I have spent the past 8 months in a haze. A foggy version of myself either simply going through the motions or standing motionless. In the scattered and tattered moments of bliss I do have the pleasure of experiencing, I have either been removed from my current state by way of alcohol or sex or I have been performing.
This haze has made me "unrecognizable" to some. But, mostly it's just made me fade into the background of life.
It began by me trying to move on from the last relationship only to realize I had begun the process over and over again feeling unsatisfied with the tactic at hand each trial.
It spiraled by me trying to get over the "getting over" phase of the "end of the affair", as I now dub it.
It blinded me when karma left the building only to leave me with pesty reminders and audible drips that could only be remedied by professionals.
I am coming out of the dark as Ms. Estefan tried to sing to us. In this light I have made unbearable realizations about myself and other's. I have become bitter and jaded when I always remained the realist with a deep sense of hope buried inside. I have transformed from a trusting all-American boy to a cynical, plotting lil' bitch. All the while wishing and hoping for someone to take me seriously.
I am beginning to realize why you didn't call back. Or why you didn't enjoy my body. Or why after two dates, or one sleepless sleepover, or drunken bed tumbling, or nicotine kisses, or intoxicating promises that you will never find comfort in my soul as a home.
I am just a lonely boy on display inside this pet shop we call community. I can look so cute and cuddly and you will come inside and ask to hold me, and touch me, and tease me and play me. Then you will think hard for only two minutes about the responsibility I will become, the nuisance I could be, the dependence I am already demonstrating and you will drop me back into my shredded newspaper box having satisfied your urges only to leave me longing for more.
Why is this so much easier for you?
The pet shop boys sing What Have I...What Have I...What Have I Done to Deserve This.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Big Yellow Taxi
For the past couple of months or more, I envisioned some sweet dinner with only 6 to 8 of us at some circular table in a very secluded section of a dimly lit Hell's Kitchen Establishment. Every night, I would put my headphones on and drown in the "going away soundtrack" I created for us. While listening, I would envision the perfect toast. The toast would be precise, succinct, personal, sensitive, and touching enough to draw tears without sobs. I would draw on all the music we both loved. The songs you introduced me to. The songs I shoved down your throat and you eventually swallowed with sweet aftertaste. The prose and poetry from each song would fit together the way we once did. As if they were forming their own hit song together.
There would be lines like...
It's been a busy day with some heavy seas. But you've done your best. I know you've got a lot of strength left. Everything is temporary, But I can be someone to fall back on. Because, don't it always seem to go..."that you don't know what you got till it's gone." Paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
I miss you.
We miss you.
There are so many songs that speak of you, to us, with me.
There are words I never said. The toast never happened. The cake mix still sits in my barren cupboard. I wanted you to have one last piece of poke-and-pour before you moved on.
There would be lines like...
It's been a busy day with some heavy seas. But you've done your best. I know you've got a lot of strength left. Everything is temporary, But I can be someone to fall back on. Because, don't it always seem to go..."that you don't know what you got till it's gone." Paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
I miss you.
We miss you.
There are so many songs that speak of you, to us, with me.
There are words I never said. The toast never happened. The cake mix still sits in my barren cupboard. I wanted you to have one last piece of poke-and-pour before you moved on.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
DUE DATE
They sat across from each other. The artist and the republican.
She talked of the latest Patty Griffin CD. He talked of Hedge Funds and numbers. Words like facilitate and procure dashed out of him in short bursts like the sound of keys on a computer.
He was handsome though. Must have made time for the gym at 5:30 every morning. She was beautiful too. But, not in a gym kind of way. She was beautiful with ease and grace. Hair never had a comb through it but was still luxurious. Not much more than a gloss and a powder to touch up her already smooth and contoured complexion.
"How could their friends even begin to think this would work?" They both thought.
But, they also both thought it was time to broaden their horizons. Opposites attract, so went the old saying.
After a painful 53 minute dinner with wilted spinach, a fish and a meat entree, and small wine glasses cramped with Pinot Blanc, the conversation hugged the line and made a sharp turn toward talk of families and babies.
He was so focused on his career and accumulating his prized possessions. The car, the house, the property, the IRAs, the 401Ks. He needed to secure these things before bringing a child into the world. (This means, "I don't want a child to distract me from the miserable money-making life I am leading right now. I am just too selfish to focus on the life of anyone else.")
She was staring her thirties square in the face and realizing 10 years had gone by without true love or even a glimpse of life with another. She was tired of using the city as an excuse for the lack of love and affection in her world. She frequently had thoughts of Gerber, and burping, and the smell of a baby's skin. In her dreams she would be walking down a crowded street with everyone staring at her as she breast fed this enormous adult sized baby. She was the girl in her circle that oogled at passing strollers and could be found rubbing her un-pregnant tummy as if she were willing it to grow a baby without the proper ingredients.
