Friends & Lovers

I’ve always been the girl who insists that just because I have a boyfriend, doesn’t mean I don’t have time for my friends. When D moved out to San Francisco, back in 2004, I remember having a conversation with Sascha the night before he arrived. We went on a long walk and I promised that just because my boyfriend was no longer going to be just a long-distance-boyfriend, I wasn’t suddenly going to disappear from Sascha’s life. And though it was a bit complicated in the beginning, since D was just getting to know Sascha, eventually it all worked out fine. Sure, we didn’t see each other as often, but we still made time. Then, of course, Sascha got girlfriends :O) and we didn’t see him as often, either.

Anyway, the other day, I was talking to my friend Rohna and said I hadn’t seen her in a while. Her response: “Well, that’s cause you’ve got a boyfriend.” I was adamant that wasn’t true. Sure I spent a whole lot of time with Chris, but I hung out with her and Sara, too. Had she seen Sara more than she had seen me? No, she replied, but she had at least talked to Sara over the weekend. But so had I. Sara called me and we spoke for a while. And Chris was sick and in bed, sleeping, most of Saturday, so it’s not that I didn’t have time to call my friends. I just don’t usually call people. I’m not a big phone person and the only times I really make long phone calls, is to friends who I never see, or my family.

Initially, I thought Rohna was accusing me of not spending more time with her and Sara, but then I realized she was explaining (both to me and herself) that she understood. That it was only natural. When I was single, I had tons more time to hang out with my friends, but now I want to spend time with Chris, too, and that takes away from the time I have for my friends. In fact, I want to spend more time with him than with my girlfriends. It makes sense. So maybe it’s not such a bad thing, and I shouldn’t feel the need to defend myself.

At least, until they start complaining…

The Stuff that Nightmares Are Made of- Part Deux

Aah… the joys of a wonderful nightmare. Or two.

Sunday night/Monday morning, I woke up horrified from the memory of two nightmares I had. I think they were two separate ones, but they could have been rolled into one, especially since I can’t seem to remember any details regarding one of them. I woke up rotating the words, New York Metropolitan Opera in various different orders. All I recall of that one is everyone seated, some conversation where someone mentioned some chick was fat (surprise, surprise), and another guy was defending her. Then something happened and there was a mad dash with everyone fleeing the theatre at once. The second dream- or possibly an extension of the same one- was about FedEx trucks, that in my head I was calling flatbeds but were actually more like bulldozers. One by one, these trucks were pulverizing cars and other FedEx flatbeds/bulldozers. It was all very similar to juicing apples in a juicer, and very, very bloody (unlike juicing apples) (hopefully). It kept happening over and over and over. And I was standing in the garage where it was happening, watching it all. The last pulverization was by a couple, the guy driving and the girl apologizing, but also joking about what happened.

Strange. (I wonder what Dr. Joey would make of that.)

Needless to say, I could not fall back asleep after that.

Oh yeah…

...Doug came over to me at the office on Friday to tell me that he just gave his two-week notice. We talked for a few minutes, hugged, promised to make an effort to be friends, and made some tentative plans to talk over drinks, soon. But considering he used to think I was an alcoholic (because I got sick one time and he had to take care of me) (very conveniently forgetting how I had to take care of him when he got sick, right in the beginning of when we started seeing each other), I think we’ll change that to “a” drink or coffee. Anyway. Then I told him about the Old-Married-Pervert who told HR that when Doug and I were dating, we used to look at him and laugh, because we thought he was jealous of us. (Talk about delusional. And paranoid.) We had a good laugh, another hug, and then suddenly all the weirdness lifted and disappeared and we were already on our way to becoming friends. Today we had another conversation, which started with me laughing at how his ex-girlfriend, who he broke up with 3 years ago, who also happens to be my supervisor, still refuses to look at him and promptly walks out of any room when he enters. This, because I was standing in the kitchen, talking to her when he walked in.

Anyway. Happy Hour at Varnish next Friday (not this week, but the next).

