Morales "MY" Club Mix)
via FoxyTunes

I Think of You

So the grapevine surrounding this failed affair is thick, and somehow more intertwined than it's ever been for me, which is, frankly, almost insane. Even I cannot believe this St. Elmo's Fire level of commingling. But the vineyard is productive: without ever asking, I know more about his actions than I should ever want to.

Let's admit it: than is healthy. Well, not really, that's melodramatic. But if I were still in my twenties, this would be hell. Fortunately, I have some newer coping skills. (fingers crossed)

Anyways. I decide to go out to his new home, the West Coast Hell Hole, for a work event. A FUN work event, dammit, and I never get to go to those. Plus, all the fun boys are going. AND, I happen to know he won't be there. Because, of course, he'll be back on the East Coast that weekend, moving his mother into assisted-living. (We'll pause here: ASSISTED LIVING. I've been dating so long, the boys have mothers who move into assisted living. I should be so lucky to determine who is Mr. Man before we're both in assisted living, you know?) Once I hear he's not going to be there, I think, kismet. Fun work, Fun Boys time, travel. Check, check, check.

I literally buy the ticket & book the hotel on Tuesday night for my Saturday flight. I instantly guarantee myself an extra night of work by flaking-out for at least an afternoon to carefully plot a road trip to San Juan Batista that Saturday afternoon, to pay homage to the "Vertigo" 50th Anniversary (hello, mandatory for me), Google Map all nearby Starbucks, banks, dinner restaurants, party spots, etc. (Similar to the amount of flaking-out I am doing now in noting all this here. These slacker skills will never fail me!) I'm so excited. I realize I may be slightly addicted to last-minute travel, and think about how terrible this is for my savings account. I won't even MAKE it to assisted living at this rate.

Everyone is so happy I'm going, not just me. Mother, father, fun boys. Good times.

My flight out, of course, was a little kooky: lay-over in Salt Lake City of all places? That is a lot of Mormons for me to adjust to; but there are some good Mormons! Let alone the way the Great Salt Lake actually looks. Gory. So I was a little late landing, and had less time for my San Juan trip than I would like, but I was SO HAPPY driving. So happy! It was foggy and rainy and sunny at the same time. The traffic was opening for me like the Red Sea. Good music. It felt so right.

So I made it back into SF on Saturday night, just in time for dinner w/ the first batch of the fun boys. Someplace nice and close to the hotel, a fun little walk, marveling at
• the fact that the FiDi was almost completely dead, for just 8:15 at night?
• some guy on an otherwise-empty street car was nursing a 40, just chillin'. It looked so like it belonged in New Orleans, I had to text Mark about this.
• the fact that I was texting Mark at all about this. But somehow, being in CA means, must at least say, Am in CA. Texts devolve into Gossip Girl gossip. Some things, you know? Never change. D's Crack, The Goss, we are who we are. Apparently, forever.

Arrive at restaurant, early-ish, thinking I will appreciate, since it's midnight my time, and I've been up since 4am, a little drink at the bar. Lesson #1 about SF: these people have no heating/cooling systems in their buildings. They are all completely crazy. This restaurant/bar was like a sauna. Frizak hair, within about 10 seconds. Oh well, just Fun Boys, and like they give a hang. (In reality, as if they know I even have hair, you know? Love.)

And of course, who walks in. Mr. I-Flew-Back-Early-From-DC. All I could do was laugh. You can't get angry, not with all the Fun Boys there. You CAN push off, though, and change seats. And then give the narrow-eye look of, "I am going to light your ass on FIRE" when he changes seats to sit next to you again. Except, of course, by now: have had the drink. Fuckitall. You know how it is with me... one drink in, absolutely no boundaries anymore. All huggy hugs. Dammit, exuberant hugging gene!!

So it's half of the Fun Boys, me, and him, with this long boozy dinner of loudness. I can't help it! I swear, those people around us in SF were all, "Yes, let's go listen to some mellow jazz viola music and be in bed by 10:00 in our hemp sheets." I was like, "Wow, this is... different." We closed the restaurant down. (This is not the same as closing anything else down. It really was 10:30 when I realized we were just then getting our dinners and almost EVERY OTHER PERSON HAD LEFT.) At some point, he reaches over and is all, "I am so happy to see you" and I am all "I am stiff-arming you now, Buster" and he is all, "I'm happier." Dammit!!

So we leave, and this is the danger point, right? Everyone knows this. I did pull back on the drinks, so I only had two, but you know... it's like I get tipsy through osmosis or something. If there was an adult PJAS program, my investigation would be to determine how the Osmosis Drunk happens.



This is all I can write at this point.
I have to rest.


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Now playing: Frank Sinatra - I Think of You
via FoxyTunes

Today I am a guest-star on M*A*S*H

MR: I'm having chest pain.

ME: Because you're so old.


MR: I'm not kidding! It hurts in my chest.

ME: Really? Where?

MR: All over here.


ME:
ME:
ME: Um, I can't see you right now, you know. We are on the telephone.

ME: And, I'm not a doctor.


MR: Turn on the camera.

