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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Anti-Demon Party
An Invite To A Party At Which One Hopes The Guest Of Honor Does Not Make An Appearance I just got back from the Anti-Baby Shower that Mayflower held for Stash and Mel, who was filled to bursting with the guest of honor. It was great fun. Not only did the room include two of the guys who I have friend's significant other crushes on (The Enforcer and The Catholic Slut's Husband), but there was an actual baby there to boot. (Otherwise, the crowd was mostly a mixture of yuppie and pre-yuppie lab slaves: one pre-med woman whose vivaciousness annoyed the hell out of me, one moniker-challenged woman (Nirvana), a couple of nondescript blonde women and the husband of one of the blondes who was a military type blandly named Dave, Totally Gay Ryan, Skinny Sheila, and a few others who don't deserve even the most perfunctory of mentions here.) Anyway, as I said, there were two SO crushes there: Catholic Slut's Husband is this cutie from Baltimore who is married to one of the women with whom Mayflower used to work. And this guy? He's not the kind of guy that you look at and automatically think, Yum. But then you start to talk to him and you realize over a bit of time just how attractive he is. And I like those guys who come in under radar--not just looks wise, but brain wise as well. I mean, this is a guy who turned down a spot in a very prestigious med school because he talked to some of the residents and was, like, you know? I'd like to spend some time with my wife over the next seven years. Also? He's funny as hell. And, oddly, he kept taking pictures of me over the course of the night. How strange is that? I mean, I'd be standing there talking to him, and he'd have his camera in his hand, held at his hip and I'd see a flash and realize that he'd just taken yet another picture of me. (How strange, no?) And, too, The Enforcer was there and when Mayflower and I stepped out for a smoke, he kept coming out, I think, to make sure that Mayflower wasn't going to embarrass him by telling me about The Cockring Experience. (And, of course, she was telling me about The Cockring Experience with one eye on the door so that she could quickly change the subject when he headed for us.) We laughed about The Enforcer being a guy who looks at all manner of society's violent dentritus daily--murder victims, drug overdoses, crime scenes--but who shudders in horror at the thought of wearing a cockring. (And can I just say? I love that guy.) And Mayflower drank steadily, making up lemon drops and serving them (mostly to herself) in tumblers, making her way through most of a bottle of pre-mixed Bellinis, and so on. And when I finally said my goodbyes, she slurred, "Oh, you're leaving? You can't leave--you're my favorite!" I hugged her, prescribed another drink for anything that ailed her, and left. I like those people, I really do. They're honest, hardworking, successful people. The women are overwhelmingly bland in their prettiness--but smart, too. And the men are the kinds of men who, for the most part, like smart women. So I like them, but I'm not one of them, you know? And there it is. And there I was. And here I am.
More lies:
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