Hi all,
So, my throat is sore and my head is spacey, and ironically this is making it difficult for me to focus on the book I have with me, called The Body in Pain, by Elaine Scarry. Instead, I think I will make a nice survey for you to take, if you feel so inclined. And I will answer my own questions now, so as to be fair and not pave a road with good intentions like the last time.
1. Close your eyes. Turn your head slightly to the right. Open them. What do you see? A white table, chairs with gray cushions, a sign detailing what is prohibited in Cabot Science Library.
2. Are you reading a good book now? What is it? I am almost done with Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie, but can't quite bring myself to finish it. I think this is because it is the last novel I have to read for class, and beyond that it's all scholarly stuff. Not that I'm not reading the scholarly stuff now, but somehow this is psychologically relevant.
3. It's 2008. Do you believe this? Not really. I mean, I get the date right when I write it down or something, but I think sometimes I still believe it is 2004, when I graduated Bryn Mawr. I don't know why, but when I pick up a book or something that was written in 2004, I'm always like, wow, that's really new... wait... it's not.
4. Do you want to do a paper about Christian tattoos as icons? No.
5. Is it abnormally warm today where you live? Yes!
6. Have you ever been in a serious physical fight? Tell me about it. Why did it happen? What did it feel like? If you've been in many, pick one. I have not been in a serious physical fight. I have been in play-fights, and they feel like there's this energy I always carry that is suddenly focused, absorbed, and released.
7. Can you see out a window right now? If so, describe the first person you see out the window. If there's no person, or no window, tell me who is not there. I see a woman in a denim jacket with red-brown hair, walking on the rock fountain with a child who is out of view. I was going to make up a story about her, but it seems suddenly disrespectful.
8. What is right in front of you that you love? Right now I feel warmly toward this man sitting in a chair with his hands interlaced on top of his bald spot. He is wearing a tan jacket, a button down shirt of an indescribable browny-gray color, and a watch.
9. What is right in front of you that you find perplexing? I am perplexed by two small squares of velcro affixed to the circulation desk.
10. Are you tired? Yes.
11. When is the last time you made a conscious decision to lie? Why did you do so? It was a couple of weeks ago. I did it to preserve a man's good opinion of me across difficulties of language, culture, religion, sexual mores, etc. I did it to make my life easier. I don't know if it has or not.
12. What worries you right now? I am worried because I feel like I have a cold or something, and I need to be healthy when I go to Baltimore. I am worried about my school work. I am worried about the future.
13. What pleases you right now? I am pleased to be wearing shoes, not boots. I am pleased by the feel of the rim of the little garbage can against the arches of my feet. I am pleased that my shift is over in 45 minutes. I am pleased by seeing Charlotte every day, and I am pleased to be home with Rachel and Amy. In a general sense, not right at this moment, clearly.
14. What can you hear right now? Security guards discussing politics. It's interesting.
15. What (approximately) was happening in your life 5 years ago? I was 20 years old... I was still in Europe, I think, travelling with Rachel and Katie. Now I want to look up and see exactly where we were, or if we were coming back yet. I'm going to guess that it was a later part of the trip, perhaps Berlin or Paris or Dublin. Was it in Ireland that Katie told us about this blackcurrent ale or cider or something? And we got some in a pub? I remember the way the streets looked in Dublin, somehow, more than anything else. And I remember that statue of Oscar Wilde. That was in Dublin, right?
16. Has anything fundamentally changed about your emotional life since then? That's a hard question. But I have no one to blame for it but myself. I think I'm on a little more of an even keel than I was then, but fundamentally... I'm not sure that anything is fundamentally changed. Or, I think the way I understand my emotions is a bit different, but the sensations themselves are not, really. Oh... I have noticed that I am much more easily moved by things than I used to be. I find myself tearing up over lots of things, on TV or whatever, that never would have produced such a reaction before. I don't know why that is, but I think it has something to do with getting older, having a range of experiences that stretch out to contact more than they could before, and... something I can't describe, something about a broader awareness of just how vulnerable we are, of just how bad things can be. (That doesn't explain what I want to explain at all, and sounds weird. But still.)
17. Do you have any secret that you have never told anyone, at all, ever, even anonymously? I honestly didn't think so as I was writing that, but now I am thinking of things that I don't think I ever told anyone. However, I don't have anything that is a constant presence with me, that I have never told anyone, at all, ever, even anonymously.
18. Have you ever hugged a book? Yep.
19. Thrown one across the room? Yep.
20. Hit one? Yes.
21. Kissed one? I think so.
22. Destroyed one on purpose? No.
23. Yelled at one? Yes.
24. Refused to continue reading at one point due to a moral objection to certain events, but then just had to get back to it? Would I make up such a question if the answer was no? It was The Witching Hour by Anne Rice.
25. Have you done all those things to other people? I have not thrown a person across the room, nor destroyed one on purpose. And... this is interesting... I don't think I have ever explicitly refused to associate with someone because of moral objections. I think the only people I have had deep, sincere, lasting moral objections to with regard to their behavior have not been my friends. What does this mean?
26. What is the strangest thing you have ever hugged? Probably a dumbwaiter. It was a big one.
27. Kissed? A locker.
28. The very first time you were enamoured of someone, what did you do in immediate reaction? I ran weird circles around my room, sort of jumping over my bed, listening to an a capella tape of "For the Longest Time" and singing.
29. Name something unusual that had some influence in your sexual development. Lucius Cornelius Sulla.
30. And something cliched? Spin the Bottle. But I wasn't playing, really.
31. How about a minor guilty secret? Doesn't have to be about sex, just something not-huge that bugged you. Hmm... I never bought Annie on my Mind, in high school, even though I wanted to read it, because I didn't want the cashier to think I was a lesbian. And I thought that was dumb, especially since I was often buying books with gay men in them. But I still didn't buy it.
32. What about a small act of heroism? There was this man lying in the alleyway beside Merriam Theater, and everybody was sort of uncomfortably hoping he was ok and not dead and not in serious trouble, and I finally just went out myself and woke him up and made sure he was alright. That's pretty small, but it felt like kind of a big deal when everybody was older than me and technically more experienced in life.
That's all folks, time to leave work! Take my survey for a rip-roaring good time!
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas! (Or, random thoughts about my dad)
Here I am, with my beautiful new laptop, having beautiful internet in my very own room at home, and sadly my phone has to be plugged in around the corner and so at the moment is more awkward to reach than my computer... but no one is online to talk to me!
Well, that's not true... the automated moviefone thing is online, as is a person I only knew on the internet except for meeting once randomly in person, but with whom I have not spoken in any context for some time. And some people have away messages up.
But that's ok, because I have a delightful public-private inner-thoughts-to-outer-world forum to keep me company until my phone gets more charg-y. Or until I just get sleepy, and forget all the things I wanted to say, which seems to be happening right now.
It's been an interesting time so far. I spent some time with my dad Saturday and Sunday, and that was good. It's amazing how I can feel so connected to him in some ways, like when we talk about the big stuff of life and the spirit, which sounds, as such things often do, ridiculous to write down, except that I really mean it... and I feel like we're really sharing something important, and special, and we are... and then I try to tell him what I think about a movie, or what I'm doing next year, and it seems like we're communicating but suddenly he says something that has all the ingredients of what I've been saying, but isn't actually my point at all... and then I look at the picture we took together using Photo Booth, and our smiles do the same thing to our faces, our noses are the same, the stretch of our mouths... or I see him almost-sleeping on the couch and he moves his thumbs against each other restlessly like I know I do, or his feet, absurdly high arch tucked and rubbed against the top of the other foot, and that is just like me. And somehow all these things, connections, disconnections, awkwardness, alikeness-- come from the same person, in not even 48 hours. And he tells me he wants to know more about what I like and I am quiet, not knowing what to say. (We are talking about music, should I give a list?) And sometimes I think he creates an idea of me quite fully out of pieces of true things, and sometimes I think he knows me in ways I cannot know myself.
This is ironic, since part of our discussion, a real heart of it, was how you cannot see yourself, how if you look for the self you cannot find it, that self-hood itself (ha) and everything around it is created... but if there is no self, created by whom? This is one of those statements that should maybe come with warnings, like the Cloud of Unknowing: Don't read me or think about me unless you're way gung-ho about the whole spiritual path deal. Or maybe I'm just posturing. (Who is? Ha.)
He can irritate me intensely, and I am terribly afraid of displeasing him in some small way. He bought me beautiful shirts-- in size extra-large. I take a stupid pleasure in being more educated than he is, in thinking silently that I understand more while he speaks. Especially about eastern religions.
I can see now how crippled he has been, because he is not so big and full of power as he used to be. When he hugs me, he is still the strongest person in the world, the whole world still goes away. I think he is trying to protect me from his family, or protect himself through me. I think he has systematically removed me from their reach... he may be fully conscious of this, or totally unconscious, or I may be incredibly wrong.
I love him. I can't decide if that statement encompasses all of this I have said before, or not.
So, there's actually a lot more I have to say, about things other than my dad, like... my mom! ;) Well, and how Christmas Eve went and how it was singing at Mass and how my extended family is responding to my telling them about Charlotte with a wonderful outpouring of love and support so far... and how I got some cool presents at Jeff's family's party, and... well, but this will all have to wait.
In the meantime, the merriest of Christmases to you all! I love you! (Or I don't know you, but you can have some love too, if you want!)
Sunday, June 17, 2007
I love Armistead Maupin!
This is just a celebratory post to delight in the fact that Armistead Maupin has written a new book, called Michael Tolliver Lives. Rachel caught sight of it on display in the window belonging to Porter Square Books during a midnight excursion, and we both got so excited and started jumping up and down. It's narrated by Michael Tolliver, as you might imagine, and he is now 55! And that's all I will say, in case anyone wants to read it. I read it! It's lovely! :-D YAY ARMISTEAD!
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Red Planet
I meant and meant to post something substantial about my trip, and never did... so here's a reflection I read at our reflection lunch. I hope you enjoy the strengths of the genre, and forgive the weaknesses.
Cindy moves around me in the shell of her living room. Neither of us knows what to say. I have followed her inside to get a soda and because the sun has started to mummify my brain and because I have an urge to be with her. I hope that words will descend like little doves into the part of my sweat-slicked hair. They don’t. I scale down my apostolic ambitions and drink my Fresca.
“This soda is great,” I say. “It’s really hot out there.”
“I can’t even be out there five minutes before I’m ready to fall down,” she tells me. She is moving all around me, making a semi-circle of chairs against the backdrop of stripped walls and broken appliances. I feel it in the way her muscles clench and unclench while her eyes search around us—this desire to do something when it feels as though helplessness is nestled permanently against your pulse-point like a spoiled perfume.
