Mashers, et al
On Friday, after my show, I went to a bar to wait for B.N.B. to be done with work and -- surprise, surprise -- met another gentleman, several years my elder, who wanted to convey important relationship advice to me. This gentleman was only 52 (a relative youngster in the pantheon of my aged gentlemen callers) and was super crazy skinny. We talked about divorce and of taking care of one's parents and of a lot of things when B.N.B. strode in and said (while watching a baseball game on a TV just over my head) that he had to make a brief stop-in at a party and then he would pick me up at my house. He kissed me, which was only the second time he's ever done that in public (I don't count my alley as being "public" because the only people who saw that were a couple of trash pickers and it's not like we have a ton of mutual friends that they would blab to) and then left. Skinny Slightly Old Guy witnessed all of this, turned to me and said "Oh, no. No you don't! Don't you lose yourself over HIM." I wanted to launch into the "It's complicated..." talk, but I have just given up on trying to rationalize my involvement with B.N.B. When I left the bar, S.S.O.G. hugged me tighter than I would have thought his frail arms were capable of, and whispered "Not that guy, OK? Not HIM." I think I may have been a little teary when I left.
True to his word, B.N.B. did pick me up, which caused me to have to leave a lovely telephone conversation with New Orleans Boy earlier than I would have liked to. On the phone, N.O. Boy is practically perfect. In person, though, I missed the spark of insta-passion. Still, I felt bad when the doorbell rang and I had to say "Whoops! I have to go! My company is here." Company? I guess that's what B.N.B IS, right? He's not my boyfriend, he's not my husband, he's not committed to anything, so he's just around to keep me company sometimes. Ick. We wound up at the Saddest Little Bar in the World, listening once again to Kenny Rogers and overhearing tasty little bits of conversation from the bartender (like "Things all changed when Tina got murdered."). He stayed over that night. I guess some people would feel lucky for that.
Saturday, B.N.B. and I both went out for drinks after a show with some friends from the theater. I did everything possible to put a little distance in between B.N.B. and I. It amused me a little that, whenever I had been away from him for too long, he would find an excuse to come over and have a conversation with someone standing next to me. He likes me more than he's willing to admit, but he may just hurt me terribly instead of ever admitting it. There were plenty of boys there competing for my attention, which was fantastically flattering. I danced with one, had a meaningful conversation with another, smiled at a couple more and accepted drinks from yet another. Later, at a party after the bar, one tiny little 23-year-old made a very drunken fumbling attempt at trying to pick me up. It was cute. I didn't respond because I was afraid he would throw up in my purse. I went home with B.N.B. who was also at the purse-puking stage.
While engaged in a meaningful convversation with one of the non-masher boys, I told him about one of my favorite movies; "Summertime" with Katharine Hepburn. She talks about how, when she was younger, she was always the last girl at the dance and how, as an older woman, she has to remember to leave while the dance is still going on. That part always breaks my heart. I also love the line "You are like a hungry child who is given ravioli to eat, but you turn up your nose and say 'No! I want beefsteak!' Eat the ravioli, Janie!" Hell, I don't have beefsteak, but I ain't got no ravioli, either.
True to his word, B.N.B. did pick me up, which caused me to have to leave a lovely telephone conversation with New Orleans Boy earlier than I would have liked to. On the phone, N.O. Boy is practically perfect. In person, though, I missed the spark of insta-passion. Still, I felt bad when the doorbell rang and I had to say "Whoops! I have to go! My company is here." Company? I guess that's what B.N.B IS, right? He's not my boyfriend, he's not my husband, he's not committed to anything, so he's just around to keep me company sometimes. Ick. We wound up at the Saddest Little Bar in the World, listening once again to Kenny Rogers and overhearing tasty little bits of conversation from the bartender (like "Things all changed when Tina got murdered."). He stayed over that night. I guess some people would feel lucky for that.
Saturday, B.N.B. and I both went out for drinks after a show with some friends from the theater. I did everything possible to put a little distance in between B.N.B. and I. It amused me a little that, whenever I had been away from him for too long, he would find an excuse to come over and have a conversation with someone standing next to me. He likes me more than he's willing to admit, but he may just hurt me terribly instead of ever admitting it. There were plenty of boys there competing for my attention, which was fantastically flattering. I danced with one, had a meaningful conversation with another, smiled at a couple more and accepted drinks from yet another. Later, at a party after the bar, one tiny little 23-year-old made a very drunken fumbling attempt at trying to pick me up. It was cute. I didn't respond because I was afraid he would throw up in my purse. I went home with B.N.B. who was also at the purse-puking stage.
While engaged in a meaningful convversation with one of the non-masher boys, I told him about one of my favorite movies; "Summertime" with Katharine Hepburn. She talks about how, when she was younger, she was always the last girl at the dance and how, as an older woman, she has to remember to leave while the dance is still going on. That part always breaks my heart. I also love the line "You are like a hungry child who is given ravioli to eat, but you turn up your nose and say 'No! I want beefsteak!' Eat the ravioli, Janie!" Hell, I don't have beefsteak, but I ain't got no ravioli, either.
posted by Unknown at 7:25 AM
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