"Seasick Yet Still Docked" - Morissey

Chris came back from Thailand/Burma on Tuesday and I think he’s slept more than he’s been awake :O) but during his waking hours we’ve played Scrabble, talked, walked, cooked, went to Santana Row, played with his sister’s dogs, did crossword puzzles, etc. We saw There Will Be Blood on Friday which was CRAZY and awesome, but the best thing about it? We finally managed to watch a movie at the theatre for the first time since we met, almost 5 months ago. Anyway, we both spent the weekend being sick (and a bit disoriented- I think there’s something wrong with my ear…) but the blue, sunny skies today help to make things all better.

Nothing much planned for this week, though a friend gave me a buddy pass to his gym which expires on Thursday, so I will probably head there- as soon as I can move without feeling seasick. Got to catch up with friends and roommates, who I’ve been not-exactly-ignoring-but-just-been-too-busy-to-hang-out-with.

Besides that, I’m still trudging through Love in the Time of Cholera, which I insist on finishing. Maybe this week…

Disappear Here- Part Deux

Long conversation with D, my good friend (and ex-boyfriend) in Boston. Some background: D and I lived together for about 1 1/2 years. He moved out here to San Francisco for me, but a year later, decided he wanted to move back to Boston because he missed his family and friends. I moved out to Boston for a summer, then we tried the long distance thing, but it didn't work out.

Anyways. We spoke for a bit yesterday, but then got cut off because he was running late for a date, so he called back tonight. We talked about the usual, friends, love lives, romantic advice, etc. Then somehow we started talking about my plans for moving back to the east coast. He says it seems I'm really happy here, that I've found a place I really fit in. When he asked me for reasons why I want to move back, I guess none sounded convincing. I thought I wanted to move to New York. I'm pretty sure I still do, but he says that moving back for family is a surefire way to resent them- he did, at least initially. And friends, well they have their own lives- you never seem to be able to pick up where you left off.

The point is, he says if I wanted to move back, I would have already. Which in a way, is true. When I went to visit my family in Boston last time, I interviewed for jobs, and while there were some promising possibilities, I didn't choose to pursue them. I do remember coming home and wondering if I was really done with San Francisco. Was I ready, am I ready, to leave? Have I had enough of this crazy, wacky city?

I'm not sure.

But I never really planned to move to New York because I have friends there. That was an added bonus. I like the challenge of moving to a new city and carving myself a niche. I'm not really the pick-up-where-we-left-off kind of person. I don't move places nostalgic for an elusive past that will never be relived. I don't go back, I won't go back, in a running back home kind of way. No. I want to meet new people. Have new experiences. Start all over in a new place. Another great city.

Or do I really? Should I just disappear here?

Some Truths, Some Dares...

Yesterday, Dr. Joey and I met up for brunch at Boogaloo and a game of Scrabble. It was a gorgeous day so we opted to sit outside, and so got a table right away while the usual crowd of 30 or so people waited on.

I'm not really a mimosa kinda gal, but let me tell you, a cypress (grapefruit and champagne) is pretty darn good. I had two. We talked about a bunch of different things and eventually I decided to share with Dr. Joey my dilemma. We went back and forth, but the solution, to Dr. Joey, was crystal clear. No Ifs, Ands, or Buts about it. And sadly, I more or less agreed. By the end of brunch I picked up my glass, took a swig, and slammed it back on the table, saying, "If only this was alcohol." And then I remembered it was. I took another swig.

Back home, Scrabble was waiting. I went to get a bottle of champagne and some flutes, while Dr. Joey waited in the living room. When I got back, he was looking intently at a box of Jenga tiles.

Dr. Joey:
Did you know you had this?

Me:
Umm... no...

Dr. Joey:
Do you know what it is?

Me:
Jenga?

Dr. Joey:
Right. But see, it's not just regular Jenga, it's Truth or Dare Jenga.

Me:
(Laughing) Well, I guess we'll have to play some Jenga then.

After hearing the series of red dare tiles Dr. Joey pulled out, I was intent on pulling only the black truth tiles. But alas, I couldn't always. My first red tile had me rolling over, laughing. "Pretend you're riding." When I finally stopped laughing, I told him about racing horses in college, and said I was going to ride a horse.

Dr. Joey:
And how do you ride a horse?

