Tag Archives: dear prudence

How to Fall In Love . . . for Dummies: The 2nd Date

I was driving to San Diego on 2 hours sleep from the night before. In general, I do think I am Wonder Woman, but on this particular night . . . I was not. I was nodding off at the wheel and occasionally veering into the lane next to me.

I did make it to San Diego in 2 hours with a full bladder and worries that Alan wouldn’t really like me based on our earlier FB exchange re: my spotting vagina.

 

Dear Prudence by the Beatles came on the car radio, that damn song was haunting me.

♫ ♪ Look around, round, round round round, round round ♫ ♪

 

When I showed up, we didn’t embrace or kiss. He just helped me with my bags, I ran up to use his bathroom and we parked my car. I returned to his long studio apartment and kinda just stared at him. What was I doing? I don’t know him.

Then he kissed me and my head felt light.

We sat down as he started up his volcano, which is a vaporizer that loads marijuana smoke into a large plastic bag you can suck from without having to worry about losing smoke through the nozzle or mouthpiece. It’s fairly intense. It made me stupid, which bothered me since with Alan you have to be on your toes. I don’t strive to be stupid by getting high, I strive to relax my mind so I can use it.

 

I grabbed some water from the kitchen and spilled it on the floor. I didn’t want him to see it, but since I took my contacts out, and couldn’t see paper towels rather only a pair of nice hand towels hanging from the oven door, I decided to use my bare foot to mop it up.

He walked back and said, “Uh oh, spilled water.” He mopped it up with the paper towels that were less than a foot from me on the counter.

I said, “Sorry, I used my foot to clean it up.”

He said, “Yeah, feet aren’t good for mopping up water.”

I said, “Well, if you want the play by play, I couldn’t see without my contacts and didn’t want to use your nice towels, so I thought I would try to clean it up without you knowing using my bare feet.”

He said, “That’s ok.”

Then I spilled water again, on the exact same spot.

He looked down and crumpled his brow in a lopsided grin. He said, “Do we need to get you a slurpie cup?”

I laughed my dork laugh and got down on my hands and knees to wipe it up.

 

When I sat down on the couch, he started talking about psychology studies from his Undergrad. He said, “We would ask subjects on Day 1, ‘Were you ever in the hospital?’ Then on day 2, we would ask all of them, even the ones that were never in the hospital, ‘Tell me about the time you were in the hospital.’ All of them had a story of some sort about being in the hospital. That’s how hard wired people are to lie, they would rather make up a story than contradict themselves.”

Now, I didn’t know how we got on this subject, but my first thought was, “Why the fuck is he telling me this?” Now, I was pretty stoned, so I am sure there was a reason why we went on the subject, but I think people will give you clues about themselves to give you a fighting chance before they fuck you over. Too cynical?

Then we moved on to how he was going to sue his current landlord, and added his name to a Revenge List. Now, Alan seems to have a lot of potential as a lawyer, and pretty much all my exes hate me so . . . yeah, I was scared.

I said, “Um . . . what happens if and when I piss you off? I am a little worried.”

He said, “Oh no, don’t worry. I never use my evil doings against the people I care about.”

I said, “You might not care about me after I upset you.”

Alan looked down and started arranging things, he said, “Noooo, don’t worry. Never against the people I care about.”

Then he gave me a box of Captain Crunch cereal. I smiled and said, “This is better than flowers.” I suddenly remembered I wanted to bring him a single rose but forgot in the madness of the week.

He said, “I saw it and just thought I would pick it up for you.”

I blushed.

Alan, “AND . . . I got you this.”

He handed me a bullet in a small baggie.

Alan continued, “I grabbed it from the autopsy I went to for class. I thought you would like it.”

I said, “Thank you. Did this . . . um . . . kill a person?” Cause, I don’t want that.

He said, “No, it was shot into the wall. I asked and made sure it didn’t hurt anybody first.”

Unusual, but I kind of dig it.

I said, “Thank you, I will find something cool to do with it.”

The bullet was barely being held together in one piece. The tip was clumsily hanging off the edge of the casing. I tucked it in the front pocket of my suitcase.

A song came on and I asked him who sang it.

He said, “I sent it to you on GChat.”

I said, “Oh, I will Shazam it.”

He said, “Reality and Fantasy.”

 

♫ ♪ The wall between reality and fantasy,

Is sometimes so small, and not so tall ♫ ♪

 

Then another version of Dear Prudence came on, this time by Dana Fuchs.

I said, “This song is following me, I wonder what it means. Songs get trapped in my mind and just spin around and around. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

 

♫ ♪ The clouds will be a daisy chain,

So let me see you smile again ♫ ♪

 

He said, “That’s how I feel about Reality and Fantasy. Its been in my mind since I came up to visit you.”

