In the spaciousness of everything, in all the time and all the things I've yet to know about the Cappo Comedy Writer, to say I didn't expect this was an understatement. I'd deliberately employed a careful cocktail of nonchalance, terribly low expectations and detachment to this endeavor. In fact, I'd even hesitate to call it that as if naming it would bring the Furies upon me. Is it ironic it gets the same treatment as Voldemort? Oh yeah, this whole thing is That Which Shall Not Be Named.
So yes, summer and yet again its creeping heat brings honeyed limbs, loosened hips and miles and miles of skin. The past few years of being single brought with it not only freedom, but the time, the space and yes, the Rotational of Lovers to amass my own Mating Almanac of sorts. Yes, you read that right - a Mating Almanac.
For our purposes, I'm going to forgo the word Dating since that seems to carry as much charge as a hastily put together IED. Whether it's Hanging Out, Dating, Seeing Each Other, FWBing, Booty-Calling, Being Exclusive or not - I don't give a flying sod anymore. It's Mating. Period. Penis meet Vagina, GO. Or pick your own configuration as you please.
Let me also be clear that if you're in the same room and you're relating to each other, yes regardless of where you think the lines are drawn, it is and will be considered a relationship. Maybe not THE relationship, but definitely A relationship. Boys and Girls, we're going to leave semantics at the door and show up for this one.
Well, among other things. A unicorn could also Majestically Gallop, or Pose on a Windy Cliff. I'm still pretty sure I went with Whinny and Rear. Though I could've just as well gone with Impaling Evil Things or Believing in Miracles.
I did get through the massage sanely, ok mostly by convincing myself The Therapist was either married or gay. Even then, I blew through topics like the Flash. I get charmingly conversant when I'm nervous - not talky, or jibberish but downright entertainingly witty, mercurial and glib. I suppose that isn't such a bad thing. Save for that one time at the dento's when I kept on making him and the hygienist laugh so much they had to give me another round of gas to make me stop while they sat there in tears, doubled over with instruments clattering noisily on to the floor. They did however say it was their best session with a patient EVER.
Dear Goddess of Love,
You’ve had our differences you and I, and I have followed you through many a doorway and on to plenty a-winding path. Must it be like this?
I’m sun-touched feverish, and looking for relief. Will it come or won’t it?
So did I see B after Mr. X departed? That was over a month ago, but yes, I did. He had delicately peppered me with questions then, his blue eyes flashing grey here and there as he studied me. Was I just busy? Had I been broken? What exactly had I been up to?
Sorta Kinda B..pic from le petit français
Careful, I thought. B had Mercury in Scorpio, while vigilant with his silence, he noticed things without fail. We'd spent the evening watching Lord of the Rings - bizarre considering it was something I'd just watched with Mr. X.
After I'd answered all his questions, we'd fallen into the comfort of us. I kissed him, then gently asked if he was taking care of himself, and B recited all the recent precautions he'd been taking health wise. He never really minded my questions, and always seemed particularly proud of reporting his activities for my approval and satisfaction. It was a sign of respect, of some sense of him wanting me to be proud of him.
Maybe because in the last year we'd known each other, I'd been there through his moves, his promotions and transfers, through soccer training, through the illness of a parent, the death of a relative, through the ups and downs of living in LA, and now, through two birthdays. I'd been present for him with or without words. And he had missed me.
After Mr. X lost his job at the Opera, something he partly credited me for helping him "transition" from, he was a bit vague on what precisely occupied his time. Sure there was the band and the animation project but there was this other Thing he was nebulous about. He'd reassured me his gigs were sorted and that he had the Thing lined up post the Opera fall out. Being a Capricorn, I didn't for a minute doubt he'd have the work question settled. But what exactly the Thing was, I had no clue.
And..still no Area 51
It wasn't bar tending or waiting tables, but the Thing required odd hours. I went out on a limb and even threw out Night Librarian, he just tut-tutted it away and said I wasn't to worry. So I didn't.
Frankly, I didn't think I'd ever meet him. I didn't think he'd cycle two hours in the blistering sun to see me, or that we'd need more than an afternoon to write each other off. Or that we'd fall so fast down the chute to Wonderland. Who knew? I certainly didn't.
Maybe I was a bit naive. Nod in unison if you will. Hence, it was on the bliss of such ignorance I'd purported that perhaps Mr. X's New Thing involved selling his Gigolo Wares on Sunset. In fact, before we met I refused to ring him on account of "how it may possibly distract your clients when your python thong starts blinking with lights & vibrating madly as you slide down the pole, after all where else would your phone go? I wouldn't want you injured in mid-gyration, or upsetting your generous gay clients." We laughed about it, even more so after we met as clearly, gay or straight, he wasn't cast from the Gigolo mode. Unless one had a thing for mountain climbing.
The week starts as most weeks do, work, gym, blog, routine. There are always moments of a clock work cadence to life when things tick by. Apparently, this particular week was the exception.