Me:
Well, you sit astride, like so. You take the reins in one hand and the horn on the saddle with the other...

Dr. Joey:
How do you hold the horn again?

Me:
Umm... forget it. I'm riding an English saddle, not Western. There are no horns.

After posting and demonstrating for Dr. Joey, I got off my pretend horse, while he refilled my champagne flute.

I also got to slow dance with a broom, before I kicked my buddy's ass at Scrabble, by 85 points. A rematch is scheduled for tomorrow (Umm... Dr. Joey, I'm working tomorrow, so we're talking tomorrow evening, right?)

Started drinking at noon, drunk by 5, I was in dire need of a nap before I considered going dancing that night with my gals. I was hungover by 9 pm, when I woke up, scarfed down half a burrito, and ran out the door to meet Sara and Rohna at Rye. While my friends laughed, flirted, and danced, I kept thinking about that one black truth I still had to deal with; the one I wished I could have snuck back in the Jenga tower.

"Disappear Here..."

I was just complaining during lunch today that it's been a long, long time since I saw a really, really good movie at the theatre. Rohna and I had planned on watching The Kite Runner and I'd heard mixed reviews so I was hoping it would at least be better than Atonement. By the time both Rohna and I actually left work, we had missed the show we'd planned on catching and the next one wasn't until 9. Who wants to wait until 9pm for a movie on a Friday? So we picked another movie she'd really been wanting to see. The Great Debaters.

It was a wonderful movie and, albeit a bit similar to Dead Poets' Society (or what I remember of Dead Poets' Society) and perhaps even a bit predictable, it was beautifully shot, intelligent, had a great soundtrack, and it was moving. I even shed a tear or two. It was about (besides the whole segregation of whites and blacks and racism, etc.) identity and fitting in. I would say watch the movie if you're looking for something to go see, but I wouldn't say, "Run, run to the movies".

Anyway, afterwards, Rohna and I decided to grab a drink at The View Bar on top of the Marriott. I wasn't much a fan of the ambiance or the scene, but the view was amazing- better than Starlight Room and Top of the Mark. My glass of Riesling (more like half a glass since they pour so little into those huge goblets) lasted me an hour and a half since it was my first drink in 10 days (and I was buzzed later). We sat at a little table by the window and it was hard not to talk about living in San Francisco, as we looked out over and across the city. The movie had a scene in Boston/Cambridge and it got us talking about various cities we've lived in.

The consensus was that, while both Rohna and I have been considering moving to other cities (me cause I'm more of a drifter- can't stay anywhere for longer than 4 years, and Rohna cause... well cause this isn't exactly the best city for straight single women) it will be hard to leave San Francisco. And cheesy as it may sound, I said I know now what they mean in that song, "I left my heart in San Francisco". While I'm seriously considering (more like planning on) moving back to New York, there's something about this city, SF, that I've romanticized since my first day here.

I love this city and have all this nostalgia for those first few weeks after I arrived. That week staying at the Ansonia Abbey Hotel. They'd given me a room with bay windows that looked out over Post Street. After leaving the windows up the first night, I realized how chilly it gets at night. The morning smelled crisp- but with the sharp tinge of hostel/motel rooms and whatever laundry detergent they use on their sheets. That clawfoot tub. The cheap bars of soap. The convenience store across the street that I could watch all day and all night from my perch at the table by the window- watch the comings and goings of who makes up that neighborhood- mostly homeless bums, european tourists, hookers, students... There was the bad breakfast every morning in the cafeteria of pancakes and cold syrup and OJ from-concentrate (I couldn't eat the sausages and eggs, that looked unappetizing, regardless of whether I was vegetarian or not). There was the tiny computer room, where I printed copies of my resume and assignments for school. The old-fashioned elevator (we don't have those in Boston). The woman at the front desk, who remembers me to this day. But my favorite of all, the bright fucshia and magenta lobby/sitting room with the fireplace, where everything was velvet.

Whereas Brett Easton Ellis's characters in Less Than Zero and Lunar Park took the "Disappear Here" references as foreboding and as a commentary on how people lose their sense of identity (and any sense of depth in their relationships with others) to me, it implies something positive. More like finding a place for yourself; somewhere you have to make no efforts to be. I guess my point is that I have never felt more "myself" anywhere, than I have here. I feel more, as they say, "Resolved."

