That was a rhetorical question,
so don't bother answering.
I need to get my writing juices flowing.
and not THOSE juices, ya damn perverts.
I am not in that particular mood at the moment.
But that's ok.
I am feeling much less sleepy than I was yesterday,
so that's a bonus.
I am going to blame my general malaise on the fact that it was the first week back to school for the kids.
Which meant I had to get up at 7 and shove them out the door.
I also think I should take this time to mention that I am pursuing a lawsuit against whoever decided I should put my kids in morning Kindergarten.
SERIOUSLY!
Who's fucking bright idea was THAT??
er.
Maybe mine.
But only because I am stupid sometimes.
Dammit, I guess I can't sue myself...
Well, that's no fun.
I really do think it was my husband's idea, though.
And I just went along with it because I AM STUPID.
Wow.
I'm glad we established that.
I think I have a storyline for my "book".
(it's only a whisper of an idea at the moment, so it gets quotes. deal with it.)
Ah....that reminds me of a loony maitre d' at one of my summer jobs...
He called the place "The Whore house on the Hill"--with a suspiciously giddy tone.
It was a luxurious B&B, with a 5-star dining room (where I worked with best friends A & B).
Hardly a whore house, but it was on a hill--
overlooking Camden harbor, and the filming of Stephen King's "Thinner", that summer.
Gene was his name, and the reason quotes remind me of him is simple, but I'll get to that in a moment.
(after the ringing in my ears from my son's tantrum subsides.)
He had 1920s stripper names for each of us--Rose (who looked an awful lot like Charlize Theron) was Bubbles Malone,
and that's the only one I can remember.
The bartender looked like...hm.
somebody.
And then there was Nina, the cross-eyed Romanian.
She wanted to have an affair with Joe, the married chef, and when she caught friend A kissing him she was enraged.
She said that friend A had "destroyed her faith in humanity.",
which friend B and I thought was hilarious, since friend A had actually reaffirmed our own faith in humanity--or at least brought an amazing depth of joy to our BYU-inspired flat existence.
(no, that's not code for all-girl orgy, but think what you will)
Anyway...
there were folders in the office, for each of the manager-types.
They all bore a large, hand-written name.
Each one was plain, except for Gene's.
He was "Gene".
and since he was a big part of the craziness of that summer,
singing his name in a Tori Amos song (Crucify), while making "air quotes" was the next logical step.
Oh, and don't forget: while laughing hysterically.
Rose.
I wonder where she is.
She was beautiful and free--living in a tiny apartment above one of the stores on Main St, with her sexy, artsy boyfriend.
As you'll recall, friend B and I were still BYU students...her life seemed so far out of reach for me, but I wanted it.
And I ran into the cross-eyed bitch while I was on my honeymoon--
she was also on hers.
VERY bizarre.
That was the summer I listened to Phish a lot,
and was stupid enough to turn down a night of crazy sex with a man from St. Vincent who was in town for a mutual friend's wedding...
He was hot, to put it bluntly--and his jamaican-like accent gave me goosebumps.
He was a great kisser...
Friend B and I snuck into the local resort's out door hot tub with him--
one of our favorite pasttimes, in those innocent days of looking for trouble.
Which reminds ome of the night of meteor showers, in the resort pool, in our underwear, with the boys I taught to drive a stick shift...
Being innocent was so damn boring.
My one bad brush with the law (later, when I had cast off the Innocence Mantel) could have been avoided by my accepting an invitation to go to a 3 day Phish concert in northern Maine with a couple of hot stoner pilots--
"better to fly high than drive drunk" was their motto...
Yeah.
YIKES, is right.
But I didn't go...
because I was smitten with a boy I was about to leave.
The last week of my summer vacation.
Wrote a book about it.
Isn't great, but I may include it in my collection of short stories anyway.
This sprint down memory lane is turning into a bit of a marathon--
becoming too complex for it to remain breezy and interesting.
My mind is seething forward, into corners and hidden passages,
turning it all over and savoring it.
Those were good days.
But they were bad enough that I was ready for my husband when I met him a few months later.
Ready to be done with all the yearning and the necessarily dual-mode passion of youth.
You know what I mean...the way you could love someone with the ferocity of a wounded tiger--and be hurt by the smallest thing with an equal measure.
It was time to grow up...
to be secure, and be trusted/trusting.
No more driving through wretched snowstorms for the chance to spend a few stolen hours with someone whose mother would shoot you if she knew,
no more wondering why that guy found you good enough to fuck, good enough to hang out with--but would not persue you as a girlfriend (the answer to that one is now very clear, but was completely out of reach to me at the time, and instead left my insides a knotted up mess.)
Wow.
Lookit that!
A whole supply of emotions, just tucked away ready for use.
I love words...
I love the images in my head, or floating through my limbs and around my middle.
I love putting the two together, and seeing what happens.
It is time for lunch, a shower, and the gym...
not sure what order to assign those, so I won't.
shheeeeesh.
What a post!!
Go.
Enjoy your Saturday.
And wish me luck on a supe- secret-but-very-exciting project!!!
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