another year?

This was the first year that I didn’t spend Christmas Day with my parents. We stayed in bed, went to Rite Aid for beer and a plunger (why does the toilet stop working on Christmas Eve of all days?), and ate Mexican enchilada frozen dinners. I did miss having presents. I had said so many times that I don’t care about presents, and not to worry about getting my anything. And I don’t care about getting something to show off. But I decided that I do care that he goes out and gets something, anything, and wrap it for me. Think I can revise it for next year? It’s depressing not to have even one present to open. It’s nice to know someone thought of you.

I took a week’s vacation and we went and bought some furniture, made some art, now it looks like a real apartment. It feels like home. I love, love, love the apartment. I will miss it if we move to Austin. It feels like my first home.

For New Years, I stayed in bed again. Sick, watching 24. I have weird dreams from 24. I start to think people are following me. Conspiracy everywhere.

I hosted the friend’s Christmas party this year all by myself. It was a nice one. No getting too drunk, no late night martinis. Everyone loving the apartment and me finally getting Martha stewart with the food preparation. I was pretty proud of myself. Buying wine, setting everything up, giving all the directions out, and still being ready early. The toilet didn’t work the night before, and I even taught myself how to use the plunger. I know it’s little things…

strip clubs

At dinner with your boyfriend and his friends: Don’t drink too much and help them talk him into going to a strip club for the first time. Don’t buy him a lap dance. Don’t tell his friends how good your sex life is including detailed description of his, you know.

I have a completely different view of strip clubs now. I thought it would be someplace really sexy where guys sat transfixed by the view of naked bodies, but the whole time these guys joked to themselves how bad the women looked: "Nice body, dog face". And to the girl giving a lap dance: "Let me guess how old you are-- 32?" She was 23 (she said). It was like being on a Howard Stern set. Definitely less glamorous and sexy than I had imagined. Now I really don’t see why guys go there. Maybe they would have acted differently someone's girlfriend’s around, I doubt it?

i think he may have been really jealous of the stripper giving me a lap dance. and upset that i sent her over to him afterward. he sat there will his hands on the chair staring straight forward. you know i was so not jealous, i could just feel his disgust. but i guess i looked like i was having too much fun, being a little too drunk and chatty, and with the girl demanding i touch her breasts and legs. and she was really nice, we had a conversation about shaving cream (her legs were so smooth!), and perfume. She came afterwards and sprayed me with her perfume out of her bag (victoria's secret, very sexy, the red, not the pink).

Seriously, the strip club was not our thing. I used to think doing things like that would be sexy, but it just felt bad with him. it felt like why would we need this? things are usually so perfect, it put a weird vibe into the night, and took a day or two to wear off.

His friend was impressed by how clean we left the place… but for some reason he couldn’t find his sheets. May be a good thing.

rebuilding

All morning I thought the guy next door was doing some sort of aerobic exercise, in 10 minute spurts. I was sort of aggravated that he was making so much noise, so early. Trying to imagine him doing jumping jacks in steel toed boots or something. But it’s an old lady next door. And I just realized it’s a hammer. Even this early on a Saturday morning the construction goes on. The rebuilding. How’s it going? Not so well.
I just ate a whole box of milano cookies and watched a Making the Band 3 marathon. what is happening to me? He is in Florida, so I have the whole day to wax and paint toenails and stuff, but I don’t feel like it. I think I’m going to go check the post office and then go shopping for a mop and Christmas decorations. I decided not to visit mom this weekend, I need alone time.

ngf

I spent last night cleaning like a madwoman and now I just want to sit in front of Law and Order and eat gourmet olives and easymac and do nothing. So that’s what I’m doing. And surfing. You know I had a whole list of blogs I used to enjoy reading and now I only really still like one (smababy.blogspot.com) or two (www.dooce.com) of them. Things are getting boring online. I need some new blogs to read.

