July 10, 2008

• Edited to add:  You know, it just occurred to me.  The day after the Canadian told me about the cyclist I looked up to the heavens and asked for a gay, guy friend.

  Rupert

   Actually, that shitty day was yesterday.  I just posted late.  Because I had two glasses of wine, passed out after dinner, and woke up around midnight to see that I had no email, no comments, and that nobody cared about me anymore.  I got so used to the phone ringing all the time and the email coming and now nothing.  No men.  Not even Wally.  His timing was bad.  I might have …Nah.

  Yeah, it sucks to be the kind of woman who measures her happiness by the amount of wooing that’s comin’ her way.  I need to meditate more.

  Thank God I have hobbies.  And girlfriends.  And children, though a little of that goes a long way.  The oldest was here ALL day yesterday doing the middle one’s hair.  Not wanting to wait for her big sister, she was an idiot and bought a box of something and tried to do her hair herself.  Three bleach jobs later –For some reason the hair was divided into thirds — plus a dramatic haircut –”Think bombshell” was the directive — they left to go have a drink around 6:30.  That entire time the hairdresser’s dog was mauling mine.  “Oh, she’s just being a puppy.”  Read her German Shepherd/Pitbull opened wide and would mouth my dog’s neck, like he was thinking about eating her, while Bridget hovered beneath my chair.  When I complained the oldest, mimicking an elderly dog in distress, recounted how when Bridget was a puppy she had tormented my poor arthritic Bella.   That shut me up.

  I have a beer in the other refrigerator.  I’m gonna go get it.  Let’s see if I can drown my sorrows one more night. 

  While I’m drinking this I’ll tell you a funny story.  About the time the Canadian was disappearing I started getting emails from a guy I went to high school with.  Not the one who said he was still pining for me all these years later, which I feel sure is bullshit, but the gay guy I sat next to in 8th grade.  We’d carpooled until I got too cool for choir, orchestra, band and all the music stuff I had loved but left in high school.  The last time I saw him we smoked pot in the back of someone’s car at the first reunion.  Or was it the second?  

  I’ll call him Rupert, though he has an elegant name.  Not that Rupert’s not.  So Rupert and I are pretty excited about being reunited.  He’d seen my email address on the class reunion site and a couple weeks went by with long-winded exchanges back and forth.  He’s a good writer and is living in India doing orchestral, educational, liturgical work.  Right up my ally these days so I was pumping him about his work when all of a sudden the emails, which had been almost daily, came to an abrupt halt. 

  The last paragraph, because I went back and looked to see if there had been some weirdness I hadn’t noticed, read “Are you still married?  I remember your husband from that reunion, but not his name.  Anyway, that’s enough for now.”

  I’m thinking the whole point of the emails was to reconnect with Henry.  They met, not at the reunion, but at our house.  Henry has always been real homophobic and the girls used to insist he was gay.  This was based on how he hated women and loved to dress.  I think he could be bi.  That’s irrelevant.  Maybe. 

  See, this is an example of why people say I’m suspicious.  I think it’s just having imagination.  All I’m sayin’ is that ever since I wrote back we were divorced:  nothing.  Maybe he’s working in a remote village for a few days.  All I know is that not even gay guys are emailing me now.  I wish I had another beer.  Or a bottle of wine. 

   

   

  • 9:14 pm
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