We are all battling helplessness. Cindy is battling all the time, arranging chairs in an empty room, finding a scrap of life to maintain. Outside someone strategizes and attacks a fence; another undoes vines; a third engages in quixotic single combat with a large segment of tree snagged in the upper branches of another. The little dog Tiffy, as big as my hand and ridiculous in a red and white cheerleading costume, is a one-creature anti-helplessness army. Later, I battle beside Cindy in her dim, dusty garage. I am familiar with the piled-up remnants of an exploded life, but grimly I do battle. This is a box of electronic things; this is a box of soft things; this of paper. My categories are haphazard and desperate.
There are lots of laminated sheets with popular lyrics and guitar chords, and Cindy insists that they all be saved. The ink has run pink and purple on some, a mini-sunset.
“Do you sing?” I ask.
“I used to,” she said. “Sing and play guitar. I don’t anymore, since the hurricane.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I keep putting the sheets of paper into boxes. I don’t know which side I am fighting for by doing so. What is it about a hurricane that would make a person stop singing?
I find a bizarre little book that Cindy’s son made many years ago. Her son is seventeen now, moved out shortly after Katrina to live with his father. This book is trying to teach the Solar System and grammar at the same time. On one page, the subject of the sentence is underlined, and the subject of the sentence is also Mars. “Mars is the red planet because it is red,” Cindy’s son wrote.
I show Cindy. I want to plant a flag, do a dance. Solar System Grammar Book 1: Helplessness 0.
But let’s be honest. It’s important that if I’m going to talk you about something as pregnant with the possibility of self-righteousness as a service trip, that I be as honest as I can stand. I am not going to win against helplessness, and neither are you. A hurricane can push a house askew like I push a pile of papers. The structure of society can leave people in crumpled heaps like old Barbie dolls, limbs all twisted up, because lives we have labeled worthless prior to crisis will not suddenly, magically be saved when the water rises.
And that very labeling, I’m startled to find, is a weapon wielded by dangerously frightened people… against helplessness. Bear with me. When we go on service trips and clean years, we are fighting helplessness. When we build glittering mansions and mark them off with gates, with a different garden from every window, we are scratching at helplessness. When we stand on Bourbon St. with white crosses and scrolling neon messages about the sins of Babylon, we are crusading against helplessness. When we slip inside the topless bar next door, with a sign that promises to let us wash the girl of our choice, it is helplessness we seek to wrestle to submission.
For myself, I know I must resist the temptation to be virtuous. Pull on a vine of motivation, you will surely find another, and another, tangled in yourself and in others. Fight the helplessness of one storm, and another will come and melt your sand castle. I may not have known this at the time, but I didn’t go to Ocean Springs because it was the right thing to do. I went because it was something to do. Cindy, and Tiffy the dog, and her absent son, and Mars the red planet are not antidotes to helplessness. But they are something. I am having trouble describing what it is that they are, what we are and have been with them—perhaps that trouble is part of my point.
In the garage with Cindy, the Solar System Grammar book goes in the box with tax forms and letters and song lyrics. I find a picture of her son and we stand looking at it together. When we run out of things to say we keep speaking, straining to hear each other. This is within the battle, but this is not the battle. This is two women in a dirty old garage looking at a picture—helpless, still working. It’s reality—a true grace, a force as mysterious as a storm and rarely rose-colored except in beautifully running ink. Mars is called the red planet because it is red. I stand with Cindy. (Amen).
Cindy moves around me in the shell of her living room. Neither of us knows what to say. I have followed her inside to get a soda and because the sun has started to mummify my brain and because I have an urge to be with her. I hope that words will descend like little doves into the part of my sweat-slicked hair. They don’t. I scale down my apostolic ambitions and drink my Fresca.
“This soda is great,” I say. “It’s really hot out there.”
“I can’t even be out there five minutes before I’m ready to fall down,” she tells me. She is moving all around me, making a semi-circle of chairs against the backdrop of stripped walls and broken appliances. I feel it in the way her muscles clench and unclench while her eyes search around us—this desire to do something when it feels as though helplessness is nestled permanently against your pulse-point like a spoiled perfume.
We are all battling helplessness. Cindy is battling all the time, arranging chairs in an empty room, finding a scrap of life to maintain. Outside someone strategizes and attacks a fence; another undoes vines; a third engages in quixotic single combat with a large segment of tree snagged in the upper branches of another. The little dog Tiffy, as big as my hand and ridiculous in a red and white cheerleading costume, is a one-creature anti-helplessness army. Later, I battle beside Cindy in her dim, dusty garage. I am familiar with the piled-up remnants of an exploded life, but grimly I do battle. This is a box of electronic things; this is a box of soft things; this of paper. My categories are haphazard and desperate.
There are lots of laminated sheets with popular lyrics and guitar chords, and Cindy insists that they all be saved. The ink has run pink and purple on some, a mini-sunset.
“Do you sing?” I ask.
“I used to,” she said. “Sing and play guitar. I don’t anymore, since the hurricane.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I keep putting the sheets of paper into boxes. I don’t know which side I am fighting for by doing so. What is it about a hurricane that would make a person stop singing?
I find a bizarre little book that Cindy’s son made many years ago. Her son is seventeen now, moved out shortly after Katrina to live with his father. This book is trying to teach the Solar System and grammar at the same time. On one page, the subject of the sentence is underlined, and the subject of the sentence is also Mars. “Mars is the red planet because it is red,” Cindy’s son wrote.
I show Cindy. I want to plant a flag, do a dance. Solar System Grammar Book 1: Helplessness 0.
But let’s be honest. It’s important that if I’m going to talk you about something as pregnant with the possibility of self-righteousness as a service trip, that I be as honest as I can stand. I am not going to win against helplessness, and neither are you. A hurricane can push a house askew like I push a pile of papers. The structure of society can leave people in crumpled heaps like old Barbie dolls, limbs all twisted up, because lives we have labeled worthless prior to crisis will not suddenly, magically be saved when the water rises.
And that very labeling, I’m startled to find, is a weapon wielded by dangerously frightened people… against helplessness. Bear with me. When we go on service trips and clean years, we are fighting helplessness. When we build glittering mansions and mark them off with gates, with a different garden from every window, we are scratching at helplessness. When we stand on Bourbon St. with white crosses and scrolling neon messages about the sins of Babylon, we are crusading against helplessness. When we slip inside the topless bar next door, with a sign that promises to let us wash the girl of our choice, it is helplessness we seek to wrestle to submission.
For myself, I know I must resist the temptation to be virtuous. Pull on a vine of motivation, you will surely find another, and another, tangled in yourself and in others. Fight the helplessness of one storm, and another will come and melt your sand castle. I may not have known this at the time, but I didn’t go to Ocean Springs because it was the right thing to do. I went because it was something to do. Cindy, and Tiffy the dog, and her absent son, and Mars the red planet are not antidotes to helplessness. But they are something. I am having trouble describing what it is that they are, what we are and have been with them—perhaps that trouble is part of my point.
In the garage with Cindy, the Solar System Grammar book goes in the box with tax forms and letters and song lyrics. I find a picture of her son and we stand looking at it together. When we run out of things to say we keep speaking, straining to hear each other. This is within the battle, but this is not the battle. This is two women in a dirty old garage looking at a picture—helpless, still working. It’s reality—a true grace, a force as mysterious as a storm and rarely rose-colored except in beautifully running ink. Mars is called the red planet because it is red. I stand with Cindy. (Amen).
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Dreamtime in Examtime
First, I dreamed that I was a teenage girl in a big family with lots of aunts. I'm not sure which of these aunts if any was actually my mother. I think my parents might have been dead. But I kept being surprised at how many aunts we had, of all different ages, some with very unusual names. They were all sisters, I think, as opposed to marrying in or something. Anyway, I had this cousin, a boy my age, but he was in Charlotte's body. We might have even been performing, but it seemed much more real than that. So, this boy reminded me of Jesus, and also the narrator from The Life of Pi, he was just... wise, and kind of otherworldly and sparkling and he seemed to know everything. We went to some kind of public event and somebody there was speaking a Native American language, and he just jumped in and started speaking it too.
We were very close and always hung around together, and I was kind of crazy in love with him. And at some point for some reason things were getting more pressing... one of our aunts had died and there was a funeral, and I don't know if I thought he was going to be taken away or maybe actually harmed or what, but I decided I had to tell him how I felt. It was my suspicion that he wasn't actually blood related to us, but I cared more about that because of other people, not because I was personally terribly worried about the idea of incest. This suspicion arose out of the fact that he had been found in a field as an infant, and all of the aunts assumed he was one of theirs. (I'm sure this came from the Ramayana, in which Sita is found in a field.) But I took him aside and I told him how much I loved him, in this startlingly (to me, anyway) poetic way, and he just sort of smiled his beautiful smile, which I think I took as some kind of assent because I startled making plans for our escape together... I remember I kept going farther that I intended to, and was saying things like "when we're 40 or 50," which I was nervous about because I thought it was weird, but it felt completely instinctive because I was so passionate about him, and also so... natural, it felt so natural to be with him.
So, I don't really know what happened with that, because at some point it switched and I was more me, and Uncut Pages was putting on a show in a fitness club in Philly, except the room we were in was extremely nice and had beautiful wooden floors. And it was kind of a benefit/revue of various shows we'd done, although I think most of the stuff we were doing was not from any shows we have actually done. It had a lot of dancing in a line, sort of chorus numbers but with plot. The audience was really into it, and suddenly someone was like, "Where's Dilexi?" And we were startled and a little awkward for some reason even though Lilah and I were both there. I think this may have been because we didn't have the cape. I remember thinking that I had considered bringing the cape but then hadn't because it was too big to pack. But Lilah was wearing a shirt with fancy sleeves, and she stepped up and started playing Dilexi. And we were sort of dancing around her, and then she fell backwards behind some kind of tree or bush that was in the room (as part of the bit, I think), and she started crying like a baby... I don't mean a lot, as that phrase usually does, but I mean in the manner of a baby, with her mouth open enormously wide and stuff. And I was so impressed by what she was doing, both the acting ability and the symbolic choice I decided she was making about Dilexi's rebirth or something.
So I went over and was going to hold her head, like I would for a baby. I don't know why that was the thing to do, but she started freaking out because as Dilexi she didn't want to be touched. Anyway, the audience was really responsive, so after we asked them how many had seen Dilexi and/or were previous fans of our work. And a bunch raised their hands... It was like, 30-40% of this random group of people in the health club. I was impressed and sort of baffled, and thinking maybe we should have worked harder to perform in Philly again, because we apparently had such a fan base there.
And that's about when I woke up!