"Do you enjoy your job?" she asked the Banana Republican.
"I enjoy the paycheck and the perks," He replied with one eyebrow raised as punctuation.
"So, what you mean is you don't really like your job at all, you just suffer gladly for the money?"
He stared at her with a perplexed look on his face. The first sign of some sort of thoughts running through his mind. After a pregnant pause, he said...
"I am not suffering through anything. I am prospering. I am building for my future."
"A future that doesn't involve anyone else but you? Who will ever see the back seat of your SUV? What good is owning a home on the island or a brownstone in the city if it stays empty for years on end? What you are building is a platform hardly large or strong enough for even yourself to stand alone on." She spoke these last few words as a slow fade or losing air. Similar to the last song softening after the DJ calls last call. She realized she had, yet again, said too much-gone too far.
"And a baby is my salvation?" He asked. Leaving another nine months for her to respond. Finally." I have my own ideas of the future don't assign me yours," and with a fast and furious scribble of the pen the tab was signed and the deed was done.
She walked all the 40 blocks home despite the winter winds, with her iPod repeating the soundtrack from Grey's Anatomy. She made a pit stop at Hot and Crusty Bagel Cafe for small cup of Hot Cocoa. She cried herself to sleep in a bed filled with coffee stains and strewn papers, while lifting her shirt up and pulling at the fat above her hip bones.
He hailed a taxi, messaged all his pig-headed male friends from his blackberry then arrived at his high raise only to stay awake for exactly 45 more minutes. The time it took for him to lay out his plans for tomorrow and sort through life's paper work.
She talked of the latest Patty Griffin CD. He talked of Hedge Funds and numbers. Words like facilitate and procure dashed out of him in short bursts like the sound of keys on a computer.
He was handsome though. Must have made time for the gym at 5:30 every morning. She was beautiful too. But, not in a gym kind of way. She was beautiful with ease and grace. Hair never had a comb through it but was still luxurious. Not much more than a gloss and a powder to touch up her already smooth and contoured complexion.
"How could their friends even begin to think this would work?" They both thought.
But, they also both thought it was time to broaden their horizons. Opposites attract, so went the old saying.
After a painful 53 minute dinner with wilted spinach, a fish and a meat entree, and small wine glasses cramped with Pinot Blanc, the conversation hugged the line and made a sharp turn toward talk of families and babies.
He was so focused on his career and accumulating his prized possessions. The car, the house, the property, the IRAs, the 401Ks. He needed to secure these things before bringing a child into the world. (This means, "I don't want a child to distract me from the miserable money-making life I am leading right now. I am just too selfish to focus on the life of anyone else.")
She was staring her thirties square in the face and realizing 10 years had gone by without true love or even a glimpse of life with another. She was tired of using the city as an excuse for the lack of love and affection in her world. She frequently had thoughts of Gerber, and burping, and the smell of a baby's skin. In her dreams she would be walking down a crowded street with everyone staring at her as she breast fed this enormous adult sized baby. She was the girl in her circle that oogled at passing strollers and could be found rubbing her un-pregnant tummy as if she were willing it to grow a baby without the proper ingredients.
"Do you enjoy your job?" she asked the Banana Republican.
"I enjoy the paycheck and the perks," He replied with one eyebrow raised as punctuation.
"So, what you mean is you don't really like your job at all, you just suffer gladly for the money?"
He stared at her with a perplexed look on his face. The first sign of some sort of thoughts running through his mind. After a pregnant pause, he said...
"I am not suffering through anything. I am prospering. I am building for my future."
"A future that doesn't involve anyone else but you? Who will ever see the back seat of your SUV? What good is owning a home on the island or a brownstone in the city if it stays empty for years on end? What you are building is a platform hardly large or strong enough for even yourself to stand alone on." She spoke these last few words as a slow fade or losing air. Similar to the last song softening after the DJ calls last call. She realized she had, yet again, said too much-gone too far.
"And a baby is my salvation?" He asked. Leaving another nine months for her to respond. Finally." I have my own ideas of the future don't assign me yours," and with a fast and furious scribble of the pen the tab was signed and the deed was done.
She walked all the 40 blocks home despite the winter winds, with her iPod repeating the soundtrack from Grey's Anatomy. She made a pit stop at Hot and Crusty Bagel Cafe for small cup of Hot Cocoa. She cried herself to sleep in a bed filled with coffee stains and strewn papers, while lifting her shirt up and pulling at the fat above her hip bones.
He hailed a taxi, messaged all his pig-headed male friends from his blackberry then arrived at his high raise only to stay awake for exactly 45 more minutes. The time it took for him to lay out his plans for tomorrow and sort through life's paper work.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Everything But The Girl
Everything here is telling me I should be fine.
