Monthly Archives: July 2002
I went out with E.Y. last night. It was magical. We picked up as if eleven days instead of eleven years had passed. We laughed, we talked, we gossiped about mutual acquaintances.
Then we went back to his hotel and had utterly mediocre sex.
For form’s sake, I stayed the night, but I guess I’m not moving to Australia at the end of the week.
Plus, today’s porn shoot was cancelled, so I had no way of getting rid of the, um, taste of the mediocre sex. Luckily I was able to get T.H. to come over at a moment’s notice, which took care of that problem very nicely.
At least I hadn’t been dreaming of a beautiful reunion that would make us both realize that we were soul mates and meant to be together forever, spending half of each year in Sydney and half in New York, a true international, indeed intercontinental, couple, secure in our glamor and our love for each other.
There is a porn shoot scheduled for Saturday afternoon.
Perhaps I should bring E.S., T.H., E.Y., and my dad along to observe. Kind of like a field trip.
Evidently the universe decided my life wasn’t already complicated enough. My father called me this morning to let me know he’s coming to town on Thursday for the weekend.
Perhaps I can have brunch on Sunday with him, E.S., T.H., and E.Y.
I can just imagine it:
“Each of you has to guess which of the others I’m sleeping with. Whoever comes closest wins a prize! Dad, you’re the judge.”
I am definitely going to have a heart attack.
I am terrified that I’m going to have a heart attack this weekend. Not only will it be the first weekend since I met T.H. that he and E.S. and I will all be in town at the same time, which will require enough juggling as it is, but my ex-boyfriend E.Y., whom I haven’t even seen for nine years, much less dated, has e-mailed me out of the blue that he and his partner broke up last month and he’s coming to New York on Friday and is dying to see me.
I figure I’ll be okay as long as I can keep from screaming out the wrong name during sex.
With any luck, I will fall madly, passionately, and irrevocably in love with E.Y. again, just in time for him to go back to Australia at the end of the week and leave me heartbroken and desolate.
This is just horrible. I realize that, of late, I haven’t had much material to work with in my blog. I think this is because I’m actually gainfully employed for the moment rather than just half-heartedly employed, and I am shocked at how much time it takes to be a harlot. Over the weekend I was so exhausted that I did absolutely nothing worth writing about. I didn’t have sex once. (Well, that’s not true, but it was with E.S., and that’s hardly news by now, is it?) On Saturday night, I stayed home and rolled coins.
So every time I think about blogging, I am torn between two paralyzing thoughts: what if I blog about something boring and the people who read this find it boring and grow to hate me? And what if I don’t blog and the people who read this feel betrayed and grow to hate me? What if I do everything right and still my soul mate and I never meet each other and I live the rest of my life friendless and alone?
Clearly I should have stuck to the orgies. They didn’t leave so much room for self-reflection; plus, they were more fun than my job.
It’s just as well, I suppose, because I’ve gained two pounds (well, 1.6 to be exact) and am obviously on my way to becoming a monstrous blob again. Since my worthiness of love is naturally inversely proportionate to my weight, I predict that soon I will abandon the search for love and just sit around all day eating almond M&Ms.
Today, while IMing with a friend, I actually typed the word “thanx.”
I must go blow my brains out before I descend to “thru,” “lite,” and “enuf.”
Over the weekend, E.S. sent me an e-mail that started out, “If you are not sitting down right now I think you should because we need to talk, or at least I do.” It went downhill from there. He was confused, he wanted to know what we were to each other, thought we were boyfriends but wasn’t sure, knew I was sleeping with other people and was upset about it, etc., etc.
I should have known this was too good to last.
I briefly considered denying sleeping around, but the fact that the tip-off was the bite marks on my ass after the orgy made this an impracticable course of action. The Delaware lesbians offered stopgap therapy, but it was obvious that sooner or later E.S. and I would have to have this out. I spent the rest of the weekend in terror of that moment.
It came last night, and it couldn’t have been more beautiful. We agreed to stay as we have been in terms of commitment and exclusivity, seeing each other a little more often, and not trying to put a name to whatever our relationship is.
Then we went back to his place and had great sex.
I’m trying to find a less healthy lesson in all of this than that my actions have consequences but that I will be able to deal with those consequences in a mature way without messing up my life or anybody else’s, but I’m not having much luck.
There is no way I could ever be a lesbian. Apparently the lesbian rules forbid having a scale in your house. I have not been able to check my weightmuch less my body fatobsessively since Thursday morning.
What good is an emotionally self-destructive habit if it doesn’t travel well?
It’s enough to drive one to drink.
Or to string cheese.
Something strange happened to my blog. Somehow (I suspect the Illuminati or perhaps the Elders of Zion) the entries for July 11 and July 13 were concatenated into one mega-entry which, while perhaps intriguing from a phenomenological point of view, nevertheless disrupted any semblance of narrative flow.
Plus, it cut off the “add a comment” section for July 13, and since I’m only doing this in an attempt to make everybody love me, I found the lost opportunity for validation completely unacceptable.
I have therefore edited the entry for July 11 so that the photographs of the hat are links rather than inserts. This seems to have fixed the problem. (I hope those of you who liked it better the old way will forgive me.) So if you’ve been baffled by my blog for the last few days, just go back to July 11 and read to the present. All will be made clear.
Well, we went swimming, and then I walked him back to his place, figuring that sex trumps motel. On the way back, I told him I had ulterior motives in walking him back.
He said, “You remind me so much of my ex. I would just want to be sure that, if I had sex with you, it would really be you I was having sex with and not him.”
I tried to explain that the laws of physics really rule that one out, but he wasn’t buying it.
I still have 48 hours before we leave, though, so perhaps all is not lost.