We were very close and always hung around together, and I was kind of crazy in love with him. And at some point for some reason things were getting more pressing... one of our aunts had died and there was a funeral, and I don't know if I thought he was going to be taken away or maybe actually harmed or what, but I decided I had to tell him how I felt. It was my suspicion that he wasn't actually blood related to us, but I cared more about that because of other people, not because I was personally terribly worried about the idea of incest. This suspicion arose out of the fact that he had been found in a field as an infant, and all of the aunts assumed he was one of theirs. (I'm sure this came from the Ramayana, in which Sita is found in a field.) But I took him aside and I told him how much I loved him, in this startlingly (to me, anyway) poetic way, and he just sort of smiled his beautiful smile, which I think I took as some kind of assent because I startled making plans for our escape together... I remember I kept going farther that I intended to, and was saying things like "when we're 40 or 50," which I was nervous about because I thought it was weird, but it felt completely instinctive because I was so passionate about him, and also so... natural, it felt so natural to be with him.
So, I don't really know what happened with that, because at some point it switched and I was more me, and Uncut Pages was putting on a show in a fitness club in Philly, except the room we were in was extremely nice and had beautiful wooden floors. And it was kind of a benefit/revue of various shows we'd done, although I think most of the stuff we were doing was not from any shows we have actually done. It had a lot of dancing in a line, sort of chorus numbers but with plot. The audience was really into it, and suddenly someone was like, "Where's Dilexi?" And we were startled and a little awkward for some reason even though Lilah and I were both there. I think this may have been because we didn't have the cape. I remember thinking that I had considered bringing the cape but then hadn't because it was too big to pack. But Lilah was wearing a shirt with fancy sleeves, and she stepped up and started playing Dilexi. And we were sort of dancing around her, and then she fell backwards behind some kind of tree or bush that was in the room (as part of the bit, I think), and she started crying like a baby... I don't mean a lot, as that phrase usually does, but I mean in the manner of a baby, with her mouth open enormously wide and stuff. And I was so impressed by what she was doing, both the acting ability and the symbolic choice I decided she was making about Dilexi's rebirth or something.
So I went over and was going to hold her head, like I would for a baby. I don't know why that was the thing to do, but she started freaking out because as Dilexi she didn't want to be touched. Anyway, the audience was really responsive, so after we asked them how many had seen Dilexi and/or were previous fans of our work. And a bunch raised their hands... It was like, 30-40% of this random group of people in the health club. I was impressed and sort of baffled, and thinking maybe we should have worked harder to perform in Philly again, because we apparently had such a fan base there.
And that's about when I woke up!
Monday, April 02, 2007
Twenty-Four Things I Have Experienced in the Past Twenty-Four Hours
I have...
1. talked theology until 3 AM
2. seen a visual representation of Krsna as ultimate transcendent divinity
3. skinned my knee
4. walked in stocking feet on the wet, cold ground chanting "walk walk walk" to keep myself going
5. had a moment of complete understanding and connection with what my professor was saying
6. heard a description of what it was like to be in Iraq with a rocket zooming overhead from a classmate sitting next to me, directed only to me
7. received an adorable stuffed chick dressed in bunny ears that chirps when you press its middle
8. been invited to two parties
9. eaten soup
10. been walked in on in the bathroom
11. thrown my books on the floor both to get them out of my hands and to hear them bang
12. not attended a rehearsal I was (somewhat surprisingly) looking forward to
13. counted out almost my last non-penny, non-foreign change for a bag of m&ms and a bottle of ginger ale
14. worn a new skirt for the first time
15. given a present
16. fallen asleep while reading the Gospel of John
17. made my bed
18. mentally compared the discourse of a divine being to the way I try to introduce bizarre statements to my friends, and then attempted to explain this out loud
19. forgotten (again) to take my sleeping bag up from the dryer
20. touched a very fuzzy sweater
21. seen Rachel for the first time in over a week
22. photocopied almost 100 pages
23. Learned that Thessalonians come from Thessalonica.
24. Been almost too tired to finish my list.
1. talked theology until 3 AM
2. seen a visual representation of Krsna as ultimate transcendent divinity
3. skinned my knee
4. walked in stocking feet on the wet, cold ground chanting "walk walk walk" to keep myself going
5. had a moment of complete understanding and connection with what my professor was saying
6. heard a description of what it was like to be in Iraq with a rocket zooming overhead from a classmate sitting next to me, directed only to me
7. received an adorable stuffed chick dressed in bunny ears that chirps when you press its middle
8. been invited to two parties
9. eaten soup
10. been walked in on in the bathroom
11. thrown my books on the floor both to get them out of my hands and to hear them bang
12. not attended a rehearsal I was (somewhat surprisingly) looking forward to
13. counted out almost my last non-penny, non-foreign change for a bag of m&ms and a bottle of ginger ale
14. worn a new skirt for the first time
15. given a present
16. fallen asleep while reading the Gospel of John
17. made my bed
18. mentally compared the discourse of a divine being to the way I try to introduce bizarre statements to my friends, and then attempted to explain this out loud
19. forgotten (again) to take my sleeping bag up from the dryer
20. touched a very fuzzy sweater
21. seen Rachel for the first time in over a week
22. photocopied almost 100 pages
23. Learned that Thessalonians come from Thessalonica.
24. Been almost too tired to finish my list.
Friday, March 09, 2007
I'm Not Sure if This Dream was Sexy or Sad...
So, I dreamed that I was a male servant in this well-to-do household in some unspecified older-seeming time... I want to say maybe Victorian or just-post-Victorian, which time might also have a name, but I don't know it. I also think it's interesting that it seems like English queens are more likely to have time periods named after them than English kings. And be sort of fetishized and venerated in general. Not that kings don't/aren't, but... well, this has nothing to do with my dream.
Even though this household just seemed like an ordinary very wealthy household, as opposed to a palace or something, I called the youngest son of the family, and perhaps the older one as well, prince. I'm not sure about the older one. I also feel like this was a real title and not something I concocted out of affection, but I'm a little unclear.
You see, I was in love with the younger prince (who was of an age where this was appropriate, or at least not creepy), and I hated the older prince (huh, I guess he was a prince) because he tended to humiliate his brother and perhaps even manipulated him sexually, I'm not positive. Though I think in the dream I was sure this was going on. So I tried to do what I could to make life easier for the younger prince, and generally pined and watched him mature and kind of shake off the control of his older brother at last.
Then one day he came to my room (I think it was my room, though the bed seemed rather big and nice for a servant's bed), and he was sitting on my bed and talking to me, and I was just sort of smoldering with desire for him, and then he suddenly did initiate some kind of sexual contact. I'm not sure if he kissed me or what. It was the sort of thing where it moved so quickly from my desires to my reality in a way I didn't think was possible, so it was hard to pinpoint the initial details exactly. And he lay me down on the bed and lay over me... and this was funny, because I actually remember the part of my brain that still knew I was not a male servant about to have sex with another man trying to figure out if the exact position we were in was appropriate for sex between men. And then deciding that in any case it would be very pleasurable (as my male servant self awareness was indicating) and that we could move around later if necessary.
Anyway, that was probably more detail than you wanted, especially those of you dropping in from other countries, but we commenced this sexual relationship, and after that I was lying there next to him and he was sort of holding me from behind, and I said, "I love you, but you don't (or can't, I'm not sure which I said) love me." I remember saying this very calmly, because I guess I wanted to get it out of the way and not make a scene, and I wanted to say it myself so I didn't have to hear him saying it. And of course part of me was hoping that he would contradict me instead of agreeing, but he sort of kept me very close in his arms and put his cheek against my shoulder and nodded, so that I could feel it but not see it. And then I think we had sex again.
This relationship continued for some time, and although I thought I was happy about it, I think I was actually getting more and more upset about the not being loved thing, but I didn't want to give up sleeping with him, so I didn't know what to do. And I still had so much desire for him. But at some point when we were in bed together I just started crying, and he was upset/sympathetic in this way that reminded me that I had always been the one to take care of him emotionally, and in a sense I ended up doing that again, even though he was trying to be comforting to me. And of course the idea that he was comforting me because he couldn't love me was not pleasant, either. So at that point I think I started to get fairly depressed, because I couldn't seem to end the relationship or stop having feelings for him, but there was always the reminder of his superior status and the fact that I didn't mean to him what he meant to me, and probably never would. And I managed to go about my duties in the household normally, but fairly often when we were together I would quietly fall apart.
Wow, this dream is sounding more maudlin as I write it out... but anyway, finally, he came to tell me he was in love with someone else, who I think was also a man, like maybe some guy he was training with in the army (not sure when the army came into it) or something, and maybe also that he was going to have to get married soon. But he was very excited and happy, even though he was trying to break this to me gently, and his youthful exuberance was impossible to conceal, as well as the fact that he moved so quickly from one thing to the next. It was like he had come to thank me for being a part of his life, and his sexual development, or whatever, and move on. And this was just so horrible that I really lost it, even though I hadn't been rationally expecting anything else. But I started yelling at him, and crying, and I was really bothered at the same time by the fact that I was getting so out of control, but I was also somewhat pleased to actually confront him instead of just trying to suffer as quietly as possible under his well-intended horribleness. I think he was very surprised, and maybe started to yell back, but it was around then that I woke up.
Hmm. Now that dream just sounds bizarre, but it was very compelling at the time. I hope you enjoyed reading about it.
Even though this household just seemed like an ordinary very wealthy household, as opposed to a palace or something, I called the youngest son of the family, and perhaps the older one as well, prince. I'm not sure about the older one. I also feel like this was a real title and not something I concocted out of affection, but I'm a little unclear.
You see, I was in love with the younger prince (who was of an age where this was appropriate, or at least not creepy), and I hated the older prince (huh, I guess he was a prince) because he tended to humiliate his brother and perhaps even manipulated him sexually, I'm not positive. Though I think in the dream I was sure this was going on. So I tried to do what I could to make life easier for the younger prince, and generally pined and watched him mature and kind of shake off the control of his older brother at last.
Then one day he came to my room (I think it was my room, though the bed seemed rather big and nice for a servant's bed), and he was sitting on my bed and talking to me, and I was just sort of smoldering with desire for him, and then he suddenly did initiate some kind of sexual contact. I'm not sure if he kissed me or what. It was the sort of thing where it moved so quickly from my desires to my reality in a way I didn't think was possible, so it was hard to pinpoint the initial details exactly. And he lay me down on the bed and lay over me... and this was funny, because I actually remember the part of my brain that still knew I was not a male servant about to have sex with another man trying to figure out if the exact position we were in was appropriate for sex between men. And then deciding that in any case it would be very pleasurable (as my male servant self awareness was indicating) and that we could move around later if necessary.
Anyway, that was probably more detail than you wanted, especially those of you dropping in from other countries, but we commenced this sexual relationship, and after that I was lying there next to him and he was sort of holding me from behind, and I said, "I love you, but you don't (or can't, I'm not sure which I said) love me." I remember saying this very calmly, because I guess I wanted to get it out of the way and not make a scene, and I wanted to say it myself so I didn't have to hear him saying it. And of course part of me was hoping that he would contradict me instead of agreeing, but he sort of kept me very close in his arms and put his cheek against my shoulder and nodded, so that I could feel it but not see it. And then I think we had sex again.