But, I am missing you everytime.
I will be back with you. You will be back with me.
We will have much to read.
Is there anyone out there? Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.
Throw me a rope to hold me in place.
As I walk past your door where you don't live anymore.
Like the deserts miss the rain, my heart misses the release.
I will return to this writing and to this relationship and that relationship. It's time to stop Wallowing.
I miss you and I miss you.
But, I am missing you everytime.
I will be back with you. You will be back with me.
We will have much to read.
Is there anyone out there? Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.
Throw me a rope to hold me in place.
As I walk past your door where you don't live anymore.
Like the deserts miss the rain, my heart misses the release.
I will return to this writing and to this relationship and that relationship. It's time to stop Wallowing.
I miss you and I miss you.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Wallowing
It's not that I don't like you.
It's not that I don't want to see you, or be with you, or hold you, or kiss you, or touch you.
It's not that my feelings have changed.
It's me.
It's always me.
I woke up this morning and decided I didn't want to see anybody. I woke up this morning and created a mess of problems in my mind that I could sift through just enough to give me an upset stomach and the pangs of a migrane on the left side of my head.
I lied to you.
I don't have to work.
I don't have any conflicts.
I don't have pressing matters or things standing in the way of our plans tonight.
I am not sick.
I am in the way of my own self.
So, I spend the evening alone over coffee and a stale sandwhich. I type this up before retreating to the last row of a theatre to listen to the strings pluck out the tunes from songs such as....
OUR BODIES ARE THE GUILTY ONES
TOUCH ME
and
WOUNDED.
I am may not be good at much when it comes to love and peace, but I certainly know how to wallow with the best of them.
It will all blow over tomorrow.
As it always does.
It's not that I don't want to see you, or be with you, or hold you, or kiss you, or touch you.
It's not that my feelings have changed.
It's me.
It's always me.
I woke up this morning and decided I didn't want to see anybody. I woke up this morning and created a mess of problems in my mind that I could sift through just enough to give me an upset stomach and the pangs of a migrane on the left side of my head.
I lied to you.
I don't have to work.
I don't have any conflicts.
I don't have pressing matters or things standing in the way of our plans tonight.
I am not sick.
I am in the way of my own self.
So, I spend the evening alone over coffee and a stale sandwhich. I type this up before retreating to the last row of a theatre to listen to the strings pluck out the tunes from songs such as....
OUR BODIES ARE THE GUILTY ONES
TOUCH ME
and
WOUNDED.
I am may not be good at much when it comes to love and peace, but I certainly know how to wallow with the best of them.
It will all blow over tomorrow.
As it always does.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Minty Fresh Memories
Walking.
Through the city this past weekend.
Mostly alone.
I found myself in Hell's Kitchen.
No surprise.
I passed by the old apartment. I stopped in to say hello to Angela at The Coffee Pot. I even ate at Zen Palate. I contemplated a glass of Wine at Riposa. But, decided against it. After all, it was only 5:30p.m. and I hate that place anyway. 5:30p.m. on Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve is beer time, not wine time in my book. So, after one $3 Rolling Rock draft at Cleo's Old Faithful, I reluctantly walked north toward The Shops At Columbus Circle with gift giving intentions. I approach the deli that lives on the southwest corner of 9th Avenue and 49th Street. A deli I pass by frequently with rare attention paid, but today was lonelier than most for me and I found myself drawn to it. Perhaps it had to do with the season or maybe just my hangover. But, for some reason I went inside. I didn't need anything so I bought some gum. I left the deli and found myself heading west on 49th Street even though that was out of my way. Only three strides west and it hit me. This is the corner I told you to meet me on the night we reconnected after some awards show. The same deli where I waited with such intense nervousness and anticipation. I believe I even kept my fingers crossed, hoping you would pick me over the present company at that dank bar we both were in.
That night, I told you to meet me on that corner not knowing whether or not you would or wanted to. I texted you and then ran inside to grab some gum. I then proceeded to devour a whole cig in under 2 mins. This was in an attempt to remain calm and appear cool, only to fail miserably and bring my heart rate up. I remember tossing the gum in my mouth and then chomping on it ferociously. I rubbed the half chewed piece on my teeth aggressively. I guess I was hoping to either sand away the smoke and booze or pass on, by way of osmosis, the minty goodness. I stood there licking my lips and slathering my moustache with it's minty juices hoping to mask any taste or smell of tobacco and nicotine. I was trying to make a drunken-sunrise-walk home as romantic and hopeful as possible. If we were to FINALLY kiss, even at 5am on a topsy-turvy Sunday, I was going to make sure I made the most of it. I went as far as to take the Orbitz out of my mouth and roll it between my fingers in case you kissed my hand. (Freak) Because I probably wanted you to do that. I know I wanted you to kiss me. Kiss me hard. I know I wanted to find a corridor or a quiet stoop and kiss you back. I wanted you to kiss my neck, cheeks, lips...whatever. I remember wanting your kiss more than I ever wanted another kiss. I also remember I was pretty drunk and couldn't possibly properly compare the weight of all my life's desires in just few short minutes. But, it didn't matter. That was all I wanted at that hour of that given day. Or at least the alcohol told me so.