When I’m 65…

I always say that when I’m 65 (and if I make it there) I want to be able to go through a box of all the letters, cards, photographs I have ever gotten. Of course, over the years, somehow, many of these letters and cards have seemingly vanished into thin air, but many I still keep. Along with movie ticket stubs, concert and play and ballet and opera ticket stubs. Librettos and programs. And little handscribbled post-it notes and cards that once accompanied flowers. Lift tickets and hotel room keys. A jar full of 42 quarters (from the Philly mint) my dad collected for my ex-boyfriend’s state quarters collection (I didn’t have the heart to tell my dad I didn’t need them anymore). Tacky jewelry from my first boyfriend. Drawings my little sister made for me when she was 5… As you can see, the box is going to be more like a trunk.

Now that’s all fine and dandy, but what about e-mail? I’ve been hoarding all this e-mail in my inbox from when I first opened up the account 5 years ago. Given, that yes, I do sometimes go back and read some of them (I even have favorites), I still have limited space in my account. Two days ago, my sister complained that some e-mail she sent me bounced. I immediately went in and deleted all the e-mails from people I didn’t remember. I thought to delete e-mails from people who are permanently out of my life, but… some of them are very entertaining. I deleted all the e-mails from my family’s (read: clan) yahoo group. But I still have 90% left. And I don’t want to delete anything else. So what do I do? (I don’t want to switch to a different e-mail account because everyone I know and their mothers have this e-mail address.)

I have very often entertained the idea of printing e-mails from various people into little books. Or one massive book. Not that anyone else would be interested in reading it, but I could always put in on my bookshelf. (Come to think of it, my bookshelf’s pretty full, too…)

Not to mention that by the time I’m 65, I’ll probably have three times as much stuff to hoard. I’ll be one of those eccentric old ladies who gets lost in her house and when she dies, half the stuff she owns is of no value to anyone else. (It’s not like I’m into antiques or real estate or anything.)

Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll be a famous author by then and every one of my possessions, including those handscribbled post-it notes, will be intriguing to someone.

(Sigh…)

...And my cross-country best friend, too.

Thank you.

Drunk as you may have been; riding a ferry in the middle of the night. But that's when we have our best conversations. Though our scheduled, every-other-day, 6 Pacific/9 Eastern phone dates are fun, too. I love you! (And your girlfriend, too). (Though not so much your wife...)

I love my gals!

They're there when I really need 'em. I've never had girlfriends I could count on before. I've had a ton of guy friends but this... this girlfriends thing? It rocks!

Today, after a pressing dilemma kept me unfocused from work all day, Rohna asked if I wanted to meet for some tea at Samovar and talk (since I'm not drinking for a while). Sara came, too. I talked, they listened. They talked, I listened. Any guilt I had, slipped out the door into the cold, and disappeared. Before I knew it, we were laughing giddily, throwing out wonderful, bright ideas that we all secretly knew would never work but were fun to imagine, discussing our road trip to LA next month, blah, blah, blah...

By the time I got to BART, I felt all better. And while the dilemma persists, I know that whatever decision I make, I'll have my gals there supporting me.
(Sigh...)

“Doubt truth to be a liar…" - Shakespeare

from Hamlet

Decisions, Decisions…

"Purple. They turn purple." -Dr. Joey

Well, gee. Alright already. My wrists were starting to hurt from all the throttling. Them smurfs, man, I tell ya... They are invincible little things. Especially Smurfette.

Work was crazy, today. All the smurf strangling didn't help. I had to put on my cute little wrist braces- the ones that everyone seems to think are just an accessory. "They're very YOU." "They make you look all tough." "Those are cool! Where can I get them?" Funny to think you'd get compliments on something a doctor prescribed. Even if they do look like nifty little fingerless gloves.

...I just realized... I haven't received any smurfs in the mail, lately. Hmmm...

Atonement and Redemption

(This is a spoiler, so if you plan on watching the movie, don't read on!)

