DUDE!

- After a night at Remedy -

Tita: *squints at me as we enter well-lighted area* Hey, are you wearing...blush?

Me: DUDE! Just because I act like I have a dick doesn't mean I actually grew one or anything.

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

A friend of mine recently moved to Michigan to go to grad school. Before he left, he had a going away party, at which he became exceedingly intoxicated. He walked/danced/stumbled me to my car when I was leaving, and in his drunken state, declared that he wanted to write to me.

"A real letter," he slurred. "That's so ROMANTIC and old-fashioned, don't you think? Like Kerouac! Send me your address and I'll write to you." I agreed, lest he puke on me or pass out under the wheels of my car before I could drive away. I was fairly sure he wouldn't remember any part of our conversation anyways.

The night before he left, I called to say goodbye and he once again promised to write if I sent him my address. I complied, and a few weeks later, a letter - handwritten! - showed up in my mailbox.

If I haven't ever mentioned it, I LOVE MAIL. I go through my mail with an eagle eye each day, sorting it into piles: trash mail (junk mail, mail with other people's names on it, past due bills), shred mail (anything from a credit card company that has my full name on it, because I'm paranoid), interesting mail (sales at my favorite stores, free samples, pornography), and REAL MAIL (the most rare mail of all - something addressed just to me, not machine-generated, from a real person). I even shake out the trash mail just in case a piece of REAL MAIL might be hiding inside of it.

So it was pretty freaking exciting to get the letter. Of course, instead of quickly reciprocating, it took me a month to write him back, because I'm a dick. In the ensuing wait for a second letter from him, I became impatient and had to call, despite our agreement to try the writing thing for the sake of...I don't know, being Luddites? We've since been in touch on Facebook and occasionally over email, but he did FINALLY send me a second letter which arrived today.

While it was typed, instead of scrawled in longhand like the first letter, it elicited the same squealing happiness as before (perhaps even moreso, since the entire thing was actually legible) and I giggled at his stories, imagining him making faces and gesticulating wildly as I read. Is there anything better than a letter from a friend?

My favorite part of the letter would be that he signs off "Sincerely", except that this time he had to use butterfly and bumblebee 41 cent stamps, which made the letter a thousand times funnier. Man, I miss that kid.

You Say Tomato, I Say Persimmon

Conversation between me and Wendy on the way to the ladies room after too much wine at Madeleine's Wine Bar on Election Night

Me: Is that a plate of tomatoes? *hic*

Wendy: They're persimmons! Not tomatoes.

Me: Should I take one? Are they any good?

Wendy: Here, take this one, it looks ripe.

Me: I better not, I think they're for decoration.

Wendy: No, take it! Take it! It's ripe!

Me: Okay, fine. Let's go. (puts ripe persimmon in purse)

The next day

Me: What the hell is this orange stuff all over my sunglasses case? (wipes it off)

Me: What the hell is orange stuff this all over my wallet? Did I drop pasta sauce in here? (wipes it off)

Me: OMG, there's an exploded persimmon in my purse! (eats a little bit and finds it quite delicious)

The moral of the story: do not put ripe fruit in your purse when you are drunk. Also persimmons taste good.

Speechless

I've tried numerous times to come up with something to write on here over the past week and I just couldn't do it. I did post updates on Twitter a few times but that's sort of the blogging equivalent of texting someone when you say you'll call, if that makes any sense.

I'm still sort of on edge about things, but every time I see Michael and/or talk to Wendy, I feel a little better. He seems to have made a bit of progress even though his temperature was still elevated yesterday. He was able to respond to commands yesterday when they pulled back on his sedative, which made me really happy. I visited him last night and just missed Wendy and Judy, but I hung out and chatted with him for a while.

I told him about the Olympics starting, reminded him Nick and Nora were getting married (probably around the time I visited, in fact), and just talked to him about what I'd been up to this week. I know he can't hear me, but I want to believe he knows I'm there. It's a lot easier to talk to him than write on here right now.

Be Still And Know That I Am God

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by something beautiful and I pray spontaneously and with joy.

Sometimes I'm crushed by sorrow and I pray through tears.

Right now, I am crippled by fear and I can't seem to pray but by begging, in desperation, repeating the name of a beloved friend as though if God hears me say it enough He will save his life without me having to ask explicitly for Him to do so.

Michael is in the hospital following a massive heart attack and emergency surgery in which he recieved both an LVAD and an RVAD (Left and Right Ventricle Assist Devices). Once he stabilizes, he'll be on the list for a heart transplant.

He's been so incredibly strong, fighting like a trooper, but the road ahead is long and arduous. I'm trying really hard to balance optimism and hope while knowing that the odds aren't good. I'm trying to put this in God's hands while fighting the urge to tell Him I don't trust Him with this one, because if He really knew what He was doing, Michael would be just fine right now.

