viragette

I’m so in love with myself right now. Does that sound even more asinine if I admit that I’m totally unapologetic about it? I’m in love with the whole world - I just want to hold it tight in my arms and burn my love into it. It’s one of those days when I don’t even have a good reason. You know when you love someone? And they bug the crap out of you? And you just look at the way the sun hits their hair or something like that and think - “Man, I love you anyway. THAT’S how much.” I mean, I’m an idiot, and who knows that better than me?

I’ve been sparing the blog the sordid details lately and that’s just not right. So she kissed me. She totally kissed me, like - with tongue and her hand down my shirt. Dude. What is up with that?

Let me back up just a minute. Her mom has cancer. Her mom, who left her when she was a child, who only calls her to ask for money - her mom is at her house. Eating ice cream and picking stitches out of her gums with her tongue so that she has to take her to the emergency room for bleeding every morning.

I adore this woman. This woman is beautiful, and smart, and funny, and sexy. And she liked my glow-in-the-dark flashing ring that I wore to that one show. And so when I walked into Balzac that night, with snow in my hair, we recognized one another - although it took the whole evening to place it.

And so when she called me I said yes, I’d go out. She needed to get out of the house. And when I told her I had a date, a DATE with the boy - the man I’d been crushing on, she told me we’d go shopping together. I hate shopping, period. But I did need a dress, so we met at the place and there was champagne and there was a beautiful man (who was gay- even better!) and a bunch of women and I became this Barbie doll. They kept bringing me ball gowns and amazing huge contraptions of silk and velvet and I was wearing 4 inch heals and pretty soon the curtain across my dressing room door had lost all self-respect. There would be a flutter at the margin, which progressed to brushing it aside, which became yanking it open and I gave up standing there clutching some part of myself I didn’t want revealed, trying to anticipate when the next time it would flip would be. “You’re so pretty.” “You have such an amazing body.” “Look at your abs!” “Your legs are so long.” I’m not one to be self-concious about my body: I know full well that it’s not anywhere near perfect and never will be. And it’s well enough for day wear, for which I am grateful.

And then the night got going. I agreed to dinner. Then her neighborhood bar. Each time we would leave and get back in her car, she would turn to me and beg - “Just one more place, please, I don’t want to go home.” And, despite telling her I needed to go home long ago, despite having lost all track of time but knowing it was far too late, I’d say sure. How many people can play the “My mom has cancer” card? It always wins.

Another bar where Joe was tending and gave me a hug - and if I had one moment during which I wish I could have been sober it might be that moment when I ran my hand up his back. Another bar after that. He gave me his card. I petted that dog. I don’t go out pub crawling and I didn’t understand why I was dizzy. And then she was kissing that guy and I was on my way home, and we stopped to cat-call and tease and she turned and ran straight at me and then she was kissing me. And I was kissing her. When I die I’m going to regret not spending more time doing two things - stretching and kissing.

I could try to rationalize. I could try to make this whole story into a metaphor. I could tell you that the next day when her phone call woke me I wanted to vomit and felt stupid and taken advantage-of. That I have never been so hung over in my life. That I had to drag myself to the date I had wanted every day for the previous month.

It was what is was.