Patience

Still have not heard about the job. They say this week. Maybe. I expect a call from Helen Wait. *sigh* Patience, patience, patience.

June 1 is a big deadline for me, and then I calm down a little. Trying to get to the end of the month. The end of the fiscal year, too, I guess. The deadlines never stop. At least summer is slow.

Taking a vacation starting June 8. For 11 days. Amazing. Haven't taken that much time off in almost 2 years.

Am up in the air about what to do with my married friend. After confronting him, and getting advice, many of the older men I know simply say "Why not just take a compliment?"

I realize the problem is that I like him too much, not the other way around.

So the question still stands: should I be friends with said married man? So long as I can turn it off, I guess. And don't drink too much.

Oh dear, I almost forgot that I sent an email to someone on craigslist night. Ack. Apparently, my patience with singlehood is wearing thin.

The Running Theme

So what is it about me and married men?

Many years ago (or several, or a few, it just feels like many), when I was just out of the (lesbian) relationship with H, I met J. Not the J I talk about all the time, another J. To make it really confusing, he had a good friend J. Ha! The one J is not important: we dated a little, and I slept with him. My First man, mostly to get it out of the way.

The J that I'm talking about was his good friend, and our paths rarely collided after that. He has always been one of my favorite people: he is full of idealism, and hope, and he Does things instead of talking about them. He is Passionate, in short. He's also married. In the 3+ years I've known him, I have never met his wife. He also has two small kids at home, but... Always found it odd. Apparently they have separate lives, which is all well and good. But, yes. He's married.

So our paths have crossed more often lately, and I really enjoy his company, and invited him to my dinner party/housewarming, and he stayed a really long time and that made me very happy. We had a lovely moment when we both admitted we were one of each other's favorite people. And again, last night, he says
"People don't want to hear what I have to say."
"Really?" This I can't believe. He's full of ideas and information and progress and ... people really don't want to hear that?
"Really," he says.
"Well, I do."
"I know," he says, "that's why I love you."
"That's why I love you."

Now, this is not all googleyeyed loveydoveyness. This is two people in a great appreciation of each other. If you've experienced mutual awe and appreciation, you know how rare it is. If you haven't, I'm sorry; but hope you do some day.

So then we all play twister, and I have done yoga earlier, and Rock out and everybody's impressed and whatnot. (I realize this is a very odd moment in the midst of this whole story).

So J leaves shortly after this, we say goodnight, I stay a bit longer and leave within an hour. And when I get in my car, there's a text message from him:

u r so sexy.

This is a message from a grown man. A man with children. And a wife. And let me tell you it hit me like a ton of bricks and immediately turned me on and all I could think was "I'm going straight to hell."

J (my J, the J I always talk about), he tells me that I can't see him. And I know he's right. But I hate this. I HATE it. I responded to the text message in kind, reminding him that he is married, and that it kills me that he's married, but all the same.

So the question is, can you be friends with a man who you have a great deal of admiration, and attraction, and mutual attraction and... a wife?

Been awhile

When I wasn't drinking, I found it much easier to write write write all the time. Everything is crazy lately. One of the boys in the mix emailed to me today: "All is going well, of course, and hope you can say the same." Not really sure about that.

All is going well, of course? Things are great, sure. But I wax in and wane out of greatness too. Last week was a definite waning. J confused the hell out of me, as usual. Hormones hit me upside my head. Had to start cleaning out the house, which is now going to closing next week. I didn't realize how upset I was about it until I pulled into the driveway and started bawling. Apparently I've been avoiding it all for a reason?

Houses are funny things. That physical house, as it is now, is nothing important. But my emotional memory of the house is representative of my childhood, growing up, coming of age. But also symbolic of my support system, a safe place I could always come - Dad would always make me dinner and give me a place to sleep if I needed it. And sometimes we'd just sit around and watch TV or eat dinner or drink Tequila.

But there were a lot of days when it was much more than that. I remember sitting at the top of the stairs, he and mom on their way apart, and hearing a tone I didn't want to hear and going back into my room-prison. I remember that stupid ugly sofa - in the formal dining room, sobbing into my dad's chest because I was an overachieving and overwhelmed 16 yearold. And again, in the front parlour, after Marga had redone the house, talking Seriously about the future and whatIwantedtobewhenIgrewup. The breakfasts and dinners around that Queen Anne table that was never big enough but meant we all got to see each other's expressions.

So much of my 20 New Orleans years are tied in so many ways to that house, and now I have to say goodbye to it, and clean it out. It's just a house now, not a home anymore. A huge reminder that family is gone and I'm All Alone in this town.

