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