I have so many things I want to write about; there have been many interesting, beautiful, educational, painful things of late. I’m going to light on some topics, all to be explored soon. I’m very, very sleepy and don’t know how far it will go.
I don’t know what I am comfortable writing about in regards to sex-ish stuff. Over the past several months/weeks I have had some insights, or at least some areas that I would like to further explore by writing them out, but we are talking about some very up-close-and-personal details, and I’m just not sure where I am with that and with this blog. I am grappling, as I have for many years, with what it means to be single and sexual and loving and satisfied and safe. And by satisfied and safe I include the psychic, psychological, and emotional. Some people have compared my writings in this blog to those of Carrie on Sex and the City, but this would go deeper, really freeze-frame, and I don’t know if I’m going there. So stay tuned.
I had this amazing night out a few Tuesdays back–it is a story in like, five parts. The most exciting part is Brett–no, that’s not true. The most exciting part was partying with some cast members of Saturday Night Live. But the most important part was meeting Brett, a lovely gay man, potential BFF, but seriously potential musical collaborator. Being as we were both a bit drunk when we discussed this, I wasn’t sure if he would come through (gay or not, a drunk man in a bar can make promises of love that he won’t keep) but we are currently working on scheduling.
My weekend with Joe. Maybe. I don’t know how much I’ll write about it here. There was a massive late-discovered misinterpretation of communications prior to the weekend. Late-discovered as in = when the weekend was almost over. This misunderstanding had us (Joe vs me) having two entirely different weekends. So I had a wonderful weekend with him, but then this gross disconnect was revealed. And then it was like that moment in the Sixth Sense; I sank against the wall, my hand holding my bloodied shirt, as the camera revisited scene to scene to scene of the weekend, each conversation being replayed with a different meaning, each moment with a whole other twist. I’m doing better now. But I see dead people.
Speaking of, I went to a memorial service yesterday of an old school friend, Paul Ducharme. He died in April. He was my age. Paul was a sweet and influential character and his death sucks. Yesterday’s event was a picnic and concert in the park we all used to hang out in (across from my junior high school), followed by an after-party that went far into the night where God Street Wine played. So it was this sad occasion, but also sort of a high school reunion with the jumbly memories and face-sifting, and sort of a party to end all parties with the jam band to end all jam bands. And I cannot yet begin to describe, though I do intend to, what a learning experience it was for me. I learned about people and connections and tribes that exist; I learned about how who I was in high school and the years that followed was so horribly confined by my own rigid beliefs and fears. And I learned a bit about how loving we can all be.
I know, right? What the hell do I sound like?
So I will write about one thing from yesterday. There was a guy there I’d known since elementary school. I barely remembered him, to be honest. But we saw each other and pointed right at one another and said each others names (first and last). We are both impressively recognizable. And I found him very attractive. He’s married with little kids, and frankly, I didn’t think much of my attraction, except that I suspected (barely remembered) that back when I knew him I hadn’t noticed him as attractive. That was as far as my thoughts went, Wow he’s attractive, and You probably never thought of him that way back then, ya dummy. Read the rest of this entry »