(God to think...? What if you had never kissed me? All that gum exercise would have amounted to nothing.)
But, you did.
You kissed me. I think it's safe to say you kissed me first.
You kissed me with confidence and passion. The perfect see-saw of kisser and kissee by both of us. It was breathtaking. Oh, alright, who am I kidding. It was sloppy and uninhibited. It was lustful and ravenous. It was a year's worth of pent up passion well oiled over the past few hours and loosely falling into place. But, I remember it so vividly.
I remember debating whether we were going to go home with one another. I remember holding your hand and walking/stumbling you home. I remember exchanging numbers and making promises to call. Why after all those years did we not have each other's number? I remember it being muggy and humid. Was it the summer or the brink of fall? I remember you tasting like cigs and booze. All my gum tactics pointless because you smoke too. I remember not caring. I remember liking it all. All of the way it was unfolding.
I knew when I saw you inside the bar that night. The look of excitement and surprise in both our eyes. I knew we would kiss. Maybe not that night but soon there after. I knew we would experience something. It was bound to happen after a year or more of over the counter drugs being doled out to you for free and pleasantries exchanged with a longer hug than normal. Or better yet, a lingering gaze full of curiosities across the room with a barrage of men between us. You always could arouse me without even a touch of hand.
I walked you home that night realizing your powerful energy and saying hello to a new possibility.
Tonight, I walked you home again.
Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve.
I walked west on 49th Street past the evergreen trees lined up outside the deli. I was wishing I could bring you a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and a bottle of cheap red wine that we would finish and eventually toss off of your rooftop. Then I would crawl back into your arms where your mouth would be barely brushing my ear as you softly whispered your woes about all the Christmas music I was forcing you to listen to.
I walked you home tonight and smelled your cologne with a hint of burnt hair from your flat-iron. Cosmic timing played a part and Coldplay come over my iPod and it reminded me of your laptop that sat at your corner desk in your bedroom.
I walked you home tonight. I sat on your old stoop and wished I still smoked. I sat there talking to you in my head. Basically telling you this story that I write now. Now that I think of it, I probably looked a little homeless and crazy. Oh well, I have looked worse before.
I pulled out a piece of the gum, chewed, and breathed in it's minty freshness. Then I said good night and hoped your nose was itching from someone thinking about you.
Through the city this past weekend.
Mostly alone.
I found myself in Hell's Kitchen.
No surprise.
I passed by the old apartment. I stopped in to say hello to Angela at The Coffee Pot. I even ate at Zen Palate. I contemplated a glass of Wine at Riposa. But, decided against it. After all, it was only 5:30p.m. and I hate that place anyway. 5:30p.m. on Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve is beer time, not wine time in my book. So, after one $3 Rolling Rock draft at Cleo's Old Faithful, I reluctantly walked north toward The Shops At Columbus Circle with gift giving intentions. I approach the deli that lives on the southwest corner of 9th Avenue and 49th Street. A deli I pass by frequently with rare attention paid, but today was lonelier than most for me and I found myself drawn to it. Perhaps it had to do with the season or maybe just my hangover. But, for some reason I went inside. I didn't need anything so I bought some gum. I left the deli and found myself heading west on 49th Street even though that was out of my way. Only three strides west and it hit me. This is the corner I told you to meet me on the night we reconnected after some awards show. The same deli where I waited with such intense nervousness and anticipation. I believe I even kept my fingers crossed, hoping you would pick me over the present company at that dank bar we both were in.
That night, I told you to meet me on that corner not knowing whether or not you would or wanted to. I texted you and then ran inside to grab some gum. I then proceeded to devour a whole cig in under 2 mins. This was in an attempt to remain calm and appear cool, only to fail miserably and bring my heart rate up. I remember tossing the gum in my mouth and then chomping on it ferociously. I rubbed the half chewed piece on my teeth aggressively. I guess I was hoping to either sand away the smoke and booze or pass on, by way of osmosis, the minty goodness. I stood there licking my lips and slathering my moustache with it's minty juices hoping to mask any taste or smell of tobacco and nicotine. I was trying to make a drunken-sunrise-walk home as romantic and hopeful as possible. If we were to FINALLY kiss, even at 5am on a topsy-turvy Sunday, I was going to make sure I made the most of it. I went as far as to take the Orbitz out of my mouth and roll it between my fingers in case you kissed my hand. (Freak) Because I probably wanted you to do that. I know I wanted you to kiss me. Kiss me hard. I know I wanted to find a corridor or a quiet stoop and kiss you back. I wanted you to kiss my neck, cheeks, lips...whatever. I remember wanting your kiss more than I ever wanted another kiss. I also remember I was pretty drunk and couldn't possibly properly compare the weight of all my life's desires in just few short minutes. But, it didn't matter. That was all I wanted at that hour of that given day. Or at least the alcohol told me so.
