writing

Sometimes, I write things I can't quite grasp. I think, "One day I'll see what others see in this". I reassure myself it is not intellectual defect, or emotional blindness that makes them see brilliance in my self-perceived mediocrity.

Rather it is timing, my timing. Maybe the writing comes before the understanding, as the action comes before the memory, and the memory sparks the memoir. I may hate what I write today, and cherish it tomorrow.

stormy weather

Do you ever have a wish you could eject yourself from society for a spell?

This past week hurricane Kira ripped through my life. Things are spinning back to normal and I'm left to deal with the wreckage of my own poor behavior. The wind blows some torn paper from the resumes I've re-written, sign in sheets from the 5, 10, 20 minute late mornings. I pencil in apologies between return black dress, and get shoes fixed. And hope to have the energy to right what is askew.

Can you give me a sec? I'm on the phone here..

Two Truths and a Lie

Ever heard of this game? It's one of those rinky dink icebreakers. Despite the air of forced socialization, I adore this game. Fact is, I love information. I guess it comes from feeling I never got the full story as a kid. I learned to peek in drawers and ask inappropriate questions. I'd do anything to feel like I had a better grip on the situation. I had no borders or boundaries, no respect for your privacy. I was blessed (?) with roaring curiosity and an innate ability to put things back where I found them.

Today I still the hand that reaches to invade the space of another, but the voracious appetite for dirt remains. Catch my interest and I will collect the bits of yourself that you drop like bread crumbs. Saving it all up for the day I might be hungry. Folding all the facts into the folds of my mind for safekeeping.

So is it any surprise that I like this game? I like that participants must make the facts interesting so to disguise the lie. I like combing my background for bits of funky, sea glass, memory that might distract you from my falsehood. I like knowing more.

Here are the two truths and a lie that I gave today. Please forgive me as they were thought up on the fly. Can you tell which is veritas and mendacium?

I modeled when I was a baby.

I learned to ride a bike when I was 7.

My kindergarten life plan was to become a prima ballerina, marry and have kids, then become a nun after my husband passed away.

Wiggle it, just a little bit...

Thank GOD that they've figured this out.


(Just for the record I'd have to lose 2 inches off my waist to have perfect wiggle.)

walking

I have heard:

First you get out of the hole.

Then when walking down the block with the hole, you try and not fall in.

After awhile you choose another block.

I hate realizing that I haven't chosen another block. I find myself at the bottom of the same hole. Only it's a little shallower this time. I've sustained a few less bruises. My cries for help are quickly answered. No one looks at me and says "You did it, again?". They help me brush the dirt off, and wrap an ace bandage around my ankle. Someone brought neosporin, another has a cartoon bandaid in her purse. I am cared for and fixed up, then a new block is pointed out to me.

brunch

Diners are where I get my sustenance, both physical and otherwise. Eros is one of my favorites. The vinyl seats squeal as you slide in, as if to welcome you. At night the place glows with an amber light no longer approved by decorators. Everything is brown, or gold, except for the walls which are mosaiced with murals out of Greek history books. The menu is a dozen pages long, but the service is what makes it exceptional. They have a spice and delicacy that their food does not.

They care for the stooped, grayed woman curving over a bowl of soup at the counter. They remember when babies have grown, and chide me for my absence. They let me wait on a Saturday morning, accepting my refusal to sit in the back, on rickety tables pushed too closely together for comfort. They give me permission to stand in repose as families bustle around me. Waiting for a window booth that provides some of the best people watching in the city.

Each time I pass they wave, filling my belly with a joy warm as their crappy coffee. Today I'm here listening to the cacophonic symphony of Saturday brunch. The clatter of china against china, and slide of plate on counter. I taste coffee, bitter and milky-sweet, before we are even seated.

I resist the impulse to stare at Dave and let my eyes glaze over in fantasy. Maybe it's the shirt he's wearing, but I'm betting it's the free floating lust that has followed me like Eeyore's little black rain cloud.

I met Steven a few weeks ago. Immediately he treated me as if we'd grown up braiding each other's hair and talking about boys. His warmth and affection was like a blanket, one that I couldn't quite trust wasn't infected with smallpox. Mind you, that is my fear talking, not any menace on his part.

When we are (quickly) seated I'm next to Meg, who is all sharp angles and beauty. Meg, who I knew would be my friend when I heard her talk about putting on a full face of makeup and looking in the mirror asking herself what she was doing.

We order, cups of tea for Dave and Meg, and a combined bounty of pancakes, turkey bacon, and eggs over easy for Steven and me. Dave is talking about the path of dating that's let up to his current girlfriend,

"The only thing my bad relationships had in common was me"

See, I've heard that clever remark before. In my case its wisdom falls on deaf ears. I mention that today is my last day of match.com membership.

"Oh yeah, I didn't get anything out of online dating" says Dave

"I met my boyfriend online," replies Stephen "I thought you'd broken up"

"Still met him online" he counters

We go from choosing partners, to first date etiquette, to the place where all conversations go if they go long enough: sex.

"How many dates are you supposed to wait before you sleep with someone?"

"I think it's three," I say "sounds like a good number."

"I've noticed a lot of gay men I know don't really wait to have sex"

I'm not sure if he is asking a question or expressing an opinion but either way Dave is doing so cautiously. Simon replies,

"Generally"

"I know a lot of women who don't wait either," I point out

"Well" Stephen's voice has an undercurrent of amusement "I think you have a little gay man in you"

I raise my eyebrows and deadpan

"Is he paying rent?"