This relationship continued for some time, and although I thought I was happy about it, I think I was actually getting more and more upset about the not being loved thing, but I didn't want to give up sleeping with him, so I didn't know what to do. And I still had so much desire for him. But at some point when we were in bed together I just started crying, and he was upset/sympathetic in this way that reminded me that I had always been the one to take care of him emotionally, and in a sense I ended up doing that again, even though he was trying to be comforting to me. And of course the idea that he was comforting me because he couldn't love me was not pleasant, either. So at that point I think I started to get fairly depressed, because I couldn't seem to end the relationship or stop having feelings for him, but there was always the reminder of his superior status and the fact that I didn't mean to him what he meant to me, and probably never would. And I managed to go about my duties in the household normally, but fairly often when we were together I would quietly fall apart.
Wow, this dream is sounding more maudlin as I write it out... but anyway, finally, he came to tell me he was in love with someone else, who I think was also a man, like maybe some guy he was training with in the army (not sure when the army came into it) or something, and maybe also that he was going to have to get married soon. But he was very excited and happy, even though he was trying to break this to me gently, and his youthful exuberance was impossible to conceal, as well as the fact that he moved so quickly from one thing to the next. It was like he had come to thank me for being a part of his life, and his sexual development, or whatever, and move on. And this was just so horrible that I really lost it, even though I hadn't been rationally expecting anything else. But I started yelling at him, and crying, and I was really bothered at the same time by the fact that I was getting so out of control, but I was also somewhat pleased to actually confront him instead of just trying to suffer as quietly as possible under his well-intended horribleness. I think he was very surprised, and maybe started to yell back, but it was around then that I woke up.
Hmm. Now that dream just sounds bizarre, but it was very compelling at the time. I hope you enjoyed reading about it.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Get Well, Grandma
I found out today that my Grandma had a mini-stroke. She's doing much better now, apparently, but it really scared her and everybody else. Not much to say about it right now, but I just wanted to solicit some thoughts and prayers for her and my family, if you would be so kind.
Random people from other continents, that goes double for you.
I'm gonna give her a call tomorrow... I hope everything is still on an up-swing. I love you, Grandma.
Random people from other continents, that goes double for you.
I'm gonna give her a call tomorrow... I hope everything is still on an up-swing. I love you, Grandma.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
My Valentine, In Fact, Is In All Ways Better Than The Aforementioned.
I was taught, never brag or shout,
still it's hot, just like how you read about,
and also caring, and never too uncouth,
that's the simple truth.
Can you tell, I have been revised?
It's so swell, dammit, even I'm surprised.
We laugh, we fumble, we take it day by day...
What more can I say?
--William Finn
Happy Valentine's Day, darling.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Happy Valentine's Day to Me... and to You. :)
I think it started when I was walking home from the gym on Monday. It felt great to exercise, and I felt suddenly healthier and more capable in the world. Then, as I was walking home, I saw the most beautiful silver-white moon against a dark blue sky. And spindly trees stretching up to touch it. It felt wonderful. I was suddenly at peace, and happy to be by myself, experiencing this lovely night.
I had been feeling some trepidiation about Valentine's Day. I'd been in a generally gray mood lately, quick to self-pity and slow to relaxation. And the thing is, I've never, never been one to complain about Valentine's Day. I like it, and I'm always remembered, even if it's never been romantically meant. But this year... I was feeling complainy. Rachel has a girlfriend, and my other friends are occupied on Tuesday nights, or not at all in the area. I was getting antsy about the idea of being alone. Quite frankly, I thought maybe the day might suck, and I was rather displeased with myself for joining the ranks of the alone-on-Valentine's complainers. But, as it approached, I began to notice how much care I was getting from all different sources. Two adorable cards from my mom, a present from Jeff (her boyfriend), a really hilarious card from Bekah, a card from my aunt and uncle (who always remember me on Valentine's Day), the promise of mail from Katie (which has now come! a wonderful, thoughtful card), and really beautiful and tender cards from Rachel, too. I've never really done much for Valentine's Day in terms of gifts or cards for others, and it touched me that all these people would be so thoughtful and kind and loving to me.
So, on the lovely walk home on Monday, I decided I would take myself out for Valentine's Day, and buy myself a present. I was thinking about comfortable and sexy lingerie, as I have none. I thought maybe I would also take myself to dinner, and see if anything else appealed to me, like seeing a movie or some kind of event. I also had this sudden and striking thought, in the way that sometimes words just appear in your head... that I had no idea what my romantic life would hold. I had no idea who I would end up loving in that way... it could be a man, as I have mostly assumed and sought, but it could also be a woman, which seems oddly more possible (in terms of my own internal compass) now that I am not at Bryn Mawr... it could even, though it's hard for me to imagine, be more than one person... anything was possible. But whatever it will be, the fact that it hasn't started yet is not a judgement on me... it just means there's a surprise coming, and knowing now would ruin the surprise. I don't know where this idea came from, but it was very clear and it felt very good.
Then, Valentine's Day itself started out fine. Almost everyone in the office wore red or pink, which was very pleasing. And I got a valentine from Courtney, with whom I don't even interact that much. But the highlight of the work portion of my day came when we were supposed to have a staff meeting, and instead we had a nice lunch/Valentine's party, courtesy of DeVida. It was yummy and exciting.
Throughout the day, I browsed online for activities and events happening in the evening, and I found this thing called Night of a Thousand Plays. Basically, it was many many little tiny plays (though not actually 1,000) all performed one after the other, by different groups of actors. I was kind of intrigued, though I had no idea whether this format would actually work for me. But they had a half price Valentine's Day special, and I decided to print out the coupon and see if I felt like going when it came time. Meanwhile, I was talking online to this man who had messaged me while I was messing around on Okcupid, with whom I had hit it off decently in our brief conversation... and I mentioned the show, and he seemed interested. So I invited him. And he said yes. Boom, Valentine's Day date. :) I was so surprised! We decided to meet for dinner and he gave me his number and his name (Swami, short for something really really long and Indian).
The plan we made was that I would go to the theater after work and try to pick up the tickets. I did, but the box office was not yet open. So I called him and we set a time to meet for dinner. Of course, there wasn't time to go home and change. Happily, I was wearing a new red skirt and nice shirt, but less happily, I was wearing my very very beat up and scuffed snow boots. I haven't bought new ones yet because I can get spendthrifty about shoes and clothes and I figured, hey, they're still workable. Which they are. But last night, I was suddenly very self-conscious and worried about them. So I found a shoe store, and went in. The cheapest shoes I found in there were over $100, and most were $300 or $400. Um, no. I'm even used to more high end shoes, or so I thought, because my foot is sometimes hard to fit. But PLEASE. What could they possible have done to a few pieces of nice leather or whatever to make it worth $300? NOTHING, at least not from where I and my bank account stand. So I got out of there, beginning to despair of my shoe changing plan... when I turned a corner and saw an Aerosoles shoe store! I went in, and found lovely little red suede boots, with tassels, in my size, for $30. So I bought them. And some tan trouser socks. And popped over to the McDonald's bathroom to change them, stuffing my mismatched cotton socks and scuffed up boots into the Aerosoles bag. Feeling new and spiffy, I hurried out to meet Swami by 6:30.
When I arrived at the appointed corner, at first I saw only an old man. But then I caught sight of a young man on the opposite side of the road, surveying everyone who passed. We ascertained our mutual identities and he came over to my side of the street. To my delight, he was handsome! He had dark, full, wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long eyelashes. He gave me a hug hello, which was interesting to me, because I had been debating between a hug and a handshake. We headed down the street to a little Italian restaurant right across from the theater, and got seats even though we didn't have a reservation. It was a really pretty, cozy place, and all the waitstaff were very friendly.
We talked throughout the meal about various things. He's really smart. I mean, he's about to get his PhD from Penn in physics (he'll be done in December) and he's only 25. Apparently in India he just had this really driven life and had to go go go all the time... and now that he's here, he's sort of sick of science and he doesn't really want to keep on with it as a career. He's more interested in the artistic arena, apparently, and tried many things before he settled on this improvisational jazz thing that he does. He plays percussion. But it's funny how I could notice his scientific training coming through in his way of perceiving and noticing things. For example, there was a candle on our table, and we were watching the light come through the candleholder and splinter into little points on the tabletop. And suddenly he tells me that he did a project on why light does that in just that way. It was kind of fascinating. He also told me that he loved to play with fire as a child and he has little scars on his hands from it. Which sounds like he's way more edgy than he mostly seemed, and I'd almost forgotten that until I wrote it down here.
We also talked about adjusting to a new culture, and movies... he asked if I thought he should see Brokeback Mountain, and of course I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, and then that led to an interesting discussion of how he has trouble connecting emotionally to gay stories. He basically said that he can understand and accept it intellectually, but emotionally he hasn't made that connection. So... I tried to indicate how connected I am to such matters without exactly saying "some of my best friends are gay." Though that's basically what I said, because even though it sounds silly, it's absolutely true. And he hastily assured me that he lived in an "artists' house" and that most of the time when they had parties there were gay people making out all over the place... though it didn't seem he was entirely comfortable with this. Yet, he could hardly be entirely uncomfortable or he wouldn't have brought up Brokeback Mountain, I suppose. Anyway, we had a pretty lively talk about the movie, and how I really thought he should see it because I think it's ideal for making exactly that emotional connection. He expressed some skepticism about "Oscar movies" in general, which I found a bit pretentious, but you can't win 'em all, right? This discussion led me to ask about cultural differences in this area of thought between India and the US, and he said that, because men and women were mostly kept apart until marriage, the bonds between male friends there are much more at the level of intimacy that is expected between female friends here. I think this is really interesting, though it makes me wonder if he had much contact with women his own age before coming here.
We also talked quite a bit about the intellect, and what kind of importance it has to us, or has had in the past... he said that for his whole life he has been so focused on the intellect as the paramount thing, but now he realizes that it is not the most important thing, and he really wants to branch out and explore other parts of himself. It's funny, because he's obviously excellent in an academic environment, but I got this strong sense of him being, more than anything, sick of it. I told him about my decision to take time off after Bryn Mawr. I think, in a lot of ways, he's in a similar mental place now as I was then, even though he's light years ahead in terms of the schooling he has finished. Although from how he speaks, his work in physics is never going to be his life commitment, or even his job beyond a few money making years. He said something about wanting to work for a few years and save up money to do something else, like open a restaurant. That surprised me, since he also said he didn't like/know how to cook. So I don't know what's up with that. Really, it seemed like his real love was this percussion/improvisation/free jazz thing. I find this kind of fascinating, because I can see that trait in him (starting with the fact that he was often drumming with his fingers and working out a rhythm in pauses in conversation, especially in the theater and once we were out of the restaurant). According to him, he just decided that science was not his thing (which continues to astonish me, given how far he's going with it), and that he wished to engage artisticially. He then tried writing and painting, among other things, and finally hit on his affinity for music. Maybe this is baffling to me because I had my strongest affinities from a very young age... the first thing I was going to be was an actress who writes her own plays. And, the way Swami tells it, he was all science science science, and then one day decided art was it for him, instead. It's a very different sort of experience.