I’m moving finally back home. By home I mean his apartment, mine is still not inhabitable, although I’ve paid rent the last three months. Thus, the cleaning. I don’t want the guy who owns this place to see how disgusting we had it. Really we are dis-gusting. It works out well that way, but I’m not used to being the clean one in a relationship. Or the less intelligent one. Who would have thought? I mopped and swept and scrubbed and packed. This place is tons nicer than our, but it’s just not home. There was something, I felt it the few moments when we went back to get a few changes of clothes. Something, even with water all over the floor and month-old ravioli dishes in the sink. Even with that horrible smell pervading everything, and having to walk up four flights because the power was out, still something nice and just home about it. That’s what I miss. Maybe we’ll make it into a real place to live. The fema guy was funny. He thought the hurricane had messed up our furniture, but err, no this is it, guy. This is all you need.

The news said yesterday that you can’t keep that just in love thing for more than one year. We are at the cutoff. Biologically impossible to feel this way for more than a year, some neurobioendocrinologicphysicist discovered. That’s a sad thought. I thought it might stay like this forever. I mean, a year’s a long time, right? Long enough for this just to be it. ngf. Maybe he can find a cure for it. Patent and market it. Would you take something to keep feeling that head-over-heels-in-love thing? Con-stantly wanting to rip off their clothes. I don’t know. As much as I would be devastated if this changed, I want it to be natural, not artificial.

Christmas is here again. Well, almost. I’m buying everything online, there’s really no where to shop here. I’m buying him a Twisted Sister tshirt. My mom didn’t think that was enough. Then she goes, oh, your afraid he’s not going to give you something nice. Like she figured it out. But that’s not it at all. I don’t want things like that to matter in our relationship. I could honestly care less about presents. He is my present every day. He’ll love the shirt.

bell

we are home, again. home, settled into an apartment. at first i hated it. the first day. living among someone else's stuff. where do you fit in? but it's knowing where you will be, not for a night or two, but for almost three whole months. and that is nice. weekends i will be in another city, visiting my family, but they need that. and i guess i do too. it was hard to leave bell. harder than it even was at the camp. and she said over and over through the weekend, can i come with you? she is something. she looked over my shoulder at the pictures of the garden, before the hurricane, remnants on a memory card, and she said, that's my home, when it was good. that baby has been through so much change in her short life than many people have ever. certainly more than we all had until a few months ago. but she is a survivor, i knew that from birth. she has already known hardship, heartache but she will be better for it i think.

spanish for home

here i am again, home at last, in the newly acquired sense of the word. meaning i'm back at the same hotel for the fourth time in three weeks, lights off tucked into my kingsized bed while my boyfriend spends some qt with his kids. i'm not sure if i like these days holed away by myself, eating burgers and shakes from whattaburger for lunch and dinner. i don't dislike being by myself. but it all seems to feel a little, i don't know, pathetic? plus, nothing is good on tv or the internet. he'll call my room to go outside and smoke a cigarette, but then one of his kids will open the door and i'll feel so out of place, so separate, that i decide next time i'll say no. but then next time i go again. and i'm bored, too. not just with texas, with the whole bit. i've done this long enough. i've read three novels in the last two weeks. i'm ready for life to begin again. ready to salvage what i can and move on with it. enough already.

normalcy

I am back at work in Houston. It's for a week, I can leave friday. can you believe it? they're talking about living back in New orleans in a week. can you believe that? i'm not sure what i think. good old st. bernard is gone. but maybe, just maybe, my little apartment survived. maybe my boyfriend's apartment, where i mostly lived anyway let's be honest, survived. it's weird to even think about going back. i don't want to. this is a great time to change. that's what i think. maybe life is going to go back to normal, i'm not sure if i can stand that. i was thinking maybe san fransisco, maybe boston, maybe new york city. maybe, maybe, everything open, and now it's depressing to think it's just going to be more of the same. but not the same. how can i stand it anymore, seeing everything change and not like it should be at all? funny how my family wants to go back and can't and i don't want to and we'll have lights on by monday. ironic? how is life working out like this, it's crazy. i'm not doing this again.