06/20/00 (cont'd)
"...sunflowers and your face fascinate me..."
Just for the record, I am currently, right now, at this very minute, soooo totally hot for this guy.
I'm also really regretting my hasty decision to take my little mini-boom box home from my office. Shit, now I have to be here for another week-and-a-half with access to only a CD player (on the computer) but you see, I'm a child of the 80's...and CDs still scare the fuck out of me. Kind of in that same manner in which computers scare the fuck out of old people. So most of my really good shit is on cassette. Damn, I date myself just by using the term "cassette." As if I might actually be referring to 8-TRACK or some other kind of tape (what other kind? reel-to-reel?).
Speaking of how fucking old I am...I heard "In Your Eyes" (Peter Gabriel's slap-on-the-forehead, I'm sure) on the radio while driving home for lunch. I can remember how BACK IN THE DAY it was every girl's fantasy to have some guy show up at her bedroom window with one of those big-ass boom boxes we had then (think of the one the guy carried around throughout "Do The Right Thing") and hold it up to her window and play this song. Deep heavy sigh, batting eyelashes. Of course, that never happened to me, I got asked out to an INXS concert by the dude who was (trying to get on) my best friend that I happened to have a serious (and secret) crush on. That's reality.
Which made me wonder...does art mimic life, or does life mimic art? How many times have any of us tried to recreate that "perfect moment" from our favorite fucking movie? How many of us listen to a song and become convinced that the singer (not, of course, the writer of the song) has felt and knows exactly how we feel right this instant, regardless of how vague the lyrics actually are? (Tori Amos and Stevie Nicks, for example...these chicks are fucking vague. Admit it, dammit, they're vague!) Or am I the only freak-ass out there that actually pulls this shit?
Perhaps my therapist is hasty in again cutting me back to every other week.
But there have been, in my lifetime, those "movie perfect" moments. Like the time the high school boyfriend took me up to the roof of the warehouse he was working for over the summer...it was in downtown Cess Pool and you could see the highway up close and personal like...it was hotter than hell and the wind was blowing...and we stood up there on the roof and kissed for what seemed like hours. Damn, even now, it's kind of awesome to think about... There was the first time Megan and I "got busy," in that shitty hotel room in New Orleans, we had just smoked a joint and everything was hysterically funny...we were laying on the hide-a-bed rolling around laughing our asses off...then out of nowhere we were face to face, and we stopped laughing, and she kissed me, or I kissed her, it's not important...and from there we just sort of melted together...and it was so fucking intense...and the next day we kind of played "ring around the rosey," kind of avoiding each other and kind of trying extremely hard not to...I followed her through the Aquarium of the Americas and we ended up beating the rest of the group outside...we talked for a while and went back to the hotel...and ended up on the floor before getting walked in on by the stragglers... There was the time when I lived in Omaha and was dating the roadie, he had just got back in town after a 2-week gig across the country...he showed up at my apartment door, just kind of leaning against the doorjamb and looking as hot as melted butter on a lobster tail...he started kissing me as soon as I opened the door...we backed up into my bathroom where I stood on the toilet so I could kiss him without hurting myself (he was 6'2", I'm about 5' even)...after a few minutes he picked me up and set me back down in my shower stall...still kissing me...then he looked at me, smiled, and without his eyes ever leaving mine, reached over and turned on the water..."that's hot," I screamed, so he turned on the cold, as well...we continued kissing, in the shower, water getting all over the bathroom...clothes coming off...fucking on the bathroom floor...eventually moving into my bedroom to my mattress on the floor...the entire apartment was soaked as hell by the time we were finished...I went to the store for ice cream and giggled like an idiot when I paid for it with a soaking wet 5-spot that I pulled out of my still-wet shorts.... There was the night my sophomore year of high school, after the school play, during the cast party, when Shelly said "let's go somewhere" and we went across the street to the school and sat on the back steps of the building...she told me she loved me...that I was her best friend...I very nearly kissed her that night but remembered to maintain...I was completely awestruck... There was the night I lost my virginity in the back seat of my car, under an interstate overpass, in the middle of fucking nowhere, in the middle of a raging thunderstorm...afterwards we were driving around and stopped at this one store...Shelly was working there and had just got off...so had we...we were talking to her and I just kept thinking, this couldn't get any fucking weirder if we tried...
These are the kind of moments that I need in my life. I haven't had one in a very, very long time. Sex with Megan has, for the better part of our relationship, been so completely contrived that it's virtually impossible to let go and enjoy it.
And she's the person in my life that I love most.
And that just sucks.
Damn, I really need a cigarette now. Yeah, I'm smoking like the fiend I was again. Almost back to a pack a day. Hey, I'll cut down again once the goddamn hurricane settles down, and the cleanup begins.
All worked up and no one to screw.
Crying shame, isn't it?
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