He asked me lots of questions, but I think I did the same. There were a few awkward pauses, but less than you might expect for two total strangers. Overall, I really enjoyed it. He was an interesting combination of being rather shy-seeming and a little deferent (sp??) on the one hand, and being sort of suddenly extremely committed to his opinion (the Oscar movie thing, for example). And dinner was quite excellent. I had lobster ravioli, and he had some kind of other seafood/pasta dish. Oh, this was kind of odd- at the beginning of the meal, when we were looking at the menus, I asked him if he wanted to get wine. He responded right away by saying he didn't drink. I said ok. Then he said I could get it if I wanted to, of course. Then he said he would have wine if I picked one for him that wasn't too strong. He said he was happy to try things but he didn't like them too strong. So I picked cabernet sauvingnon for myself, and then asked the waitress if she had a suggestion for a sweeter, less dry wine. She seemed very confused about what I was asking, for some reason, and finally pointed one out that said "dry" in the description. So I had no idea what was going on there, and I decided to order him chardonnay, since I find that sweet and in general white is sweeter and more palatable to less enthusiastic wine drinkers than red. I don't know if he liked it. He ate like a bird... only about half his entree (I find many restaurant entrees big, but this was just the right size, to me) and maybe half of his wine. I polished off my whole entree and my whole glass of wine, which, just to give you a picture, came in a glass the size of my head. I mean, it was not full, of course. But his came in this tiny, delicate wine glass. I know it's something I would understand if I knew more about wine, but it was odd. I had the briefest moment of being insecure about my dramatically larger appetite, but it passed quickly. I was hungry, and I decided to be ok with that. :-) I think it was interesting (word of the day, sorry), too, that were had this sort of odd back and forth in who took what kind of role in the evening. I mean, I invited him, made the plans, ordered his wine, and paid for his theater ticket. He, on the other hand, carried my shopping bag, paid for dinner, stood on the bus behind me instead of sitting somewhere else, and initiated all of the (awkwardly executed yet warm and pleasant) cuddling that took place during the play. So I don't know. I probably wouldn't be this obsessed with it if I didn't worry a little that he will suddenly turn into a real partriarchal type. Or, to be honest, that the cultural differences between us mean that he has expectations of women of which I'm fundamentally unaware. Well, who knows, I guess.
By the end of our dinner he'd expressed interest in my theological leanings (I told him about applying to grad school), and we discussed my thesis briefly. He latched onto the idea and said he could tell me about parallel situations in Indian religion and mythology. I'm super excited about that. I tried to explain it carefully and well, without assuming that he had or didn't have a base knowledge about Christianity. I can't wait to see what ideas he has about it...
Anyway, we finished up our dinner, and headed out. The waitress came running after me to give me a rose, which apparently she was supposed to bring to the table! I was thrilled! A pretty red rose, just for me, just because it was Valentine's Day and I was a woman and there. :-) Though I've also been thinking lately how men must sometimes feel less special than women, overall. I mean, I won't say that women don't still get the raw end of the deal, because we do, and I would trade being coddled for being powerful any day... but still. On Lost, there was this part with two men talking about the possible destruction of an Iraqi village in the first Gulf War. And the one said to the other, think of everyone who will be killed. Innocent women, children. And I thought, what about innocent men? What does it say that men are consistently told that women are somehow more "precious" than they are? I'm not saying I don't understand the concept of "women and children first," or whatever, but just as it is destructive to women to assume that we are inherantly sweet and innocent, it is destructive to men to assume that they are inherantly not, or that women have some kind of uncorrupted innocence/worth that men must seek to protect even at the expense of themselves, because men are powerful, and therefore not innocent. My dad said that as a kid he hated hearing that girls were "sugar and spice and everything nice" and boys were "snakes and snails and puppy dog's tails." He didn't understand why he didn't get to be nice things, too. Bah, the whole dualistic hierarchical gender system hurts everybody!
But that was a loooooong soapboxy tangent. I was delighted with my rose. Let's go back to that. ;-) We went to the show, and I insisted on paying for his ticket (it was, after all, still much less than the meal). It was at the Adrienne, in this space called the Playground, which was a really nice little theater. I wanted to sit front and center, and he was startlingly adamant about sitting back (and side, which I thought would be the worst view), and we agreed at last to sit back and center. I wasn't sure why this was such an important thing to him, like, we were looking around and i was like, well, we could sit up front, and he was like, no. Back. It was odd. Aggressive reticence? I don't know.
The play was good. I know if you've made it this far you probably are getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in this post, but it was, and I feel I should say something about it, too, not just my date. For the first couple of little three minute (or so) bits, I wasn't sure if it would be good. Then either I wrapped my head around the format or they hit their stride or both. There was one that was basically ruined because for some reason one of the young women was on book, which was utterly distracting for us, for her, and for the other actors. And there were a bunch that fell flat. But there were also wonderfully hilarious ones, especially as the evening wore on. There was one that reminded me a lot of Dilexi, in a way! It started with this coffee barista trying to sell coffee to a rushed man. The man kept asking for something plain, and she would offer him a ridiculously complicated list of choices. It seemed a funny, if ordinary set-up. But then, the man remained calm, and the barista got all crazy, saying that he couldn't win, and the way the sketch had to go was that she kept offering him all these pointless choices until he became overwhelmed and collapsed to the ground. And then another woman came in and she and the man started flirting, and exchanged names, and the barista was freaking out because they weren't supposed to be able to do any of this... well, it was funny and exciting. The best one, hands down, was this one about a really reserved, precise man who got into a totally unexpected sexual situation... i was so funny and so well acted. There were also a couple of songs done by this guy who apparently was the musical director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I don't know where, but they seemed pretty proud of this, so maybe it was the original production. Anyway, he was very good.
And, true to his proclivities, I guess, it was during the musical numbers that Swami started snuggling up to me. As I said before, most of this was done rather oddly and awkwardly, but... I find him attractive, so it was nonetheless quite pleasant and I didn't mind. Though there was one moment where for some reason he started stroking my throat quite a bit, and that got weird, so I guided his hand away. But generally, aside from the awkward and abrupt way in which he intiated most of our contact, it was very gentle and nice and exploring, without being too much or going to the wrong places. And he smelled really good. ;-)
After the show we waited for the bus together, having discovered we live about three blocks apart! This got a bit long, and was the part of the evening where I was most aware of not being sure of what to talk about. But we finally got on the bus, and he stood behind me as aforementioned, and pet my head from time to time, and told me a bit about his family and also his taste in ice cream. Oh, yes, this is also when I though he was telling me something more about his grandmother's education, and I said "Wow" with a big smile, and then realized he was telling me that his grandmother had died. Whoops. That was my most awkward moment of the night. But we got over that, and when he left he bent and kissed my forehead before getting off, and we made plans to get together again sometime next week.
I was a happy camper coming home, and I put my rose in water and went online to tell people about my night... where I was promptly engaged in conversation by this other boy from Okcupid, and I found an email from a man who wanted a date for Margaret Garner (an opera I am so eager to see) saying that though he'd already gotten someone to go, I was really cute. And I still have to deal with Mark, who continues to call and email me though I haven't responded in a bit... (I know, it's not a good way to handle it. But I'm not used to this). I think that's the bottom line. This is all really great... but I'm not used to it! Apparently all of a sudden all I have to do for male attention is stretch out my hand... it's soooooooooo so so different from my previous experiences. Not that I'm complaining, but it's... weird. And I definitely want to see Swami again, but it all makes me a bit nervous as well. Like, I've gotten so used to being single I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be otherwise. Bah, I sound like I'm at least middle aged, and I'm not trying to be pretentious... but you know? It's true.
Ah, but all that aside, it was fun. It was fun fun fun and cozy and pleasant and I felt attractive and smart, even though he was definitely also attractive and probably smarter, or at least more educated. (God, at one point he was saying that he should learn a foreign language and I asked if he had studied any, and he was like, no, I just speak six Indian languages, completely serious, and I was l
Anyway, the whole thing left me grateful and happy: Grateful for my first "romantic" Valentine's Day, grateful for my truly wonderful friends and family, who are so central to my life, and grateful for the fact that I really, actually do enjoy my own company... and that I was willing to have a go at being lonely to figure that out.
:-) I wish you all the same sorts of experiences, in whatever way they work for you. And those of you who I know read this... I love you! Thank you for being in my life. It means the world.
I had been feeling some trepidiation about Valentine's Day. I'd been in a generally gray mood lately, quick to self-pity and slow to relaxation. And the thing is, I've never, never been one to complain about Valentine's Day. I like it, and I'm always remembered, even if it's never been romantically meant. But this year... I was feeling complainy. Rachel has a girlfriend, and my other friends are occupied on Tuesday nights, or not at all in the area. I was getting antsy about the idea of being alone. Quite frankly, I thought maybe the day might suck, and I was rather displeased with myself for joining the ranks of the alone-on-Valentine's complainers. But, as it approached, I began to notice how much care I was getting from all different sources. Two adorable cards from my mom, a present from Jeff (her boyfriend), a really hilarious card from Bekah, a card from my aunt and uncle (who always remember me on Valentine's Day), the promise of mail from Katie (which has now come! a wonderful, thoughtful card), and really beautiful and tender cards from Rachel, too. I've never really done much for Valentine's Day in terms of gifts or cards for others, and it touched me that all these people would be so thoughtful and kind and loving to me.
So, on the lovely walk home on Monday, I decided I would take myself out for Valentine's Day, and buy myself a present. I was thinking about comfortable and sexy lingerie, as I have none. I thought maybe I would also take myself to dinner, and see if anything else appealed to me, like seeing a movie or some kind of event. I also had this sudden and striking thought, in the way that sometimes words just appear in your head... that I had no idea what my romantic life would hold. I had no idea who I would end up loving in that way... it could be a man, as I have mostly assumed and sought, but it could also be a woman, which seems oddly more possible (in terms of my own internal compass) now that I am not at Bryn Mawr... it could even, though it's hard for me to imagine, be more than one person... anything was possible. But whatever it will be, the fact that it hasn't started yet is not a judgement on me... it just means there's a surprise coming, and knowing now would ruin the surprise. I don't know where this idea came from, but it was very clear and it felt very good.
Then, Valentine's Day itself started out fine. Almost everyone in the office wore red or pink, which was very pleasing. And I got a valentine from Courtney, with whom I don't even interact that much. But the highlight of the work portion of my day came when we were supposed to have a staff meeting, and instead we had a nice lunch/Valentine's party, courtesy of DeVida. It was yummy and exciting.