(God to think...? What if you had never kissed me? All that gum exercise would have amounted to nothing.)
But, you did.
You kissed me. I think it's safe to say you kissed me first.
You kissed me with confidence and passion. The perfect see-saw of kisser and kissee by both of us. It was breathtaking. Oh, alright, who am I kidding. It was sloppy and uninhibited. It was lustful and ravenous. It was a year's worth of pent up passion well oiled over the past few hours and loosely falling into place. But, I remember it so vividly.
I remember debating whether we were going to go home with one another. I remember holding your hand and walking/stumbling you home. I remember exchanging numbers and making promises to call. Why after all those years did we not have each other's number? I remember it being muggy and humid. Was it the summer or the brink of fall? I remember you tasting like cigs and booze. All my gum tactics pointless because you smoke too. I remember not caring. I remember liking it all. All of the way it was unfolding.
I knew when I saw you inside the bar that night. The look of excitement and surprise in both our eyes. I knew we would kiss. Maybe not that night but soon there after. I knew we would experience something. It was bound to happen after a year or more of over the counter drugs being doled out to you for free and pleasantries exchanged with a longer hug than normal. Or better yet, a lingering gaze full of curiosities across the room with a barrage of men between us. You always could arouse me without even a touch of hand.
I walked you home that night realizing your powerful energy and saying hello to a new possibility.
Tonight, I walked you home again.
Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve.
I walked west on 49th Street past the evergreen trees lined up outside the deli. I was wishing I could bring you a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and a bottle of cheap red wine that we would finish and eventually toss off of your rooftop. Then I would crawl back into your arms where your mouth would be barely brushing my ear as you softly whispered your woes about all the Christmas music I was forcing you to listen to.
I walked you home tonight and smelled your cologne with a hint of burnt hair from your flat-iron. Cosmic timing played a part and Coldplay come over my iPod and it reminded me of your laptop that sat at your corner desk in your bedroom.
I walked you home tonight. I sat on your old stoop and wished I still smoked. I sat there talking to you in my head. Basically telling you this story that I write now. Now that I think of it, I probably looked a little homeless and crazy. Oh well, I have looked worse before.
I pulled out a piece of the gum, chewed, and breathed in it's minty freshness. Then I said good night and hoped your nose was itching from someone thinking about you.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
O Holy Night
White Christmas there was not.
There was no egg nog or plump stockings. I didn't open any presents on Christmas Eve or Day. I spoke only to my mother, missing my father and brother in the hustle and bustle of the time zones and functions. There wasn't a cookie jar full of fattening treats. There weren't any children traipsing and tripping through the house (apt.). I had only two presents under my tree that stood only three feet tall. If we are being honest, the day was lacking a blustering thrill of anticipation. Not to mention pumpkin pie and stuffing.
But, there was still the 24-hour "A Christmas Story" playing on TBS. I had three hours of Christmas music shuffling on my iTunes. I put on my lumberjack socks. I made Hazelnut coffee with soy milk and cinnamon. The lights on my tree remained on from 4pm Christmas Eve until I left the house on Christmas night. Christmas Eve consisted of a steak dinner and a private viewing with Chrissy of my all-time-favorite Christmas movie..."Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas!" I can't imagine a more worthy recipient of this invite than Chrissy and he did not disappoint in his appreciation of the film. We each drank a bottle of pinot noir, then breaked with a cup of java, then toasted with Champagne to our budding but bonding friendship from 2006 before calling it a night well after midnight.
Christmas Day began with reluctance. I had to fight the blues away. I wrapped myself in two blankets on my sofa and began my marathon of "A Christmas Story." Since I still don't have kids of my own, I become a kid myself on Christmas morning. This time instead of screaming for more presents and crumpling all the beautiful wrapping paper I'd torn through, I whined a little inside my head. I wanted my mommy and my stocking full of reasons to visit the dentist. Instead I buried my nose in the aroma of my coffee reminding myself to be grateful for all of the simple pleasures of life, including the flurry of holiday text message greetings that bombarded my razor from 9 a.m. on. I waited to hear from the Nurse, as we had planned to spend Christmas Day together regardless of no longer existing as a couple. I was excited for him to see my pathetic but adorable little tree and how clean the apartment was. I also had more things on the wall since last he dropped by. Overall, I felt that my apartment was a cozy place to begin Christmas, even if you were alone.