Yesterday, my friend David and I went to see Atonement. We had planned on catching the early afternoon show but turns out it was cancelled and we had to wait 3 hours until the next show. We walked around, did some shopping, had a really nice lunch sitting outside at Samovar, and then walked back to the theatre. Got settled in, with what I thought were the best seats in the house. (You need to be able to prop your feet up during a good movie!)

Now let me rewind a bit. I started reading the book a few years ago. I think I was still living in Boston at the time. During the first 80 pages or so, maybe even 120 pages, I understood what all the hype was about. It was great. Engaging, sensual, beautifully written, and by all means a page turner! The suspense builds slowly and you're sitting there hyperventilating, thinking, "No, no, no, don't do it," but you have no say, of course, as a reader, and the worst happens. Robbie, the housekeeper's son, is accused of raping little Lola, by the overimaginative little sister of the love of his life. He gets taken away to prison. The section ends. The next section begins, 4 years from that first day. And suddenly you're in Robbie's point-of-view, in the middle of a war. The writer rambles on about what's on fire, who's dying, how many days are passing... and it goes on, for pages and pages. I lost interest and put the book down. Permanently.

During the movie, the same thing happened. I kept waiting for it to go back to the hope and promise of the beginning, but it never does. When the war scenes started, both David and I lost focus. There's a lot of wandering from one place to the next and you don't quite get what the point is of it all. Eventually, both Robbie and his lover, Cecilia, never reunited, die. Cecilia's younger sister, who is no longer a little girl, realizes the gravity of her lie, and tries to make amends but she is unable to. She spends the rest of her life writing and rewriting the story, obsessed with bringing the two lovers together, at least in the fiction of a novel, since because of her, it never happened during their lives.

I was disappointed at first (and I still am, somewhat) but later, thinking about the reasoning behind the author's choices, and from what I know about writing, I had an aha! moment. The film/construction of the story mirrored the events of the story. It was about Atonement, which never comes. (It's painful, actually, how much nostalgia and yearning is carried through that last hour of the film.) It is something a lot of writers strive for, something that has always impressed me, when successfully managed. It is the idea of "form equals content", which the director did a brilliant job of achieving. As a viewer, I kept waiting for something to happen, for things to get better, but the point of the story was that they never did get better. And suddenly, in my eyes, the film redeemed itself.

The Stuff That Nightmares Are Made Of

Or not.

Last night, my friend Dr. Joey and I went to see Guillermo del Toro’s new film, The Orphanage. Erik had seen it recently and said that though there were lots of loose ends, he would definitely recommend I see it because it was very, very creepy. So I got all excited. I’m a jumpy one, during scary movies. I squeal and curse and scream. So of course, during the first 45 minutes or so of the movie, I did a lot of that. And then I started laughing at how ridiculous I must seem to the rest of the audience. And I couldn’t stop. I had to hold in both urges to scream real loud and laugh hysterically. So, needless to say, if you find yourself laughing in the middle of a scary movie, you’re probably not going to go home and have horrifying dreams. Or daydreams. Or experiences. Or imagined experiences.

I didn’t.

On the other hand, before the movie, Dr. Joey (who happens to be a psychiatrist) and I sat talking about recurring dreams and epic/saga dreams (dreams that not only recur, but grow older with you) and, of course, nightmares. Dreams make for very interesting conversations. And you realize they make less sense when you’re relaying them to someone, than they did in your head. You also realize you may want to censor. Those recurring dreams where (blank blank blank)? You might want to hold back.

Kidding. Dr. Joey is pretty easy to have strange conversations with. I did confirm, though:

Me:
So do you think I’m crazy?

Dr. Joey:
No. I think you’re more sane.

Besides. He had nightmares of his own. And other dreams…

Master Cleanse: One More Time

My last attempt was unsuccessful so I’m trying harder this time. Erik started yesterday but I started today. I didn’t make enough lemonade for the whole day so I'm sitting here at my desk, staring into my empty cup. I have a headache and can’t stop thinking about food.