(At this point, I open IM and choose video chat. As I do this, I realize... um, hello. I am like, video-talking with someone across the country so that I can watch him *show* me where his chest hurts, because... why? I have no idea.
Of course, I open the IM anyways and look.)

ME: Nice tie today.

MR: I love this one. (He smooths it, which is one of his reflexes. I think about how I love this about him, and make an addition to the secret catalog of those thoughts I thought I wasn't going to think any longer.)

ME: Okay, so where is it hurting again?

MR: It just... it hurts here. (He rubs all over his chest, as though he's applying phantom Vapo Rub. He does not look to be too near his actual heart or anything.)

ME: Are either of your arms tingly or anything?

MR: No.

ME: Do you feel like you can take a deep breath?

MR: Yes.

ME: Did you just eat some gigantic sandwich or something in like, 4 seconds, and forget to breathe the whole time?

MR:
MR:
MR: ... Maybe.

ME: I don't think that's really *chest pain* then.
MR: Do you think I should call the doctor?
ME: Why don't you spend some time looking it up on WebMD or something and then convincing yourself you're fine?

MR: Aren't you going to feel really guilty if it turns out to be something serious and you thought I was joking and I was reaching OUT to you in my moment of need?

ME: Are you actually reaching out to me? If I told you to call a real doctor and not Dr. Whatchamacallit, would you do that? Really?

MR: So you like this tie, huh?

ME: How about if I check back in later and see if you're still wracked with obtuse and ill-defined pain above your right pectoral muscle?

MR: Ok.

IM WITH STUPID (sic), AGAIN

» I saw you on tv last night.

?? Drink much?

» No, really - have you seen that show, 30 Rock?

I love how you're like, always a year behind the *trends*. You're like the perfect picture of someone living in the Biosphere 2.

Of course I've seen 30 Rock.
One of Alec Baldwin's greatest roles, ever. "Not Bianca like Sanka, it's Bianca, like Willy Wonka!"



» So, do you want to go together to Luke's thing tomorrow night?

Yeah, I'm not going to that; I sent my regrets. I'm sure I will be missed out of the 1000 people invited. Tho I am bummed to miss Colbert, if he really shows.

» ? What?! Huge party, sister. How can you miss this?

a) I have a date.
and
2) It's Thursday night. You know where I would be if I didn't have said date. No TiVo, no iTunes love = must watch in actual time.


» You're already dating someone?

What? Dad? Is that you?

» SU. Seriously, though. He just left.

Okay. Are YOU serious?
He MOVED ACROSS THE COUNTRY. TO CALIFORNIA.
A month ago.
He will be living there at least a year.
He probably will not move back here, at all. No one ever does.
He did not ask me to move there.
We agreed that we will be seeing other people.

Are you really telling me I am not allowed to date anyone until... when, exactly?

» Whoa. You... are serious. Did you WANT him to ask you to move out there?


» Hey - where u go?


I'm collecting myself. Wait.

First: I feel like, don't make this into, "You were waiting for him to ask you to move with him."
I'm just pointing out, that kind of seriousness wasn't part of the equation, ever, even while we were out there together & he looked & was courted so heavily. This is a decision he made for and about himself, and his career, and I think you know that right now, for him, that's where his head is, and it really didn't seem like there should or would be an us deciding it. We'd only really been going out for like, 3 months. We didn't break up in an acrimonious way, we still talk a little, if he's here or I'm there, we'll see each other, and if neither of us is really serious about someone, we'll probably see, um, more of each other.

But I can't do
I feel like, what I usually do, and this DOES NOT WORK FOR ME, what I usually have done is to like, sit around and NOT MOVE ON, forever, and the connection I maintain is detrimental to me, long-term. The connection is good, often, for the other person, and makes them feel better about moving on, and I find myself all post-traumatic stress nine months later, trying to figure out why I'm just NOW realizing I broke up. I'm trying to break out of that here. I'm trying to think, if this is meant to be, then we will find ways to stay connected, but I am not going to sit around and do NOTHING so that I don't risk upsetting a connection that isn't quite solid. I'm not actively looking or anything, and, of course, that's when Mr. Cute, for the first time IN MY LIFE, literally stops me on the street. And he's cool. After 2 dates. Jesus. It's nothing.


» He really misses you, I think.
» I mean, I know this.

Look. That doesn't help. I have talked to him a few times, always rushed, and it's like -- it's like being filled with a helium blimp's worth of joy. And then he hangs up, and I feel like I got kicked in the stomach. I can't believe I was so cavalier about when I could talk to him all the time. I miss him. I know, because he so wonderfully TOLD ME, how he's already bored, and did he make the right decision and there's no women out there (yes, great, check) and no one on the streets, and why why why. And then he makes me laugh and I ... I think things that I really am NOT telling you. Not dirty things, just, sweet ones.

But you know what? He's got friends.
He's got literally hundreds of people to call up and commiserate with, and to fawn over him and reassure him and all that.
I don't want to BE his friend.

I can't believe I'm saying this, to you.

But I want to be MORE than that. (ha ha, I know. SU.)
I'm not happy now being one of many friends.
Either I'm more, or I need time to get over that part, and then we'll probably be friends.
But I'm not playing friends with him right now.