Throughout the day, I browsed online for activities and events happening in the evening, and I found this thing called Night of a Thousand Plays. Basically, it was many many little tiny plays (though not actually 1,000) all performed one after the other, by different groups of actors. I was kind of intrigued, though I had no idea whether this format would actually work for me. But they had a half price Valentine's Day special, and I decided to print out the coupon and see if I felt like going when it came time. Meanwhile, I was talking online to this man who had messaged me while I was messing around on Okcupid, with whom I had hit it off decently in our brief conversation... and I mentioned the show, and he seemed interested. So I invited him. And he said yes. Boom, Valentine's Day date. :) I was so surprised! We decided to meet for dinner and he gave me his number and his name (Swami, short for something really really long and Indian).
The plan we made was that I would go to the theater after work and try to pick up the tickets. I did, but the box office was not yet open. So I called him and we set a time to meet for dinner. Of course, there wasn't time to go home and change. Happily, I was wearing a new red skirt and nice shirt, but less happily, I was wearing my very very beat up and scuffed snow boots. I haven't bought new ones yet because I can get spendthrifty about shoes and clothes and I figured, hey, they're still workable. Which they are. But last night, I was suddenly very self-conscious and worried about them. So I found a shoe store, and went in. The cheapest shoes I found in there were over $100, and most were $300 or $400. Um, no. I'm even used to more high end shoes, or so I thought, because my foot is sometimes hard to fit. But PLEASE. What could they possible have done to a few pieces of nice leather or whatever to make it worth $300? NOTHING, at least not from where I and my bank account stand. So I got out of there, beginning to despair of my shoe changing plan... when I turned a corner and saw an Aerosoles shoe store! I went in, and found lovely little red suede boots, with tassels, in my size, for $30. So I bought them. And some tan trouser socks. And popped over to the McDonald's bathroom to change them, stuffing my mismatched cotton socks and scuffed up boots into the Aerosoles bag. Feeling new and spiffy, I hurried out to meet Swami by 6:30.
When I arrived at the appointed corner, at first I saw only an old man. But then I caught sight of a young man on the opposite side of the road, surveying everyone who passed. We ascertained our mutual identities and he came over to my side of the street. To my delight, he was handsome! He had dark, full, wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long eyelashes. He gave me a hug hello, which was interesting to me, because I had been debating between a hug and a handshake. We headed down the street to a little Italian restaurant right across from the theater, and got seats even though we didn't have a reservation. It was a really pretty, cozy place, and all the waitstaff were very friendly.
We talked throughout the meal about various things. He's really smart. I mean, he's about to get his PhD from Penn in physics (he'll be done in December) and he's only 25. Apparently in India he just had this really driven life and had to go go go all the time... and now that he's here, he's sort of sick of science and he doesn't really want to keep on with it as a career. He's more interested in the artistic arena, apparently, and tried many things before he settled on this improvisational jazz thing that he does. He plays percussion. But it's funny how I could notice his scientific training coming through in his way of perceiving and noticing things. For example, there was a candle on our table, and we were watching the light come through the candleholder and splinter into little points on the tabletop. And suddenly he tells me that he did a project on why light does that in just that way. It was kind of fascinating. He also told me that he loved to play with fire as a child and he has little scars on his hands from it. Which sounds like he's way more edgy than he mostly seemed, and I'd almost forgotten that until I wrote it down here.
We also talked about adjusting to a new culture, and movies... he asked if I thought he should see Brokeback Mountain, and of course I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, and then that led to an interesting discussion of how he has trouble connecting emotionally to gay stories. He basically said that he can understand and accept it intellectually, but emotionally he hasn't made that connection. So... I tried to indicate how connected I am to such matters without exactly saying "some of my best friends are gay." Though that's basically what I said, because even though it sounds silly, it's absolutely true. And he hastily assured me that he lived in an "artists' house" and that most of the time when they had parties there were gay people making out all over the place... though it didn't seem he was entirely comfortable with this. Yet, he could hardly be entirely uncomfortable or he wouldn't have brought up Brokeback Mountain, I suppose. Anyway, we had a pretty lively talk about the movie, and how I really thought he should see it because I think it's ideal for making exactly that emotional connection. He expressed some skepticism about "Oscar movies" in general, which I found a bit pretentious, but you can't win 'em all, right? This discussion led me to ask about cultural differences in this area of thought between India and the US, and he said that, because men and women were mostly kept apart until marriage, the bonds between male friends there are much more at the level of intimacy that is expected between female friends here. I think this is really interesting, though it makes me wonder if he had much contact with women his own age before coming here.
We also talked quite a bit about the intellect, and what kind of importance it has to us, or has had in the past... he said that for his whole life he has been so focused on the intellect as the paramount thing, but now he realizes that it is not the most important thing, and he really wants to branch out and explore other parts of himself. It's funny, because he's obviously excellent in an academic environment, but I got this strong sense of him being, more than anything, sick of it. I told him about my decision to take time off after Bryn Mawr. I think, in a lot of ways, he's in a similar mental place now as I was then, even though he's light years ahead in terms of the schooling he has finished. Although from how he speaks, his work in physics is never going to be his life commitment, or even his job beyond a few money making years. He said something about wanting to work for a few years and save up money to do something else, like open a restaurant. That surprised me, since he also said he didn't like/know how to cook. So I don't know what's up with that. Really, it seemed like his real love was this percussion/improvisation/free jazz thing. I find this kind of fascinating, because I can see that trait in him (starting with the fact that he was often drumming with his fingers and working out a rhythm in pauses in conversation, especially in the theater and once we were out of the restaurant). According to him, he just decided that science was not his thing (which continues to astonish me, given how far he's going with it), and that he wished to engage artisticially. He then tried writing and painting, among other things, and finally hit on his affinity for music. Maybe this is baffling to me because I had my strongest affinities from a very young age... the first thing I was going to be was an actress who writes her own plays. And, the way Swami tells it, he was all science science science, and then one day decided art was it for him, instead. It's a very different sort of experience.
He asked me lots of questions, but I think I did the same. There were a few awkward pauses, but less than you might expect for two total strangers. Overall, I really enjoyed it. He was an interesting combination of being rather shy-seeming and a little deferent (sp??) on the one hand, and being sort of suddenly extremely committed to his opinion (the Oscar movie thing, for example). And dinner was quite excellent. I had lobster ravioli, and he had some kind of other seafood/pasta dish. Oh, this was kind of odd- at the beginning of the meal, when we were looking at the menus, I asked him if he wanted to get wine. He responded right away by saying he didn't drink. I said ok. Then he said I could get it if I wanted to, of course. Then he said he would have wine if I picked one for him that wasn't too strong. He said he was happy to try things but he didn't like them too strong. So I picked cabernet sauvingnon for myself, and then asked the waitress if she had a suggestion for a sweeter, less dry wine. She seemed very confused about what I was asking, for some reason, and finally pointed one out that said "dry" in the description. So I had no idea what was going on there, and I decided to order him chardonnay, since I find that sweet and in general white is sweeter and more palatable to less enthusiastic wine drinkers than red. I don't know if he liked it. He ate like a bird... only about half his entree (I find many restaurant entrees big, but this was just the right size, to me) and maybe half of his wine. I polished off my whole entree and my whole glass of wine, which, just to give you a picture, came in a glass the size of my head. I mean, it was not full, of course. But his came in this tiny, delicate wine glass. I know it's something I would understand if I knew more about wine, but it was odd. I had the briefest moment of being insecure about my dramatically larger appetite, but it passed quickly. I was hungry, and I decided to be ok with that. :-) I think it was interesting (word of the day, sorry), too, that were had this sort of odd back and forth in who took what kind of role in the evening. I mean, I invited him, made the plans, ordered his wine, and paid for his theater ticket. He, on the other hand, carried my shopping bag, paid for dinner, stood on the bus behind me instead of sitting somewhere else, and initiated all of the (awkwardly executed yet warm and pleasant) cuddling that took place during the play. So I don't know. I probably wouldn't be this obsessed with it if I didn't worry a little that he will suddenly turn into a real partriarchal type. Or, to be honest, that the cultural differences between us mean that he has expectations of women of which I'm fundamentally unaware. Well, who knows, I guess.
By the end of our dinner he'd expressed interest in my theological leanings (I told him about applying to grad school), and we discussed my thesis briefly. He latched onto the idea and said he could tell me about parallel situations in Indian religion and mythology. I'm super excited about that. I tried to explain it carefully and well, without assuming that he had or didn't have a base knowledge about Christianity. I can't wait to see what ideas he has about it...
Anyway, we finished up our dinner, and headed out. The waitress came running after me to give me a rose, which apparently she was supposed to bring to the table! I was thrilled! A pretty red rose, just for me, just because it was Valentine's Day and I was a woman and there. :-) Though I've also been thinking lately how men must sometimes feel less special than women, overall. I mean, I won't say that women don't still get the raw end of the deal, because we do, and I would trade being coddled for being powerful any day... but still. On Lost, there was this part with two men talking about the possible destruction of an Iraqi village in the first Gulf War. And the one said to the other, think of everyone who will be killed. Innocent women, children. And I thought, what about innocent men? What does it say that men are consistently told that women are somehow more "precious" than they are? I'm not saying I don't understand the concept of "women and children first," or whatever, but just as it is destructive to women to assume that we are inherantly sweet and innocent, it is destructive to men to assume that they are inherantly not, or that women have some kind of uncorrupted innocence/worth that men must seek to protect even at the expense of themselves, because men are powerful, and therefore not innocent. My dad said that as a kid he hated hearing that girls were "sugar and spice and everything nice" and boys were "snakes and snails and puppy dog's tails." He didn't understand why he didn't get to be nice things, too. Bah, the whole dualistic hierarchical gender system hurts everybody!
But that was a loooooong soapboxy tangent. I was delighted with my rose. Let's go back to that. ;-) We went to the show, and I insisted on paying for his ticket (it was, after all, still much less than the meal). It was at the Adrienne, in this space called the Playground, which was a really nice little theater. I wanted to sit front and center, and he was startlingly adamant about sitting back (and side, which I thought would be the worst view), and we agreed at last to sit back and center. I wasn't sure why this was such an important thing to him, like, we were looking around and i was like, well, we could sit up front, and he was like, no. Back. It was odd. Aggressive reticence? I don't know.
The play was good. I know if you've made it this far you probably are getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in this post, but it was, and I feel I should say something about it, too, not just my date. For the first couple of little three minute (or so) bits, I wasn't sure if it would be good. Then either I wrapped my head around the format or they hit their stride or both. There was one that was basically ruined because for some reason one of the young women was on book, which was utterly distracting for us, for her, and for the other actors. And there were a bunch that fell flat. But there were also wonderfully hilarious ones, especially as the evening wore on. There was one that reminded me a lot of Dilexi, in a way! It started with this coffee barista trying to sell coffee to a rushed man. The man kept asking for something plain, and she would offer him a ridiculously complicated list of choices. It seemed a funny, if ordinary set-up. But then, the man remained calm, and the barista got all crazy, saying that he couldn't win, and the way the sketch had to go was that she kept offering him all these pointless choices until he became overwhelmed and collapsed to the ground. And then another woman came in and she and the man started flirting, and exchanged names, and the barista was freaking out because they weren't supposed to be able to do any of this... well, it was funny and exciting. The best one, hands down, was this one about a really reserved, precise man who got into a totally unexpected sexual situation... i was so funny and so well acted. There were also a couple of songs done by this guy who apparently was the musical director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I don't know where, but they seemed pretty proud of this, so maybe it was the original production. Anyway, he was very good.