I pieced together a festive ensemble for the day's travels. The Nurse and I were going to spend some time together at my place first then we would join The Bears for a holiday/birthday dinner. Blake was born on Christmas. I checked movie times for Dreamgirls, hoping to find a time to include that in my Christmas plans. I put the finishing touches on Blake and Joe's Christmas package and waited.
I returned dozens of messages. I swept up any stray pine needles. I poured myself another cup of coffee, then another, then another.
Needless to say, things don't always work out the way you plan. But, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and made the most of what was left of my day. I had honey baked ham and cheddar mashed potatoes. The Bears bought me a Kelly Clarkson concert T that fits perfectly. We watched clips from old musicals and past Tony Awards telecasts. I even took one cough induced hit from the peace pipe that was passed around.
I raced downtown to try and catch a showing of Dreamgirls, but it was sold out. So, instead I saw some movie about the year 2027 and how women by then will have been infertile for 18 years. It didn't matter what movie I sat through. The popcorn and the soda are enough to keep me happy for two or so hours. I mean it too. You should see the way I shift in my seat and make myself comfortable with a giddy and hungry smile stretched across my face during the previews.
I finished the night by curling up with Harry Potter book 3 and my down comforter. My Christmas mix began it's shuffle. Joni Mitchell hummed softly in the background. I have been growing up for years. But, this year was a big reality check. Christmas wasn't ever going to be what it was when I was 10. It didn't hurt-this realization. It made me yearn for something I couldn't put into words. I was melancholy. I may have been a little lonely too. But, I wasn't sad. After all, it was Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year.
Joni sings..."Oh I wished I had a river I could skate away on...."
There was no egg nog or plump stockings. I didn't open any presents on Christmas Eve or Day. I spoke only to my mother, missing my father and brother in the hustle and bustle of the time zones and functions. There wasn't a cookie jar full of fattening treats. There weren't any children traipsing and tripping through the house (apt.). I had only two presents under my tree that stood only three feet tall. If we are being honest, the day was lacking a blustering thrill of anticipation. Not to mention pumpkin pie and stuffing.
But, there was still the 24-hour "A Christmas Story" playing on TBS. I had three hours of Christmas music shuffling on my iTunes. I put on my lumberjack socks. I made Hazelnut coffee with soy milk and cinnamon. The lights on my tree remained on from 4pm Christmas Eve until I left the house on Christmas night. Christmas Eve consisted of a steak dinner and a private viewing with Chrissy of my all-time-favorite Christmas movie..."Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas!" I can't imagine a more worthy recipient of this invite than Chrissy and he did not disappoint in his appreciation of the film. We each drank a bottle of pinot noir, then breaked with a cup of java, then toasted with Champagne to our budding but bonding friendship from 2006 before calling it a night well after midnight.
Christmas Day began with reluctance. I had to fight the blues away. I wrapped myself in two blankets on my sofa and began my marathon of "A Christmas Story." Since I still don't have kids of my own, I become a kid myself on Christmas morning. This time instead of screaming for more presents and crumpling all the beautiful wrapping paper I'd torn through, I whined a little inside my head. I wanted my mommy and my stocking full of reasons to visit the dentist. Instead I buried my nose in the aroma of my coffee reminding myself to be grateful for all of the simple pleasures of life, including the flurry of holiday text message greetings that bombarded my razor from 9 a.m. on. I waited to hear from the Nurse, as we had planned to spend Christmas Day together regardless of no longer existing as a couple. I was excited for him to see my pathetic but adorable little tree and how clean the apartment was. I also had more things on the wall since last he dropped by. Overall, I felt that my apartment was a cozy place to begin Christmas, even if you were alone.
I pieced together a festive ensemble for the day's travels. The Nurse and I were going to spend some time together at my place first then we would join The Bears for a holiday/birthday dinner. Blake was born on Christmas. I checked movie times for Dreamgirls, hoping to find a time to include that in my Christmas plans. I put the finishing touches on Blake and Joe's Christmas package and waited.
I returned dozens of messages. I swept up any stray pine needles. I poured myself another cup of coffee, then another, then another.
Needless to say, things don't always work out the way you plan. But, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and made the most of what was left of my day. I had honey baked ham and cheddar mashed potatoes. The Bears bought me a Kelly Clarkson concert T that fits perfectly. We watched clips from old musicals and past Tony Awards telecasts. I even took one cough induced hit from the peace pipe that was passed around.
I raced downtown to try and catch a showing of Dreamgirls, but it was sold out. So, instead I saw some movie about the year 2027 and how women by then will have been infertile for 18 years. It didn't matter what movie I sat through. The popcorn and the soda are enough to keep me happy for two or so hours. I mean it too. You should see the way I shift in my seat and make myself comfortable with a giddy and hungry smile stretched across my face during the previews.
