that'll teach you to dress naked!
We never did it together in high school, and we felt like we were missing out on an intricate part of our childhood friendship. Or maybe there was just nothing better to do. For whatever reason, yesterday, Pauly, Zeebs, and I sat on the side of a hill in the dark, drinking, laughing, smoking, and chilling. We discussed buoyancy, and Zeebs ruminated, "Well, excuuuuuse meeee Ms. Physician". And we laughed. We talked about de-virginizing (Paul is the "Cherry-Popper"), about dating, about old schoolmates, about dog breeds, about relationships, nose jobs, fashion, and manicures, pedicures, and Zidane, and I was on a roll. Or maybe it wasn't so much that anything I said was all that funny, but that Zeebs is insane and laughs at everything. Or maybe I'm so utterly comfortable with these people that I can take insane chances and say ridiculous things, and I know they'll laugh with me, not at me. In any event, the waiters at Demetre's were all gay, and thought we were obnoxious, the guy at The Magic Spot looked like Ray the Jazz Musician from Sex and the City and disliked our bossy treatment of Pauly, and the girl at the martini bar was cleaning relish off of the ceiling. And this was all before 10pm.
The night before, smelling supremely fresh thanks to Lever 2000 (for all my 2000 parts), I met up with *Beautiful Boy*, who was also smelling wonderful, to visit a baseball field and take in some Slo-Pitch. The game was lame, but the company was great. Fun, comfortable, interesting, and intelligent. When I ranted about the bitch at work, he made witty remarks and always took my side. When I launched into a spiel about a psych study I'd recently read, he joined in the discussion, asking pertinent questions and providing alternative explanations for the findings - he was also very interested in the methodology employed, which I thought was fascinating, because no one I know (who isn't a psych major) ever brings that up. He talked about his family, and about grade nine, and about his friends and their (mis)adventures together. When the cops rode by to tell us the park had closed an hour ago, we went in search of greener pastures, and ended up walking his (8 year old) puppy. It was all just easy. It all just fit. And in one sublime moment of clarity, I even thought to myself "I like it here. I really like it here."
"Here" being there, in the park. "Here" being there, with him. "Here" being neither here nor there in this thing that we're doing - whatever it is. "Here" being in this brand new place with this brand new person, on this blank slate, where everything is possible and nothing determined. Where there are no problem behavioural patterns that keep repeating themselves (yet). Where nothing is taken for granted.
I don't assume he'll call, or that he feels the same way, or that any of this is going anywhere. And so, every time nothing happens, it's okay.
There are no disappointments - because there are no expectations.
And maybe, if I could maintain this vacant state in my room of expectations, I could be happy forever. But I know that eventually, I'll ask him to do something for me and he won't, or I'll trust him implicitly in some manner and be proven a fool for doing so, or I'll expect him to react in a certain way and be shocked and amazed and hurt when he doesn't - and it'll all show how much (or little) I know about him, and us, and about myself.
But until then, I'm just going to like it here. Because "here" is fleeting, like any good vacation, and I'll miss it when it's gone.
The night before, smelling supremely fresh thanks to Lever 2000 (for all my 2000 parts), I met up with *Beautiful Boy*, who was also smelling wonderful, to visit a baseball field and take in some Slo-Pitch. The game was lame, but the company was great. Fun, comfortable, interesting, and intelligent. When I ranted about the bitch at work, he made witty remarks and always took my side. When I launched into a spiel about a psych study I'd recently read, he joined in the discussion, asking pertinent questions and providing alternative explanations for the findings - he was also very interested in the methodology employed, which I thought was fascinating, because no one I know (who isn't a psych major) ever brings that up. He talked about his family, and about grade nine, and about his friends and their (mis)adventures together. When the cops rode by to tell us the park had closed an hour ago, we went in search of greener pastures, and ended up walking his (8 year old) puppy. It was all just easy. It all just fit. And in one sublime moment of clarity, I even thought to myself "I like it here. I really like it here."
"Here" being there, in the park. "Here" being there, with him. "Here" being neither here nor there in this thing that we're doing - whatever it is. "Here" being in this brand new place with this brand new person, on this blank slate, where everything is possible and nothing determined. Where there are no problem behavioural patterns that keep repeating themselves (yet). Where nothing is taken for granted.
I don't assume he'll call, or that he feels the same way, or that any of this is going anywhere. And so, every time nothing happens, it's okay.
There are no disappointments - because there are no expectations.
And maybe, if I could maintain this vacant state in my room of expectations, I could be happy forever. But I know that eventually, I'll ask him to do something for me and he won't, or I'll trust him implicitly in some manner and be proven a fool for doing so, or I'll expect him to react in a certain way and be shocked and amazed and hurt when he doesn't - and it'll all show how much (or little) I know about him, and us, and about myself.
But until then, I'm just going to like it here. Because "here" is fleeting, like any good vacation, and I'll miss it when it's gone.
posted by captain obvious at 1:01 p.m.
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