And, true to his proclivities, I guess, it was during the musical numbers that Swami started snuggling up to me. As I said before, most of this was done rather oddly and awkwardly, but... I find him attractive, so it was nonetheless quite pleasant and I didn't mind. Though there was one moment where for some reason he started stroking my throat quite a bit, and that got weird, so I guided his hand away. But generally, aside from the awkward and abrupt way in which he intiated most of our contact, it was very gentle and nice and exploring, without being too much or going to the wrong places. And he smelled really good. ;-)
After the show we waited for the bus together, having discovered we live about three blocks apart! This got a bit long, and was the part of the evening where I was most aware of not being sure of what to talk about. But we finally got on the bus, and he stood behind me as aforementioned, and pet my head from time to time, and told me a bit about his family and also his taste in ice cream. Oh, yes, this is also when I though he was telling me something more about his grandmother's education, and I said "Wow" with a big smile, and then realized he was telling me that his grandmother had died. Whoops. That was my most awkward moment of the night. But we got over that, and when he left he bent and kissed my forehead before getting off, and we made plans to get together again sometime next week.
I was a happy camper coming home, and I put my rose in water and went online to tell people about my night... where I was promptly engaged in conversation by this other boy from Okcupid, and I found an email from a man who wanted a date for Margaret Garner (an opera I am so eager to see) saying that though he'd already gotten someone to go, I was really cute. And I still have to deal with Mark, who continues to call and email me though I haven't responded in a bit... (I know, it's not a good way to handle it. But I'm not used to this). I think that's the bottom line. This is all really great... but I'm not used to it! Apparently all of a sudden all I have to do for male attention is stretch out my hand... it's soooooooooo so so different from my previous experiences. Not that I'm complaining, but it's... weird. And I definitely want to see Swami again, but it all makes me a bit nervous as well. Like, I've gotten so used to being single I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be otherwise. Bah, I sound like I'm at least middle aged, and I'm not trying to be pretentious... but you know? It's true.
Ah, but all that aside, it was fun. It was fun fun fun and cozy and pleasant and I felt attractive and smart, even though he was definitely also attractive and probably smarter, or at least more educated. (God, at one point he was saying that he should learn a foreign language and I asked if he had studied any, and he was like, no, I just speak six Indian languages, completely serious, and I was l
Anyway, the whole thing left me grateful and happy: Grateful for my first "romantic" Valentine's Day, grateful for my truly wonderful friends and family, who are so central to my life, and grateful for the fact that I really, actually do enjoy my own company... and that I was willing to have a go at being lonely to figure that out.
:-) I wish you all the same sorts of experiences, in whatever way they work for you. And those of you who I know read this... I love you! Thank you for being in my life. It means the world.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
A Prize!
For Rachel and Katie, winners of that long ago contest. Totally unedited, and may not make any sense if you don't know these characters already. Or at least be unsatisfying. But anyway, no more caveats, here it is. Oh, except one, and I will take other precautions re. this... I'm always really paranoid about posting my work online... it's mine, the characters are mine, I made them up and/or have permission to use them, and so keep your hands off, all you random bitches who are coming around to steal my shit. Ahem. Thank you for putting up with my paranoia.
So, this isn’t how I met him, but this is how I knew I was in love. I didn’t know that I knew at the time, but later, I knew that that was when I would have known, if I’d been paying attention and not just fucking around. And do you know? It was before we ever had sex. Which is good, because if we’d just stumbled into sex I’d have been totally blindsided. Every time he gets an award for his work or some kind of honor or whatever I want to stand up and yell, and the best lay on the whole fucking island. I would say planet, but that might embarrass him a little. And overstate my sluttiness, which, while considerable, does not encompass the entire earth.
God, the sex is so good. One time, before the virus obviously, he had just finished some big deal article for one of those journals with the impossibly long names. And we were fooling around on the floor in the kitchen in his tiny apartment. He’d gone in to get some wine glasses and I followed him, and we ended up knocking over one of the glasses—before we started playing, actually, just, you know, normal slippage, and then we got carried away and I ended up with my legs around his waist and my head pressed against the wall, uncomfortably, staring at the oven. But it was incredibly hot, and I was picking bits of glass out of my back for days.
You know, I’ve said I’m a masochist, but that’s not really true. I just like to be taken care of. Swept off my feet. Sometimes I get that mixed up with pain. It’s a little embarrassing, the whole thing. But whatever, my lover reads romance novels, and he’s a fucking Ph.D. So we’re well matched or something. I’m not entirely comfortable with that side of myself. I just pretend to be. You’ll see that in a lot of maricones like me.
Right, but I was talking about being in love. It was… well, here is where I get confused, maybe our third or fourth date. I mean, the first sure wasn’t anything to make you fall in love, unless you get off on car accidents and hysterical boys. Boy, singular, man I guess, but I was hardly ready to think of myself that way. Besides, boys could be a bit more flitting and fey, and men… men were part of that strange class of creatures who could set your throat pulsing when they moved so carelessly from the locker room to their shiny manly cars, hair and skin all damp with sweat. I wanted to be a sponge, to soak it up and remain blameless. But to name myself as one of them would tip the scales, send me tumbling into some other class of being from which I could never return. I remember sobbing in the shower the day I graduated from high school, because everyone kept calling me young man, saying I was growing into a fine young man, things like that. And I wasn’t.
Boys could be fucked, but men did the fucking. Men did the choosing, boys could wait, and dally, and let things happen to them, let everything pass over them like clouds in a blue sky. You would think I’d have done a lot of pot, given my basic desire for a spacey state of mind, but I was afraid of drugs in high school. Reefer madness and all of that. I could see the red animal with small sharp claws under my skin, and I danced attendance on everything that would keep him at bay. I was afraid of everything, really, and the day I graduated from high school I was breathing in the steam and the soap and the tears until my head pounded and my fifteen year-old sister came into the bathroom without knocking and started to put on her makeup, and said, Jesus fuck in the fucking arsehole, David, you’re such a bloody fucking dishrag, why don’t you mop yourself the fuck up? She was going through an extremely profane phase at the time, which seemed to correspond with her extremely cruel phase, and preceded her extremely loud and yet romantic phase, which was a direct segue into her extremely drunk phase… but I digress.
I guess the point is that once I got out in the world, I realized you could stay a boy for as long as you wanted; there were always men ready to fuck you and ask no questions. And a little part of myself kept floating above it all, a balloon on a string, never quite part of the world of the me who went about interacting with things, just tethered a little by the red animal portion of myself.
Of course, I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I figured I was basically happy. I figured that happiness was like that, interspersed with inexplicable nervousness and uncontrollable tears. You just factored those things out.
On our third (or maybe fourth) date, I decided to take Andrew to a bar. Sort of a bar/club/gay dive, basically. We’d done the movies, and a cute little jazz show, but I was nervous because he hadn’t decided to fuck me yet, and I figured I’d get him buzzed and see what happened. That and I liked to dance. I wasn’t completely an insecure asshole. It was quiet there that night, fewer people than usual on the dance floor, and I was a bit uncomfortable with that. Andrew, for his part, was a bit uncomfortable with the whole scene. I mean, he hid it well. But he was quiet. I don’t know how I knew his bad-quiet from his good-quiet even then, but I did. He wasn’t drinking, either, so I followed suit. It felt very awkward. More so than our other dates, even the initial catastrophe.
After awhile Andrew went to the bathroom, and I waited for him so long I began to think he’d definitely scampered out the window, like people you read about or see in sitcoms, trying to escape their Very Bad Dates, and I was starting to get nervous and even a little mad—I didn’t think I’d done anything that horrible. You’ll think this is ridiculous, I guess, but it was at least ten minutes he was gone. And that was after I’d started to check my watch. I suppose I should have gone in and checked on him, but I kept thinking he’d come out any second and I wouldn’t have to make an ass of myself. So, anyway, finally he appeared, and he had this very strange expression on his face.
The thing about Andrew, I guess, is that he has a tendency to look sort of dreamy. I mean, his hair and eyes are rather soft to begin with, and if you’re not really paying attention, I can see how it would be easy to just sort of conclude, absent-minded professor, you know, and move on from there. But if you do happen to pay attention, you realize that the dreaminess actually comes from this focus that’s just utterly formidable. That he’s taking things in and processing them and giving them back at a level that’s probably well beyond you, no offense. It certainly is beyond me. And sometimes the dreamy fog-curtain of his outside thoughts just kind of peels away, and you’re left with his sharp, unvarnished interest. It’s a bit shocking. Like… lemon, or a deep-pore cleanser. Thank God he’s into religion, you know, and not, I don’t know, something black and white. He has a gentleness that he retains, even when he’s just chewed up whatever your argument was and spat out the bones.
Anyway, my point is, that as he came out of the bathroom and rejoined me at the bar, I saw that not-dreamy, not-veiled face of his for the very first time. It was like… well, I don’t know, I don’t want to get too dramatic. But I wasn’t expecting that kind of light in him. It’s like he had some kind of special hidden radiance he had suddenly let out… I don’t think he knew it. I don’t think he saw it. He seemed troubled when he came over to me, upset.
“Hey,” I said. I smiled, all sideways and crooked. I was trying not to run my hand over his arm to see if I could find the bottom of that glow against his skin.
“Hey. Um. Sorry I took so long. That was weird.” He let out a breath, and smiled back at me, looking nervous. “There was a weird guy in there; he sort of hit on me or something, I don’t really…”
I wasn’t sure what to say about that. Some guy in the bathroom hits on him, and he comes back to me all lit up? It looked not so good for me.
“Oh… was he hot?” I laughed. It sounded like my stupid sister’s laugh. Andrew’s eyes focused on me, looking mildly surprised.
“Sure. Yeah, he was.” Apparently this was the last thing that Andrew had considered. Apparently I was a bizarre, idiotic, horny prick.
“Oh.”
“He was… he seemed to have been sweating. He’d taken his t-shirt off and was wiping his face with it when I came in. It was white, the t-shirt, or it had been once. He was rather tanned.”
I bit my lips to keep from giggling inanely. What was this, some kind of porno set up or what? Maybe handsome, studious Andrew was actually a raging kinkster.