I finished the night by curling up with Harry Potter book 3 and my down comforter. My Christmas mix began it's shuffle. Joni Mitchell hummed softly in the background. I have been growing up for years. But, this year was a big reality check. Christmas wasn't ever going to be what it was when I was 10. It didn't hurt-this realization. It made me yearn for something I couldn't put into words. I was melancholy. I may have been a little lonely too. But, I wasn't sad. After all, it was Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year.
Joni sings..."Oh I wished I had a river I could skate away on...."
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Side Show
The midwest can be so awful. It's a hurricane or tornado of ignorance. But it is also a sanctuary of family values and breeding. It's a whirlwind every time I go. This time was no different.
I was sucked into the vortex or maybe even the eye of the storm. I sat peacefully in the center watching the mess fly around me in an uncontrollable flourish of debris and destruction. Except where the eye is usually peaceful, this time I sat with discomfort and my eyes took in all that I witnessed. People. People genuinely happy. They don't need to be fluent in three languages. They didn't need to make more money. They didn't need to have traveled over seas. They didn't need a glass of pinot noir. They didn't need to discuss politics or the golden globe nominations. They didn't need a pair of ugg boots. They didn't need to check their email, blackberry, flight status. They didn't need Chanel Platinum or degree body heat activated.
They were happy with their English language saturated with poor grammar and a red-neck dialect. They were happy with their 21,000 dollar teaching job with benefits and summers off. They were ecstatic about their honeymoon to Orlando or Vegas. Coors Light brought a smile to their face and kept them looking cool and easy going. Telling the same work story over and over paired with a college memory kept the laughter up to par and the conversation at a steady pace. A pair of Faded Glory simple black pumps will dress up all there required functions for the year. They didn't need home computers, their cell phones were used only when they travel, and almost everyone drove back to the hometown with no flight delays or lost luggage. The secret was out....most everything was strong enough for a man but made for a woman.
I realized this weekend that I am not okay with my life as a whole. I realized it has a lot to do with my sexuality. I pride myself on my level of comfort in my own skin. But, I am spoiled. I live in a gay metropolitan city. I work in a reputable gay establishment with 90% gay employees. I have had only gay or straight female roommates. I went to theatre school. I work in the arts. I live in Manhattan.
I live a sheltered life. No different than the one's that my heterosexual, anti-cosmopolitan breeder friends do.
I want to be like everyone else. I want what everyone wants. The easy life. The American Dream. I don't hate it. My life. I don't believe I chose it. My sexuality. I don't think it can change. My sexuality. But, I am not happy. My life and my sexuality. I want what everyone else wants.
I want children. I want my parents to become grandparents. I want to wake up on Christmas morning with a floor full of presents and the house full of cheer and voices. I want for us to be on top of each other with so many family around. I want to take my son outside to go sledding or snowman making. I want to swap pictures of Tristin's first lost tooth and Trinity's first time being a flower girl at the latest wedding. I want to stuff my face with horrible fatty foods. I want to watch football and actually care. I want to have Brenda Lee and Dolly Parton's Christmas Album on repeat. I want my refrigerator to be stocked with Velveeta and 2% milk, instant coffee and home-made bread and cookies. I want individual pudding snacks for all the nieces and nephews. I want dog biscuits for Jake.
I want people to stop looking at me. I want people to stop whispering. I want people to stop dodging the question. I want people to stop telling me how good I look. I want people to stop showing me pictures of their kids. I want the guys to stay at the table and talk instead of step into the lobby to watch the game. I want people to stop being afraid of me. Afraid for the children to be around me. I want the hot football jock from High School to treat me the way he did when he didn't know. I want my outfit to not stand out. I want people to not care. I want people to stop hating, judging, over-thinking. I want to stop being the Side Show attraction at very low budget, dirty and dingy carnival.
I was sucked into the vortex or maybe even the eye of the storm. I sat peacefully in the center watching the mess fly around me in an uncontrollable flourish of debris and destruction. Except where the eye is usually peaceful, this time I sat with discomfort and my eyes took in all that I witnessed. People. People genuinely happy. They don't need to be fluent in three languages. They didn't need to make more money. They didn't need to have traveled over seas. They didn't need a glass of pinot noir. They didn't need to discuss politics or the golden globe nominations. They didn't need a pair of ugg boots. They didn't need to check their email, blackberry, flight status. They didn't need Chanel Platinum or degree body heat activated.