 

♫ ♪ I’ve looked into your eyes,

And it should make me feel so bright and satisfied,

The only thing I’ve learned,

Is just to fall and fall and fall . . .♫ ♪

 

I didn’t make the connection of what a romantic and potentially harmful association this was to me and our love affair. Fantasies don’t make mistakes or spill water on the floor or spot during sex.

I said, “I wonder why music becomes such an obsession.”

Alan, “A connection to the fourth dimension. It’s a measure of time moving forward we can understand, since time is so abstract. That’s the theory I have developed anyway, other people have written books about it but I don’t have time to read them.”

Damn, he is impressive.

We decided to go to bed since I was stupid and stoned, not to mention completely out of it from sleep deprivation.

We went to his bed and made love all night. In my mind, I couldn’t tell what was a dream and what was real, (♫ ♪ Reality and Fantasy ♫ ♪) but I don’t remember actually falling asleep or dreaming. I only remember rolling over and making love again and again.

*Sidenote:  He was using some kind of warming lubricant. That stuff turned my vagina into the Fourth of July.

When we woke up, it was almost noon, I think.

I said, “Was it me, or did we have sex all night long?”

Alan said, “I worked it out in my mind and think we did it every hour and a half with about 20-40 minutes in between.”

I said, “That was surreal.”

He smiled and put his arm around me. The boy is so skinny, I felt unsure about laying all my weight on him.

He said, “There is a Farmer’s Market down the street. I thought we could go down and get you some breakfast.”

We showered and walked down. Alan is very fair; it appears as though he hasn’t been in the sun . . . well, ever. He mentioned he didn’t like waiting in lines in the heat, and after mid-terms, I could tell he was struggling to be chipper and social. Then a man decided to cross in front of us, 6-inches from the booth where we were waiting for my vegan tamale, as opposed to walking behind us where everyone else was crossing, and he stepped on Alan.

Alan said, “Oh, well, excuse me.” With sweat beading over his mirrored sunglasses, I saw a flash of what is driving him to be the lawyer. The runaway foster kid who was waiting to collect heads stared at the large, middle-aged man with a cool, calculating irritation. I grabbed his arm and rubbed it. He melted and smiled at me.

Under the fury of the little guy who pays his way to go to school with rich kids, and assumes everyone is out for himself and gets stepped on my large men who want to make a point . . . there is a boy. I see him.

We went back to what he called “The Cave”, his shaded, cool studio apartment and ate food as graphics synched with music on his wide-screen TV.

 

We napped and made love. Really that is all I came there to do.

In the middle I said, “Ooh, cramp in my leg. Hold on.” I adjusted and executed a different sexual position.

After we were done he said, “I didn’t know anyone could do what you just did.”

I said, “I call it The Barbie, because when I made my Barbies have sex, they could never spread their legs.”

He said, “I’m pretty sure that’s how you would rape a man.”

Silence. I assumed all this time he wasn’t orgasming since he never pulled out.

I said, “You haven’t been cumming inside of me, have you?”

Alan said, “Um, well yeah. Last night . . .”

Me, “With the condom.”

Alan, ” . . . yeah. And a few more times after that. And just now.”

Me, “ALAN! God!”

Alan, “You said you started the pill!”

Me, “I just started, it takes a month to take effect. Shit.”

Alan, “I don’t know these things. (silence)  Well, if there was ever anyone I would want to accidentally impregnate, it would be you.” And he kissed my head.

Silence.

Me, “Sorry, I was just jumping ahead to me being pregnant and you being annoyed.”

 

Before we knew it, the sun set and a new night was ahead of us. We went to a burger joint where they served vegan burgers. I wasn’t talking a lot on this visit. Everything I said was measured. Instead of being the entertainment, as I usually am, I just faded quietly into the background.

Dear Prudence by Siouxsie and the Banshees came on.

I said, “Why is this song everywhere?”

♫ ♪ Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day ♫ ♪

With burger in my mouth I said, “This is it! This is the version that started it.”

 

We went home and then we dropped X.

He makes his own.

I said, “Sex is already so intense with you, I am kind of scared.”

He said, “I know, I am scared too.” And he handed me the pill.

I chased it with water, and about a half an hour later Alan was throwing up in the bathroom.

Now, when you just take on a lover, there is some debate about when you should enter the bathroom of which he pukes. I decided to give him his privacy when he yakked and enter with a glass of water during silences.

Alan, “I just can’t do drugs while I am in law school. My stomach is far too acidic from the stress.

I said, “Drink some water, stay hydrated.”

Alan, “I just want to puke everything out before putting anything in.”

Me, “Well, it will get the stomach acid off your vocal chords, which is important.”

He took a sip.

Then, sweaty and high, he crawled into my lap like a little boy and I held him. It was the most vulnerable I’d seen him and I really liked it. I kissed his wet hair and wiped it off his forehead.

