A broken record that skips. I know, but I need to type these cranky feelings out or they'll stay lodged in my vessels and I can't come correct if I'm all clogged up. Honestly, I feel closer to my lady than ever before these days and the next few weeks should [fingers crossed] afford us a more open environment. Little by small.
Sunday night, SBX and I met for dinner at a new French cafe that opened up by her house. Got a taste of what's to come for X-mas in Paris when the fromage flowed between SBX and the waitress, leaving me in the cold. SBX got my hairy eyeball as I played Ugly American with my limited "le poo poo" lexicon. Managed to crack smiles with my pig-French humor but not without feeling somewhat alienated by the foreign customs. Am I going to be a travel trooper or fall coma to the differences? Frog burps turned into gripes as tongue spoke mind and sang same old songs about missing SBX and the time we could be spending together if only I was integrated. How a weekend in the country could have been her 3 + my 1 and how lax divorce signatures is depleting my resources. Tiny violin's scored the broken record woo gone whine and I slipped in ego.
I admitted to subconsciously unleashing a side of myself this past weekend that had been kept under guarded lock & key for far too long. My unbridled manifestation retroactively recalled pillars of self-confidence that brought smiles and horndogs to rooms, swarming naked and unafraid. Encouraging dance and song and wine for the less inundated. Fundamentals that are anemic in our small windows. SBX wondered if our relationship was like a pair of handcuffs for me. I told her we had a few wide walls that needed some bashing -- PRONTO, but something I could "get over" if she would start "getting over." A brush of her brow brought the tension to ease and her cheek collapsed into my palm.
Post grub, we snuck back to her house to grab the laptop where her resume was percolating and made ourselves into couch potato's at the Tea Lounge on 10th street. SBX is 100% fed-up with her job and is searching options. I've been pushing and prodding her about this and, if it takes 20-minutes a day for a whole year to find a career that suits passions and covers overhead, than so be it. Combed tooth and nail through her resume and sought expert advice from Michele C. Pending...
Monday got me penciling half of NFOYS1 pp26 and off to a Focus Group on 42nd street about "online shopping." $75 cash for an hour-and-a-half of talking Amazon.com, DVD's, CDs, and books, ain't shabby. Focus Groups horrify me. Their agenda's cripple individuality and seek only the most common denominator. But, I didn't mind it so much with the online shopping topic at hand because the query was meant to serve the masses as best they can. Or, so I think. Who knows? The saddest example of how great online shopping for one woman was when she ordered clothes from J. CREW and thought it was funny that there was a J. CREW store directly across the street from her. As she described her glee, I imagined drawing it as an ironic NEW YORKER cartoon. I told her that sitting makes your ass fat. Simpleton.
I remember recently getting a cold call from The Daily News, begging me to subscribe to their paper. I played the shut-in and told the sap on the line that I was lonely and sad and the only thing that made me happy was when I walked down to the end of my corner and bought a newspaper. That, I didn't want the Daily News to take that away from me or I would lose that precious excursion. They felt bad and wished me well. I laughed forgetting how close I was truly living that lie.
I rarely do Focus Groups and so I killed two birds and made dinner plans around the subway ride into Manhattan; met up at SALA, a Tapas lounge on Bowery off Great Jones with SBX, Shan The Human Man, Debbie-Webbie, Mike D & Stacy. Chewed on steak and spicy Chorizo's while the fish-eaters took in garlic shrimps and Paella. SBX gave me a small orange gourd so I would have something to represent All Hallows Eve and I gave her Manga porn. Debbie-Webbie hooked SBX and I up with discounted leather Magic Wallets from J. Crew, and now I finally have a place to put my Jim Hanley's Universe 40% discount card in. Always a pleasure to hang with old friends as we snapped on each other and spoke fondly of our Music & Art/SUNY Purchase/J51/64 Thompson/Nick & Eddie/Southold/Mott Street/"Burnzy's Last Call" days. Difficult to witness Stacy D's multiple sclerosis plunge into inevitable decline as it has permanently damaged her physically [skinny as a rail] and mentally [she looks terrified]. This must have been a bitch for her, coming out to eat with us. I can't imagine how fucked that must feel. Having to take twelve steps at a time just to go two inches, or roll about in a wheel chair just to cross a room for a book, has GOT to fry the mind. Even her speech patterns were jerked and clipped. I shrugged off the aggressive MS shroud that is paralyzing her and reminded myself of the Stacy D inside. The one I knew from back in the day and know still lurks, struggling to shine through that jumble of tremors. I kept my arm around her and played with her hair. Kept that shit real. Like we always do. Mike D is a true Knight and Boy Scout, taking care of his woman through thick and thin. Always looking out for her without badgering. Having her back yet letting her lead. Being there, since time. His honor and dedication makes me wonder if I could handle the same situation. I'd like to think I could be so loyal.