They were happy with their English language saturated with poor grammar and a red-neck dialect. They were happy with their 21,000 dollar teaching job with benefits and summers off. They were ecstatic about their honeymoon to Orlando or Vegas. Coors Light brought a smile to their face and kept them looking cool and easy going. Telling the same work story over and over paired with a college memory kept the laughter up to par and the conversation at a steady pace. A pair of Faded Glory simple black pumps will dress up all there required functions for the year. They didn't need home computers, their cell phones were used only when they travel, and almost everyone drove back to the hometown with no flight delays or lost luggage. The secret was out....most everything was strong enough for a man but made for a woman.
I realized this weekend that I am not okay with my life as a whole. I realized it has a lot to do with my sexuality. I pride myself on my level of comfort in my own skin. But, I am spoiled. I live in a gay metropolitan city. I work in a reputable gay establishment with 90% gay employees. I have had only gay or straight female roommates. I went to theatre school. I work in the arts. I live in Manhattan.
I live a sheltered life. No different than the one's that my heterosexual, anti-cosmopolitan breeder friends do.
I want to be like everyone else. I want what everyone wants. The easy life. The American Dream. I don't hate it. My life. I don't believe I chose it. My sexuality. I don't think it can change. My sexuality. But, I am not happy. My life and my sexuality. I want what everyone else wants.
I want children. I want my parents to become grandparents. I want to wake up on Christmas morning with a floor full of presents and the house full of cheer and voices. I want for us to be on top of each other with so many family around. I want to take my son outside to go sledding or snowman making. I want to swap pictures of Tristin's first lost tooth and Trinity's first time being a flower girl at the latest wedding. I want to stuff my face with horrible fatty foods. I want to watch football and actually care. I want to have Brenda Lee and Dolly Parton's Christmas Album on repeat. I want my refrigerator to be stocked with Velveeta and 2% milk, instant coffee and home-made bread and cookies. I want individual pudding snacks for all the nieces and nephews. I want dog biscuits for Jake.
I want people to stop looking at me. I want people to stop whispering. I want people to stop dodging the question. I want people to stop telling me how good I look. I want people to stop showing me pictures of their kids. I want the guys to stay at the table and talk instead of step into the lobby to watch the game. I want people to stop being afraid of me. Afraid for the children to be around me. I want the hot football jock from High School to treat me the way he did when he didn't know. I want my outfit to not stand out. I want people to not care. I want people to stop hating, judging, over-thinking. I want to stop being the Side Show attraction at very low budget, dirty and dingy carnival.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Reply All
Thank you for your email.
Brief and to the point.
But a moment out of your day, albeit fleeting, that you took to think of someone else.
These gestures are energizing.
Why go through life shrugging our shoulders, flipping our wrists or rolling our eyes? These gestures will not move us or anyone forward. When three simple sentences or a hug can motivate the change we wish to be in the world.
Sit up straight today.
Brief and to the point.
But a moment out of your day, albeit fleeting, that you took to think of someone else.
These gestures are energizing.
Why go through life shrugging our shoulders, flipping our wrists or rolling our eyes? These gestures will not move us or anyone forward. When three simple sentences or a hug can motivate the change we wish to be in the world.
Sit up straight today.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Lying
My ipod was discovered one week later.
I won't even speculate as to why it was gone and suddenly appeared in a random drawer at work. Somebody is lying.
But, thank goodness it is back, because now I can really lie on my sofa and add a melancholy soundtrack to my uneventful days. All the while picking up my phone and emails, only to lie to my friends and family about my busy day.
12 hours later, I can rip the earphones from my ears toss them on the coffee table and lie to myself about how I am not depressed. How I am not unhappy. How this too shall pass. It's only a phase.
"I am just tired. Overworked. " I tell myself.
I lie in my bed, lying to boys, lying to friends, lying alone. I get up only to move to another place where I can lie and possibly create new and more interesting lies.
I lie back and touch myself. My fantasy lies to me. I lie on my back lying about the pleasure I am forcefully trying to experience.
The second movie I watch ends with the lead actor documenting hundreds of people's answer to the same question.
"What do you believe to be an absolute TRUTH?"
I won't even speculate as to why it was gone and suddenly appeared in a random drawer at work. Somebody is lying.
But, thank goodness it is back, because now I can really lie on my sofa and add a melancholy soundtrack to my uneventful days. All the while picking up my phone and emails, only to lie to my friends and family about my busy day.
12 hours later, I can rip the earphones from my ears toss them on the coffee table and lie to myself about how I am not depressed. How I am not unhappy. How this too shall pass. It's only a phase.
"I am just tired. Overworked. " I tell myself.
I lie in my bed, lying to boys, lying to friends, lying alone. I get up only to move to another place where I can lie and possibly create new and more interesting lies.
I lie back and touch myself. My fantasy lies to me. I lie on my back lying about the pleasure I am forcefully trying to experience.
The second movie I watch ends with the lead actor documenting hundreds of people's answer to the same question.
"What do you believe to be an absolute TRUTH?"
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