Alan, “I really like that you are taking care of me.”

Me, “I just gave you some water.”

Alan, “That’s more than anyone has ever done for me.”

I held him closer and said, “Let me tell you a happy memory from my childhood.”

Silence.

Me, “I can’t think of one.”

Alan, “Sometimes when there is pressure to remember something, you can’t. Tell me about your first dog.”

I smiled, “I was 10 and I did a sit down protest in the living room. My grandfather knew someone giving up a dog, that was Chelsea. My grandfather was nice. He was the only one in my family I liked and he wasn’t even blood related.”

He smiled and put his hand on my knee.

I continued, “When I was 14, I came home late from school and my father dragged me into the house by my hair and told my mother to take me into the bathroom and check to see if I was still a virgin.”

His smile faded, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

I shrugged.Then I shook my head. Why did I have to tell him that?

Then he shared a childhood memory with me, equally perplexing and cruel. He chuckled a little, but I stared at him wondering why parents are so careless with young people. We remember everything.

I said, “I am falling in love with you.”   I swung my whole upper torso over the edge of the couch.

Alan, “I am falling for you, too.”

I said, “And I have to leave in 2 days.”

Alan, “Don’t think about that right now.”

 

***

Holding me, I leaned into his sweat.

Alan, “I would like to have one of my own, someday, but mostly I would like to take in some foster kids. Do things that way.”

I was worried he wasn’t interested in having kids. I followed his dark pupils back and forth. Tick tock.

Me, “That sounds great.”

 

***

Alan in the bathroom, “Well its official. I look like a 12 year-old 31 year-old.”

I smiled, “You look very young.”

 

***

Alan, “You are everything I have been praying for all this time. You are the fantasy, the perfect girl.”

Me, “Don’t say that.”

 

***

We talked and he said, “I think this trip is more about getting to know you than about sex, which isn’t what I expected but I like it.”

Then I tried on different clothes and modeled them in his bed for him.

He said, “You are so pretty, I don’t know what to do with you.”

I was getting lost in him. It felt good. Sometimes I don’t want to be me. It’s exhausting.

Am I me when performing for friends? Kind of. I guess I am. With Alan, I am who I was before I learned to make fun of myself . . . a quiet, tomboy who put on a little make-up and wore pretty clothes.

The next day we woke up, ate cereal and watched Jackass 3. I hadn’t seen any of them and was pleasantly surprised.  Also, it was the first time Alan smiled a real smile, not a forced grin. I stared at him so I could remember what it looked like, and I felt jealous that I hadn’t created it.

We napped, sometimes together, sometimes at different times. He tried working on my computer and doing his homework. I played Scrabble in my underwear all day.

The next morning, Monday, we were making love in doggie style when somehow I pulled his arm to chest muscle. Don’t ask me how from THAT position.

He was having trouble breathing and moved to the living room where he pressed his hand against his chest.

Alan, “It really hurts. I thought I was having a heart attack. My first thought was I should go to the hospital.”

I listened to him, massaged him, didn’t say anything out of total guilt.

Alan, “I have to take a muscle relaxer. Do you want one?”

I didn’t answer. I don’t know, do I?

He gave it to me and I dutifully swallowed it.

I looked inside the pill jar and saw a medley of different pills, different colors and sizes.

Me, “Where did you get all of these?”

Alan, “I swapped with a heroin addict who needed real pills to get him clean. (he held up the pill jar) This was the stuff the clinic gave him. He did X all the time, and took a pill that was cut with over 75% heroin. After that, he couldn’t get high anymore on just the X, that’s how it started.”

Me, “Oh.”

Alan, “That’s why I make my own X. Pure MDMA.”

Me, “They call them Mollys.”

The pill plunged into my stomach like a swan dive. My body slithered into nothingness.

Alan fell asleep, and I messed around a little on the internet, showered, ate, then fell asleep with him.

I woke up and gave him a blow job.

Alan, “I really love how you take care of me.”

Me, “I didn’t really do much. I should have done more.”

Alan, “No, you let me complain about the pain, stayed calm, massaged me, and now you gave me a blow job so I wouldn’t have to move. No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

Who has this kid been dating?! Oh yeah . . . Jaq. What a bitch.

The greatest difference between Abe and Alan is Abe never thought twice about being taken care of. It never crossed his mind that he was lucky. To Alan, it was everything he was waiting for.

He continued, “You are really calming for me. I love being around you.”

No one would describe me as calming, except for Kent and Trent . . . and Alan, I guess. Maybe all the dope I have been smoking has altered me.  When I came home from college, my parents would feed me PM cold medicine so I would sleep through half of my visit. I am/can be very hyper. I am always on like a performer. Not with Alan. With Alan I am just a girl.