And then there's my little house. Funny little house. I don't know what it is about women and nesting, but I sure have done my share of it. And I love my little house, even though I don't feel her in my bones yet. Not like the Zimpel House. She's given me a lot so far, and she's grown into a pretty little place, on the inside. Again, the outside is the closest I have to a security system, but she's all mine. There really is something to that.


nb.
J tells me 12pm and 12am are not times. Never could quite figure out why I prefered noon and midnight. Besides Auden's references to them.

Cars that Kill

Sometimes Google Links pops up funny little things.. this is one of them.

Oh, and did I mention the Mazerati in the parking lot today? Now THAT is a killer car.

clipped from ask.yahoo.com What is "new car smell"? Well, here's the bad news -- that aroma is actually a collection of noxious fumes caused by the various glues holding the car's interior together. And while collectively it may smell good, it's not at all good for you. ABC News explains that the new car smell may cause "headaches, sore throat, nausea, and possibly cancer." The United States doesn't have a law against the "volatile organic compounds" that cause new car smell, but some countries do. In the U.S., "new car interiors can contain 128 times the legal limit" in Australia.

For Old Time's Sake/Reentry

Old Time's Sake

Four years ago, on the last Sunday of Jazz Fest, and a party at T&A's, I met R. I was recently out of a relationship, and scoping the party, and he was pretty drunk and totally enamored of me. He impressed me by guessing my astrological sign on the second try.

This is also the first time I remember meeting J, although he claims we met before. He might be right. But I remember talking to R about baseball, and J about betting on the ballet. The only way to make it interesting, he continues to assert, is by betting on which ballerina will fall and break something.

So there I am, a little 23 year old girl, in over my head without realizing it, sitting in a circle of chairs with R to my right, me trying to carry on conversation with the group, he holding my hand and staring wistfully at me. How was this 30 year old man so goofy, I thought. We made out in the alleyway before I went home, and it was terribly fun, and S screamed down from her window at us... and he never called me again. When I ran into him months later, he admitted he had a girlfriend, and still had the girlfriend and.. well, yes. Men are idiots. And pigs.

So, this past Sunday, after the festival, all the people came to my house, and I was wearing my new skirt, and meeting people and having a great time... and everyone left except J, and... Do I have to say more? He said "You're being flirty." Really? Is that it? It would be so much easier if the sex weren't so unbelievable.

So then we go to T&A's, and R has arrived, and I take J home, but not before I tell R I wouldn't mind making out with him in the alley again. I return, and we make out on the couch. I have to say, 4 years is the longest its taken me to get to 3rd base! Maybe we'll sleep together next jazz fest.


Reentry.

Funny thing about all this is returning to a normal life. I went to the gym last night, and ran and worked out, and I feel like gangbusters today. I was excited to come to work, had new energy and whatnot. Also went to go see a show last night, which was a lot of fun (with the groom: is that bad?), but glad I didn't pay for the ticket.

Returning to normal life after 2 weeks of the festival or 2 weeks of carnival, or even 40 days of abstinence... that is the greatest challenge. My officemate asked me yesterday, "So what now? What happens in New Orleans now that Jazzfest is over?"

We count the days until Hurricane Season, I told him.

Bachelor Parties

I can't even really begin to tell this story because it's so completely absurd.

The other night, I met a guy who happened to be on a first date with a friend. I was pretty sure she wasn't interested, and he was pretty sure he was interested in me. We had all been drinking, so it was lots of fun, and hurrah and...

So his friend is getting married, and he very kindly invited me along to the bachelor party. Is this real? Did that happen? Are women even allowed at bachelor parties? Well, as A- said later, "If you gals hadn't been there it would have been about as thrilling as watching paint dry, what with all us blokes."

Oh, did I forget to mention they're British? All of them. British. A and S are from Liverpool, P from London, and I never got an origin from D. But trust me, all British. With teeth to prove it.

So my best girlfriend N and I get dressed to the nines, have a great dinner, go on to the strip club... At this point, she has picked up The Mastadon (beer goggles, my dear), and the groom is totally smitten with me, and telling me that I make a man have doubts.

*sigh*

How does this happen, really? So.. blah blah blah.. strip club, lap dances... blah blah blah... new bar... blah blah blah... another bar run by a friend of mine that just happens to be an Irish bar. Does anybody remember C? Anybody? Brought me a pumpkin on our first date? Right. He runs the bar.

Well, then C's bartender needs some change, and C says to me, "Want to see my office?" And next thing I know I'm having sex on the desk. I realize only afterwards that there is a security camera pointed directly at us, but he reassures me there is no tape, etc.

He called me yesterday to tell me that he and the Irish Bar have parted ways... and I can't help but wonder if there was a tape somewhere.

So that's pretty much the end of the evening. Did kiss A, sweet old chap that he is, and he is now permanently smitten and calling and texting every other minute.

So what do I do? When S (the groom, mind you) emails me and invites me to see the show we talked about tonight, I think... what the hell? The music is damned good.