All or nothing, baby. Are you in, or are you out?
And if you know where that came from, I'll buy the dinner tonight.

Jesus. If you tell him we talked about this, I will shoot you, for real.

CAN YOU FEEL THE SPIRIT?

Yesterday kottke posted a query: When it's time to start to show the Little Fella the Star Wars movies, how should he do it? In the order of release (so, Star Wars, then Empire, Jedi, Phantom Menace, etc.) or in that foolio Lucas' *chronology* of the movies, where Phantom Menace is first, with its advanced technology and effects, ending with the disappointment that is Return of the Jedi (Ewoks, gross).

Of course, being one of those people who isn't really into Star Wars and yet can't deny that her very small years were dominated by repeated playings of the Read, See, Hear 45s of both Star Wars and the marvelous The Empire Strikes Back (good times, rain days!), I had to read the whole thread. I want to be the person that laughs and says, Yeah, who cares.

I am the person who instead just wonders about it myself.


And then I realized today, deep into Aretha Franklin: Live at Filmore West (Deluxe) -- THIS is why I really want to have kids. Can you imagine being able to be the person who gifts a little one with Aretha, and thinking about the best way to do it? (Which, at this point, I say, is obviously Aretha's Gold - the reason Greatest Hits albums exist, to ease you in, and then maybe Young, Gifted and Black, and then really open it up with 'Round Midnight, to really appreciate the difference she brings to everything, even standards, and then, because we'll never get to see it but we're lucky to live in a time when it's at least available as a recording, Live at Filmore, one of those nights you think NO ONE could have lived through, because they must have exploded with joy: Billy Preston in the BAND? Ray Charles just HAPPENS to be in the audience, and she PULLS HIM UP for the reprise of "Spirit in the Dark"?)

Wow.
That is going to be awesome.

Now, if I could just get the Baby Daddy thing figured out appropriately.

But at least I've got the Aretha plan down.
Priorities, people.

IT'S A M********CKER

This feels très cheesy, but let's do it.


9/11/07

I really find myself, today, turned-off by the 9/11 coverage I am seeing, and could only stand the local morning-host on NPR, out of any of them, for a little while. It feels so phony, Oprah doing some grand gesture show from Madison Square Garden, and yet, I would probably be ticked if everyone did ignore it. Like everything else, we don't want people to fuss about it, but god help them if they don't. I read, or heard, something a few weeks ago, as the NYT asked if we were ready to "get over it," someone saying it's not the actual events of 9/11 they find themselves grieving — it's the lives we led before it all happened, the freedom and the obliviousness, and, probably, the not-being-in-a-constant-state-of-war-in-the-Fertile-Crescent. And so, this morning, when the first of the many "seconds of silence" to commemorate when the planes hit, and when the towers fell — when we were silent, that's what I cried over. Lame-o, but true: I cried for meeting people at the gate at airports, with surprises; and dropping people off at the gate at the airport, after many drinks at the airport bar and giggling trips through the newsstand together; taking a carry-on stashed with 1 or 2 bottles of booze (you know, some like vodka, some like rum...) on the plane with me so that when we finally got on vacation we could break our livers w/out breaking the bank on the minibar, or having Mama bring over 2 bottles of Bully Hill because she could, and we would want to drink while she was here — hell, just taking a carry-on with shampoo and lipgloss in it, so you didn't have to check baggage and find out it was in Dallas while you were waiting in Miami! And I cried because, this weekend, Mama said that she really felt like the rest of the world just didn't trust us anymore, that the feeling we had after visiting London in 2000 would never ever come to us again, as 'Americans.'

Knowing how big that is for her, it couldn't have been more heartbreaking.

There are so many more important things, of course, that have changed, for the worse, since 9/11. And to list them is pointless and redundant, since we talk about them all the time. But today... today I cried for those other moments, and it felt like being the kid who really, really believed in Santa Claus and found out in the worst way, it was never true. I felt bad for my kids, who'll never believe that airports used to be glamorous and fun, and who'll never have that abandon. They don't already.

All those things... we miss you. I miss you.






******** Seriously, like I would write that in the hed. OBVIOUSLY it's referring to the Eels' song off of "Daisies of the Galaxy." You think I'm dark lately --- yikes. It was either this or Ryan Adams' "I Taught Myself to How Grow Old" but... I gotta save that for some time when I'm PMSing pretty bad, I think.

———
ETA: Holy cow. In reading this after publishing it, I realize: I completely wept for drinking freedom pre-9/11. God, I am terrible! Who was I just telling I wasn't an alcoholic??? But, seriously, folks: don't you have to drink more than once a week for that to be? I just like it when I'm with others. (Notice, it was REALLY all about the TRAVEL. Right.)

I'VE GOT HOTTER PLACES THAN MY FOREHEAD (Johnny Cash, at least in "Walk the Line")

So this is just one of those reminders to myself: it's a weird time of year, with (bizarrely) some 10-year anniversaries mixed in with other anniversaries. I wonder if it's just this time of year... I wonder if this is just one of those cleaves that heals but doesn't close. It feels like the latter.

And it has now for some time.



I hope cocktails help.
I'm planning on it, in fact.