About a week and a half I did a show where I met someone, well we already knew each other, but our paths crossed again. I respect this person a lot. It was one of those nights where I was April being April. As usual, my plate was full. Whether I was delivering telegrams, talking to networks, on my way to publishing a book and having various radio stations usurping my song there I was. And there this person was. I didn’t care that I was bumped. I had one of my historic April Being April, not eating enough and overworked woman, anxiety attacks. Needless to say this person made me laugh. I still managed to finish my set, go to the diner with them, and shoot the shit.
I don’t know what it was, but I needed a good laugh that night. Sometimes I stress myself out so much that it’s not even funny. There is a part of me that is so wicked, so devil may care. On the other hand I am the anal retentive stick in the mud who will correct your grammar. I will let you know how you failed at syntax, therefore I will make you believe you have failed at life. You don’t know this part of me exists until you make the egregious error of meeting her. Then we can no longer be friends.
We went to a diner that night after the show and shot the shit. He is like me, this person. Shoot from the hip. Most of the people I loved in this world have shot from the hip. I always say my friend Roger and I had that same weakness. We told the truth, that is to the point where it got us in quicksand. It pissed those around us off, but on some visceral level we got each other. That’s why I was always the one he called at two in the morning, always the one he called when he was in the hospital. Aside from the fact I wouldn’t kill him like most people, we understood each other. Too much of the truth was better than a lie, and because of him chocolate syrup is ruined on my pancakes forever. Damn you Roger.
Anyway, we just talked about things and he walked to me the train where he kissed me afterwards. I didn’t take it personally. I didn’t invest much affection into it. He is a guy who has been around and that’s fine. We are honest about what it is, and the craziness that is our life. If anything it made me smile a little bit with the moonlight and the moon beams around it.
Then fast forward to today. I have been sick for the past few days. Friday night/Saturday morning I was puking and shitting to the point where I felt like I could die. I have been working too hard as usual. One step closer to publishing the book. Everything is coming together. Then blamo! As if missing my friend Scott’s party wasn’t bad enough, I felt like every step I took hurt and I cried my eyes out at the local supermarket when I was buying Ginger Ale. A gay guy and his partner saw me and gave me a hug because they felt so bad for me.
Well today wasn’t much better. After church I felt a little better, took a jaunt, and then when I felt worn out went back home. To which online I discovered a thread where a male pig posted something degrading to women. When I see that errant nonsense, the activist in me comes out. Yes, I was in a relationship with a psycho who occasionally hit me and even went so far as to stalk me afterwards. As a result I am aware, painfully aware, of what the power of words can do. I said my piece and the guy messaged me saying Sinatra used the same language. I also pointed out that we used to refer to Asians as Chinaman and Native Americans as redman. Neither were appropriate any longer.
Well I got into a fight with his idiot followers, many fat women with no sense of self, for almost two hours. Looking back, I feel stupider. But my point was jokes like these and words like those contribute to attitudes of hate and indifference towards women’s issues and therefore the belief that it’s okay to “smack a bitch.” The one woman who kept jumping down my throat used the c-word and b-word easily when it came to other women which concerned me. Of course who am I to judge, especially when she tells me she has three kids who are probably running with scissors. Either way, I don’t know what made me angrier: The fact that this prick’s errant hate towards women has followers, and the fact I don’t think it’s a joke? Or the fact that classless women who benefit from many social programs and various reforms that are struck down because of these attitudes defend this chauvinism on a large scale?
So I took a walk and guess who messages me? My coffee shop friend. Originally he had something to do but got the date wrong. Anyway, he ended up calling me on the phone and we talked for sometime. Again, he was the laugh and smile I needed. Okay, it was an hour and a half but like me he shoots from the hip. He told me that if he stole me flowers from the cemetery, he would make sure the mother sign was torn off. Already a step ahead of many of my suitors. He also told me that he would never steal me presents from the Lost and Found, that was gauche. Already a step ahead of the man I almost married. Plus he used the word gauche correctly in a sentence. Not to mention if a pigmie tried to abduct me, he would fight the pigmie to the death.
He described himself as half gentlemen, half savage. He told me he would hold the door for me and smack my ass when I walked through. I like an honest man. I like a man damnit.
I won’t say that’s love because that is just scary. I won’t say it’s like cause why ruin a good thing. I will just say I’m smitten. I’m not looking for love or lust. I can’t handle that. Instead I just want to smile and remember someone fondly when they go, not as a clingy little bitch who just wanted a mommy. When things get real I will probably make like a man and run.
Until that day comes, I am simply smitten with a kindred spirit. *Giggle*