Spaghetti And Sadness

I used my kitchen as God intended tonight - Ken came over and we cooked dinner together. We decided on spaghetti, so we went to the market and then I insisted on doing most of the work myself and bossing him around for the rest. He's a very obedient sous chef, I must say.

We sauteed Italian squash (aka zucchini), graffiti eggplant, and red bell pepper in garlic and olive oil and combined this with store-bought Barilla marinara. We also heated up some garlic bread (because what's spaghetti without garlic bread?) and made a salad of mixed greens, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and sunflower seeds. I wish I'd thought to buy eggs because hard boiled eggs are my current addiction and they taste so good in salads.

For dessert we had Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream in waffle cups. Those cups are tasty, but packaged very deceptively so as to appear much larger than they are once you open the box. I'd buy them again anyways. The ice cream is also amazing, by the way - super pepperminty!

We had a really nice evening, but eventually we had to acknowledge why he'd come over. He wanted to spend some time with me so we could talk about his potential move back home to the East Coast. Nothing's set in stone yet, but it seems he'll probably be leaving California within a couple of months. I'm absolutely miserable about it.

I can't imagine my life here without him nearby, the way he's been since I arrived in Los Angeles. I want more time together and I tell myself that would make it easier for me to let him go. But I know that's not true - no matter how much time we spend together, it will never be enough for me. He's the best friend I've ever had, the person who sees me like nobody else ever could. I miss him already.

Although I Also Thought There Would Be More Recess

Corazon and I had Tarantino's for dinner on Friday night. As we were eating, I mentioned that I usually have pizza once a week. (This could explain why twice-a-week sessions with Melody aren't making me any skinnier.) Corazon thought that was totally awesome, which made me realize: a) I really am awesome; b) I need more friends who admire me for having so little self-control that I eat pizza once a week; and c) along with eating dessert first, eating pizza once a week was always kind of my dream of what being a grown-up would be like.

Would You Get Down On Your Knees And Scrub Me?

I remember the summer night I first heard this song. I was seventeen and hopelessly in love with my very first real boyfriend and every word reminded me of him. I even sang this to him over the phone.

He's still my favorite person in the entire world and the one I think of when I hear songs like All I Want Is You by Barry Polisar (which is actually his ringtone on my phone).

Anyhow, I was thinking about the Lemonheads yesterday and remembered this song, one I hadn't thought about in ages. I wanted to post it because after all these years, he still makes me so incredibly happy. I love you, Ken.

The song is Being Around by the Lemonheads.

Mixed Emotions

A friend of mine dropped some news on me via email last week that was unexpected and also, in a small and secret way, a disappointment.

This is one of the few people in my life who gets an almost immediate response whenever he emails, but I couldn't think of anything I wanted to say after reading what he'd written. Instead, I took all of our correspondence from the last few months and put it in a folder so I wouldn't see his name pop up every day when I checked my email. I wanted to mull things over on my own schedule, once whatever I was feeling settled into something more normal, before I wrote him back. (I'll admit I half-considered just ignoring the email altogether and starting fresh on a different tangent in a few weeks, hoping he wouldn't notice.)

Instead, he wrote me today - which was also a bit unexpected, seeing as how I am usually the one to initiate our contact when I start to miss him - asking what had made me speechless. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I simply said I was giving myself some time to process, which is true.

I guess I'm just feeling a little confused and uncertain about exactly why we're writing to each other at all, and why this person from my past knows so much more about me than I do about him, and why it matters to me at all.

I'm thinking I still need more time to figure this all out. *sigh*

It's My Girls That Get Me Through

I had a very shitty day yesterday, caused by a man, which should be no surprise.

I won't go into details, but let's just say: IF YOU ARE MARRIED, PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TELL ME THAT BEFORE WE GO OUT ON A DATE. Asshole.

Anyhow, Jenny and Corazon, being total rockstars, came to the rescue with boxed wine, white bean hummus, brie, and chicken sausages for the grill. We had a late dinner and talked smack about dudes, work, and life in general. I love those ladies, and if either of them had a penis, I would so marry her. Already we are planning our future co-op life together raising children and sharing smart, quality, well-endowed men among us.

A conversational highlight -

Me: I just want to get laid one more time before I die!

Jenny: You'll have lots more sex before you die, don't worry.

Me: No, you don't understand. I feel like if I don't get some sex soon, I'm going to die. The threat is imminent!

Why We're Still Friends

(Conversation between me and the Ex, during which I ranted angrily about my plans to off myself since I was quite certain God was trying to kill me anyways)

Me: I didn't give up on life! Life gave up on me!

The Ex: Ah, the hobo's credo.

Yum!

Dear Corazon:

Thanks so much for coming over last night and bringing dinner! Those hot dogs were delicious. I am so happy I finally got to use my grill! (I actually used it again to make hot dogs for lunch today.)

You are the best!

xoxo
City Elf