I went on a hunt for the card as soon as I got in the house, and found it buried in a stack of my mother’s mail. It was one of those cards that sings. There was a gift card inside. It was only the fact that my current financial situation forbade me from getting Christmas gifts for anyone at all that saved me from the mild guilt of not having gotten him anything.
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I managed to crawl out of bed with enough strength to call my therapist, and strangely after our brief conversation which consisted of nothing but a confirmation that our session was indeed canceled today because she had a nasty cold, I felt better.
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I told my mother and cousin earlier today that my friend in Harlem had said this. My mother’s reaction was that he had no right to make comments about her children. My mother doesn’t like my friend in Harlem. Granted, I don’t like him all the time either, but my mother doesn’t know one tenth of what has gone on between us over the last couple of years. All she knows is that he’s older than I am, and to her, that’s a good enough reason for both she and my sister not to like him.
...read more hereThe room was tiny and smelled like smoke and the blinds did not go down all the way to the bottom edge of the window. We settled on that spot after walking around to what seemed like (but certainly wasn’t) every hotel in Manhattan and hearing “Sorry, no vacancy.” By the time we got to St. Marks’ Hotel, my friend was limping, I was wired and it was 9am.
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He walked in with his trumpet in his hand and set his fedora down on my table when he saw me. I immediately picked it up and started twirling it in my hands.
I can’t remember the boy’s name, actually. When I see him, I call him Trumpet.
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I found this earlier this morning over at NYC girl at heart and realized that I complain entirely too much, so I made a mental note to think about it and blog later this evening. Well it’s later this evening now, but I haven’t thought about it until now. (Why am I so negative?) But, better late than never, n’est-ce pas?
So here goes: The Ten Happiest Days of My Life (in chronological order or as close to it as I can manage)
...read more hereI think it has finally occurred to me that I’m supposed to be single now… except that I’m not entirely certain what “single” means anyhow. Does that mean that any and everyone is fair game, or does it mean that I am fair game? I’m starting to think it’s more the latter than the former. [...]
...read more hereSo what does that mean? It means I’m going to get old. Not that I have an intrinsic issue with age, mind, as most of my friends are older than I am. My older friends don’t like when I say things like this. They say “if you’re old then what the hell am I?” My answer is usually “mature”… except in the case where the person is not indeed mature. In which case the answer is silence with an implied “pathetic.” But that’s the issue: I don’t want to be old and pathetic.
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…I took lorie’s advice and talked to my friend and he brought up the interesting point that he would gain absolutely nothing by telling other people who know me… and in fact, he’s probably better served by maintaining his own anonymity as well (it’s not like my reviews of him are always glowing)…
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For a short moment while he was not on stage, Gregory opted to stand in a protected corner near the ice box, claiming to want to “hide.” I asked his permission to stand with him, and then asked his permission to stand closer, and then asked his permission to stand so close that my back and butt were pressing against his flesh. He allowed this.
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