Consumed by the furor of our last wordplay, Kentucky decides it is better now than later. I don't actually think "never" was an option for him. He messages me furiously through the day and I admit, after that stunt with Dragan and Virginlandia's containment, I was willing to entertain the possibility of a more fitting champion. Besides, how much can one girl really run??
We are equidistant from my place, and by 6PM both of us are racing from different directions with one thing in mind. In case, anyone's wondering, yes, women CAN have sex without love. Especially under these circumstances, that is being unattached, unbeholden and well, just incredibly alive.
I wouldn't say horny even if technically, that colored things too. But somehow, between the Broken Vagina and Virginlandia's state of grace, I'd found a strange sense of liberation. I'll leave all the politics behind, after all I'm not selling this as a philosophy by any means.
Dragan leaves me after brunch, looking hesitant and a touch unnerved. As we walked back to the car, he’d observed somewhat interestingly that he knew quite a few Serbian men married to Asian women, “it look like they very happy always,” he adds. I don’t know what to say to this, probably as I’m now literally gun-shy. Did THEY get asked to buy guns post-coitus as well? Ah, the romance.
I disappear into him as he crushes me in an embrace and tells me to let him know if I’m free the next weekend. I think, hmm, despite my refusal to gun run, he still likes me. He rushes off to be at a Serbian party where he is meant to play, of all things, the accordion. Great, I’m dating a gun-toting Geppetto.
Before brunch, he’d sat with me to explain the mechanics of the instrument very patiently, pointing out how wind travels through the different moving parts and actually manages to make the dratted thing come off as sexy. That he’s intelligent was never the question.
All I’m wondering is what happened to all that manual dexterity? Woops. Sorry.
Once in my own space, psychic impressions of this latest encounter fall like a ton of bricks around me. A gun??? And what about all the sexy build up falling flat as a winded souffle?? Sure I could do Madonna/Whore with style, but not for that kind of bed-work. I’m conscious of feeling antsy, as if I’d had a meal on the run and I was still ravenously hungry. I rouse the Council for immediate advise and submit my tale of woe for careful consideration.
Glad to have escaped the feathery clutches of Kentucky, I receive a message from Dragan informing me he was uncertain if he had work on the weekend, but that he'd like to see me SOON. Aside from normally being prompt about making plans and appearing for them, well, save for that first week when Serb-ice suffered derailment - the sense of urgency is thinly veiled.
I thought we were going a dignified pace, but he seemed to have acquired the velocity of a heat seeking missile. "I have a business dinner", I reason. "Is ok, just say when," he responds.
"It may last past 9 pm," I counter. "10 pm is fine,"he replies. Then adds,"We also do lunch tomorrow, da?" Right. It seems that would imply he was staying over.
Thankfully, the meeting is distracting and I lose myself in the whys and wherefores of fluctuating futures and the like. There's nothing quite like a bar chart gone haywire to dampen the delicious anticipation of possible surrender. I stealthily answer his texts as he asks me for an ETA. Typically Arien he deems the failure to respond to text messages or scheduling dates in a timely manner, an issue of Respect. Ignore him at your peril is the message I get.
It's actually a relief from the push-pull flakery rampant in LA where too many things are concluded with a shrugged whatever. I get home just in time to indulge my Venus and appear nonchalantly put together as Dragan looms at my door. It's decided we catch a late movie, which I thought should be a fitting prelude. Yet sitting in the dark of the theater, Dragan remains self-contained and neither holds my hand nor attempts even a whisper of physical closeness, except to occasionally tap me on my shoulder and say something funny. Like I was his sister. Or something.
Most memories of movie dates I've had usually involve ignoring it altogether. I sit uncomfortably through three long hours of piracy, mayhem and maiden ravishing. At least someone was getting some action.
My head spinning from B's return and the Serbian Siege, I get back to work to find Kentucky launching a rather aggressive Coup de Main. Divesting himself completely of all Southern graces, he asks to meet me at home after work, and should he bring protection if the occasion should merit it? I am shocked but intrigued. He'd been thus far, sensitive in every other area, concerned about my day, mindful of my tone of voice - in fact, careful. Yet this, belied an appalling lack of courtliness.
I play along thinking that surely all this thrust and parry was but of a verbal nature. I'd expected more of a Pincer Maneuver. Kentucky's chart while bearing a Cancer sun is littered with Gemini everything. And a Virgo Moon. To say that I'm his ideal woman is an understatement. Words do things to him that Bangkok hookers do to the most jaded of customers. As I later find out.
FA on feathers, fangs, furies and all sorts of folly, yes, even the serious kind.
content copyright 2011
Yep, my life, my insanity, my copyright. If you like what you read, let me know :)
Did I use your image & attribute it incorrectly? Sorry! Let me know and I'll take it down. "Sssshhhh" image on blog header by Deborah Azzopardi. It's an amazing print now available thru Ikea.