“But he was wearing a scarf,” Andrew continued, oblivious to my squirming. “I mean, like a muffler. A big knit one, made of this fuzzy gray yarn. It seemed completely… out of place. And it was torn, on the end. And he didn’t smell good. I sort of hate that, when people don’t smell good, because you know you should just ignore it, but you don’t. I don’t. I have a lot of trouble with that. Well, anyhow, he was obviously sort of agitated, and I didn’t want to stare at him, or whatever, so I just sort of went over to the urinal and tried to mind my own business. And the next thing I know he puts his hand on my back. I mean, actually on my back, not my ass or something, but still, I was very startled and I sort of whipped around, and he said, sorry.
“He had a really interesting voice. Low and a little rough, but not too rough. He swallowed, and he seemed to be hesitating about something. I was… frightened, but less frightened than I figured I ought to be.”
“Jesus,” I said. “He musta been on drugs.”
“Maybe,” Andrew said, slow and considering. He takes so little for granted. He spread his fingers out on the bar, looked at them, drummed them there.
“Well, what happened?” I said at last.
“He said, ‘Did you lose these?’ and he holds out my glasses that I must’ve lost, I don’t know, two months ago, certainly not here, and one of the lenses is broken and the side is bent, but they’re definitely mine…”
“Let me see,” I demanded, as though I had any idea about his missing glasses.
“Well,” he said, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t take them.”
“What?”
“I said they weren’t mine. I was freaked out, you know? Some weird guy handing me my glasses out of the blue sky in the middle of the washroom? I don’t know if he’s a stalker or some weird homeless prophet or what.”
“Oh.” He looked so nervous at this revelation that I touched his hand. “It’s ok, it does sound pretty fucked up. I bet I wouldn’t have talked to him at all. Unless he was really hot.”
Andrew smiled. “Well, so he tucked the glasses back in his pants pocket and watched me wash my hands, and then he was rooting around in his pocket again and I was really scared he was going to pull out my stuffed duck from when I was a kid, or something, and sort of hoping he would, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he asked if I minded if he smoked… and I said yes. Which I think startled him, because after all you can smoke everywhere in the bar. But I figure, why ask the question if you won’t take yes for an answer, right?”
I laughed. “Gutsy,” I said.
“He took out a cigarette and passed it between his fingers, but didn’t light up. I would’ve thought he was being challenging, or something, but he just seemed curious. Somehow the smell wasn’t so bad now, either. I dried my hands and figured I should leave, but the whole thing seemed unfinished. I turned to leave anyway. After all, this isn’t a fairy tale, right? So I was heading out of there and I felt him touch my elbow again.
“ ‘You dropped this,’ he said ‘Anyway, I don’t like poetry.’” And he gave me this grimy, folded up piece of paper, and I took it, because I didn’t know what else to do.”
I waited expectantly, but Andrew was looking at the bar again. “Geez, what was on it?”
He looked up at me, with that sudden, unexpected clarity. “I don’t know. I wanted you to read it with me.”
“Why?” I said.
“You know, I don’t know,” he answered, and I figured I could trust him, because he wasn’t just being romantic, he was real and strange and talked to strangers and didn’t like cigarettes and saved things just because. “It just seems like it’s your story too.” And he took my hand and we walked out of the bar right then, really, and I couldn’t stop smiling. We read the paper under a street lamp, and this is what it said:
man like a blade of grass in sunlight
boy are looks ever
deceiving, he’s the moon
man.
he’s the moon man,
after all.
I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now, except that it produced such a longing in me, such a stupid longing, maybe it was just waiting to come out, waiting for something incomprehensible it could wrap itself around. And I looked at Andrew and I knew he understood, and we joked about how dumb it was to write incomprehensible poetry. And we made out for awhile and he took me home.
I stayed awake all night, and in the morning I called him and I said I wanted to sleep with him right away. And he didn’t laugh at me, but he made me wait until he went to all three of his graduate seminars.
It was great! Well, probably it was horrible and clumsy, and I thought it was great. But after all, I was in love already.
Monday, January 30, 2006
The Best Game Ever OR Why I Should Not Be Allowed to Use the Internet Anymore
took out the Death Star for 
BenedictWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for 
CalvinOKeefeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
gives thanks for 
DoctorCrusherWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking 
HeidiWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
hearts 
CounselorTroiWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
loves 
JerryFalwellWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading 
DracoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
EXITS pursued by 
JesusWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is in love with 
RonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is shagging 
MisterSpockWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
dreams about 
TheMightyDucksWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is in love with 
JemFinchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fangirls
TheBabysittersClubWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with 
MichaelWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires 
JackSparrowWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading 
WorfWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a shrine to WilburWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for 
MegMurrayWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
EXITS pursued by 
GrumpyBearWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for 
KazulWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
forgot Poland for 
GeordiLaForgeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
EXITS pursued by 
TheSphinxWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
RhettButlerWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading 
CaptainBarbossaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
quacks at ChristineDaaeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
quacks at CatoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to shag 
ApolloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over 
JohnEdwardsWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
smurfs 
DumbledoreWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with JackSparrowWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for 
CassioWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is shagging CaptainHookWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
SnoopyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for CaptainBarbossaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
CimoreneWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes fic about 
LysanderWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking 
SamBeckettWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
loves 
RosencrantzAndGuildensternWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes sonnets to 
FrankNFurterWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with RosencrantzAndGuildensternWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes GeordiLaForgeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fangirls
DickCheneyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
hearts 
ThePhantomWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
gives thanks for 
ElizabethBennetWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires 
DEATHWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes fic about GilgameshWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for DoctorCrusherWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
forgot Poland for 
HanSoloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
smooches 
RemusLupinWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
took out the Death Star for 
TheShadowWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
knows DickonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
runs a fanlisting for 
ScoutFinchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has an eye on 
BelleWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
quacks at
CommanderRikerWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is flirting with 
MarilynMonroeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for 
AthenaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with 
LaEsmaraldaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
MrRogersWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
TheOneRingWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with 
SimonAndGarfunkelWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with ColinCravenWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with 
ShadowWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for CimoreneWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking 
AlexanderTheGreatWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes MaryIngallsWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for 
DaxWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
EXITS pursued by 
PhoebusDeChateaupersWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
JuliusCaesarWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to shag 
CardinalRichelieuWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
dreams about 
ThePlymouthColonyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with 
FriarLaurenceWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading 
IndianaJonesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
worships 
HuckFinnWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
took out the Death Star for 
SailorMoonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with LePetitPrinceWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is flirting with MaryLennoxWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
took out the Death Star for RichardIIIWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
ForrestGumpWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
x 
JoMarchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires 
RingoStarrWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with AlexanderTheGreatWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fangirls
AtalantaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with CalvinOKeefeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over 
CrowleyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to shag 
LeVarBurtonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over RosencrantzAndGuildensternWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has an eye on 
MercutioWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
took out the Death Star for 
FriarTuckWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is sittin' on Capitol Hill with
JaneEyreWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with 
IagoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
remembers the Snowdens of yesteryear with AthenaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with SawyerWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is turning cartwheels for 
PippiLongstockingWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is sittin' on Capitol Hill with OthelloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
forgot Poland for ColinCravenWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for LokiWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to shag 
TybaltWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with AchillesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with CharlotteWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for 
BunniculaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is voting for 
GeorgeWBushWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for LuciferWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
smooches 
ArchdeaconFrolloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
remembers the Snowdens of yesteryear with ThePhantomWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
EXITS pursued by 
ABearWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking JudasWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is sittin' on Capitol Hill with AslanWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
loves CatoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has an eye on LuciferWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
quacks at
AnneofGreenGablesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
quacks at LePetitPrinceWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading 
Claire secretly desires 
GollumWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has an eye on FriarLaurenceWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
knows 
MalvolioWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a doll of TybaltWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes fic about 
JonStewartWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is flirting with GeorgeWBushWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes fic about 
HoratioWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over ElizabethBennetWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
RoverWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
x 
SailorJupiterWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
hearts 
WaldoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
dreams about VoldemortWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a shrine to EveWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
remembers the Snowdens of yesteryear with TheSphinxWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with 
RedFraggleWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over BuffyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with 
MegMarchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires 
ZorroWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over 
RockapellaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has an eye on AslanWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
dreams about OthelloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
pities da foo DaxWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a doll of MrRogersWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is shagging 
SirBedevereWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
knows 
TheFonzWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
remembers the Snowdens of yesteryear with BertWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes fic about 
MarkAntonyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading AchillesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires 
MichelangeloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading JudasWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is voting for AustinPowersWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
remembers the Snowdens of yesteryear with TheWifeOfBathWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for JemFinchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a shrine to 
AtticusFinchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
x 
LizzieBordenWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
runs a fanlisting for MalvolioWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fangirls
CaptainKirkWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is shagging 
HermioneWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for CharlieBrownWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for 
NefertitiWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is turning cartwheels for ForrestGumpWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for 
AgamemnonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is sittin' on Capitol Hill with
JohnKerryWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading ThePhantomWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking SherlockHolmesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
EXITS pursued by ScarlettOHaraWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
worships 
InigoMontoyaWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
gives thanks for 
FrodoBagginsWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
hearts BenjaminSiskoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes BillNyeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fangirls GilgameshWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for 
SayidWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a shrine to MaryPoppinsWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is flirting with BelleWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking JesusWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for ABearWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
runs a fanlisting for JudasWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over GeorgeWBushWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is sittin' on Capitol Hill with AchillesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
forgot Poland for PompeyWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is voting for BillClintonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
took out the Death Star for 
BatmanWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
smooches ElizabethBennetWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is sittin' on Capitol Hill with JuliusCaesarWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has an eye on EveWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading JaneEyreWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes sonnets to SirGalahadWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
loves IndianaJonesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
gives thanks for 
SeverusSnapeWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes sonnets to 
HamletWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
dreams about DaxWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes sonnets to ForrestGumpWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading BillClintonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with AtticusFinchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is running for President with RonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
worships JaneEyreWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes LuciferWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with JesusWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires JuliusCaesarWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
runs a fanlisting for AlexanderTheGreatWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
took out the Death Star for CharlotteWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading LuciferWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
secretly desires LeVarBurtonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is turning cartwheels for AslanWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking TheShadowWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
yearns for TheWifeOfBathWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fangirls HuckFinnWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is voting for 
SiriusBlackWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to do it with HannibalWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is flirting with LongJohnSilverWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading 
HerculesWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with JudasWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
idolizes 
LeonardoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a doll of 
RaphaelWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
writes fic about JesusWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for JesusWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
pities da foo RichardIIIWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
remembers the Snowdens of yesteryear with ApolloWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
has a doll of JoMarchWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking HamletWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
fought off Reavers for 
PoseidonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is serenading LeVarBurtonWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with RoderigoWhat's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to shag MisterSpock What's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
is stalking InigoMontoya What's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
broods over Patrokles What's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
wants to take it out back with FriarLaurence What's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
would hang for Voldemort What's Your Ultimate Fandom OTP?
Shiver My Timber--A Pirate RPG
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