Here’s the list I was making on a post-it (before I caught myself) of all the healthy, protein rich foods I’m going to consume after I’m done on the 17th (not all in one day, of course):
Tofu Scramble
Marinated Tofu
Green Beans and Tofu
Salads with (Balsamic Vinaigrette)
Raw Vegetables
Water
Fruits
Yogurt: Plain, Vanilla, Maple
Granola and Yogurt
Plain Cheerios with Skim Milk
Tempeh (I will try it, at least once)
Almonds: Roasted, Salted, Spiced

This is when I stopped. I was going to start looking up recipes next. WAS. But I decided I was torturing myself. I might not last the full 10 days but I’m definitely trying.

The Le and the Le and I

Funny, today I feel like I’ve not been at work, but rather been playing hooky like a child, constantly sneaking out to see my boyfriend. We left together this morning; he went off to take a test, while I headed to work. We met up again for lunch, where we squeezed in every possible opportunity to kiss and hug and hold hands, but alas… the streets just don’t allow for enough privacy. I sent him off with my keys to pick up his car from my garage, and then he came back to return them. I ran out of my building, jumped into his car, and we drove half a block up to make out.

I had gum in my mouth and rather than one of us choking on it, Chris pulled down his window for me to chuck it out, but instead, wonderfully klutzy that I am, the gum never quite made it out the window. He got out of his car to look for it and I burst out laughing and almost peed in my pants when I saw it stuck to the door. Fortunately, he found that “adorable”.

Not that we wouldn’t have done all of that on a regular day, it was actually because he’s off to Thailand and I won’t see him for two weeks. But he’ll send me dispatches. And I’ll send some back.

"...Nothing Changes on New Year's Day" -U2

Yesterday, New Year’s Day, Chris and I woke up early, played a game of Scrabble- which I sucked at, considering I was still hungover from the night before- and then we stepped out to grab some grub at Pakwan. As usual, the meal was yum and the chai even yummier. Afterwards, we decided to just walk all the way downtown to the theatres and see if we could finally catch a movie together. (Almost 4 months of hanging out and we had not once made it to the theatres since something always came up). We got tix for Sweeney Todd but while we sat outside the Metreon with our Starbux watching the pidgeons and talking, waiting until it was time for our movie, the theatre filled up. By the time we got there, in time enough to catch the previews- my favorite part of going to the movies- there were no more seats together so we got a refund and decided to give up on our hopes to ever watch a movie together. Instead, we crossed the little footbridge over to Moscone and, jumping up and down, I pointed out the carousel. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

While we waited in line, and I sipped my Starbux cappuccino, one of the conductors of the carousel complimented me on my boots.

Conductor:
“I’m a boot guy.”

Lele:
“I’m more of a booty guy. Mmm hmm…” (while slapping mine)

I snickered and the conductor gave us a strange look, before he glanced at something behind us. When I turned around, there was a woman standing there looking at us with contempt in her eyes. I followed her hands down to where she was covering her little boy’s ears. I dropped to the sidewalk, laughing hysterically, Starbux spraying through my nose.

Lele:
(Walking away) Uh oh. We're already pissing pissing people off and we haven't even gotten on the carousel yet. Let's get out of here.

Me:
We’re fucking riding this carousel!

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I'd forgotten about the kid, again. Shit. I turned around to see the woman get out of line in front us, pick up her child in her arms, and storm off.

It was our turn and we were going to get two rides. For the first one, we behaved ourselves on our camels (unless you count Chris’s attempt to make himself ejaculate by climbing up the pole). The next ride, though, we switched onto horses. When the carousel started moving, Chris jumped onto my horse. As we passed by, the conductor (a different guy this time) yelled out, “Only one person per horse!”

Chris made a spectacle of himself, trying unsuccessfully to get off from behind me, but after several amusing attempts, he gave up and slumped back in place.

Lele:
What now?

Me:
Just stay. Look!

I pointed to our reflection in the mirror at the center of the carousel. We made faces, stuck out our tongues, waved. Even the conductor was laughing. All the 5, 6, 7, 8 year-olds were turned around in their horses, watching us, while their moms, sisters, nannies looked at us like the naughty kids who should be sitting in the corner with a dunce hat. But at least part of them must’ve been envious… right?

Chris held me tight until the carousel slowed down, then we jumped off, grabbed hands, and ran as fast as we could without looking back.