We went to the grocery store, and he asked I pick out food so he knew what to buy me next time.

The sun was setting and I would be leaving soon. I stopped talking and wouldn’t look at my phone.

 

We got home and he mentioned how he walked on foot from Florida to New Orleans when he was 15-16, during his Jack Kerouac phase. I said, “Really?”

He seriously thought about it then said, “Yeah, I did.”

I asked, “How did you make money, to feed yourself?”

He said, “Waffle Houses. I loved Waffle Houses. They paid cash every Friday. Which is pretty amazing to think about considering where I am right now. ”

I said, “It is amazing.”

Ok, I know I am being redundant, but yes, we made love again. Afterward, he asked, “When do you think you will be done with the whole acting thing? What is your end goal?”

I said, “I don’t know. Until I feel done with it. Sometimes I see things through and know when I have had enough. When I am done, I will know I am done. And I will do something else.”

Alan, “My end goal is $2 Million in liquid assets.”

Wow. Ok.

Alan, “Which actually isn’t that much.”

Me, “I know, especially considering all the foster kids . . . and the animal sanctuary.” I looked up and smiled.

He nodded very seriously.

We gave in to the night and fell asleep.

The alarm went off at 4am on Tuesday and I gathered my things. I couldn’t look at Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Wilson wouldn’t look at me.

Alan, “I know this is sad, but I have an easy weekend over the Fourth of July so I think I will come up. So we will see each other soon.”

Me, “But don’t you have to move that weekend?” He is moving from his evil landlord apartment to an apartment next to the Farmer’s Market half a mile away.

Alan, “I will just pack things up and have moving men do all the work.”

 

I kissed his neck, and then we walked Mr. Wilson.

It was dark out, and the taxi drivers were parking on the street to go home and sleep for the day.

Alan said, “Come on Wilson, is that spot good enough? No? Ok … ”

I said, “I love making love to you.”

Alan, “I love doing everything with you, even waiting for poop.”

I said, “Its funny, I have had no desire to smoke a cigarette when I am around you. I don’t smoke a lot, but I do socially.”

Alan, “With the volcano my lungs suffer, like I am a smoker. But it doesn’t taste like burnt asshole.”

I laughed. I could smell the detergent on the collar of his shirt.

We went up to drop off Wilson and I sat down.

He said, “If everything happens the way I want it to, and plan for it to, I will live in LA by December 2012. If not, the latest Spring 2013.”

I crunched my hat over my head and said, “I will be 35 then. Will you still want me?”

He leaned in and said, “Don’t worry about that.”

He walked me to my car and said very quickly, “This is sad, there is no way around the sad, so call me anytime, text me, and I will see you next weekend.”

I smiled and felt a brush of wet lips across my face.

I drove back, trying to summon the thrill of freedom and independence.  It was there, burning in the embers of our weekend.  However, nothing beats falling in love, does it?

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There is Doubt but then there is The Beatles

I was invited to the Saturn Awards by someone I went on a couple dates with in 2010. We met on OkCupid, he was nice enough but it didn’t feel right to me so I cut things off. Since then, he has expressed that I might find him more attractive now and/or I should give it another chance.

I didn’t think so with the Abe chaos, but eventually gave in to the Saturn Awards with the understanding that I was seeing someone else. So Thursday, I drove over to meet Austin, who lives in a guesthouse in Burbank.

I was nervous because though I am not sure, I think I may have said mean things to him. Not because I was angry, just to get him off my back. The guy was fairly relentless for reasons I don’t understand. I assume unless a guy penetrates me, he pursues until his seed dries up in the desert.

Austin is in his early thirties, about my height, thick but not overweight and a redhead. He seemed to have a false confidence going on which I actually needed since I was just turned away from a model casting call I had the exact look and hair coloring for.

He said, “You know, there are a lot of girls I could take to this thing. But I thought you were the one girl who would really appreciate it.”

I was early (which is laughable), so we decided to grab some food and beer at a bar nearby. Before we left, he played the Siouxsie and the Banshees version of Dear Prudence. It was tender.

♫ ♪ Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play? Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day . . . ♫ ♪

I was being talky and nervous for a few reasons. I don’t know this guy well. We were going to a B-List Celebrity event. And, I just started things with Alan and didn’t want to create a mess for myself.

So we were talking about life as the Beatles version of Dear Prudence came on the jukebox.

♫ ♪ The sun is up, the sky is blue, It’s beautiful and so are you ♫ ♪

I said, “My parents are really on me about giving up and moving back home. My mother isn’t even talking to me right now. I don’t know, maybe I am wrong. But I am happy. They weren’t happy. Now they are, only after 40 years of working their asses off in jobs they hated. My sister hates her job. Now they can all go to Italy a few times a year. I don’t want to wait 40 years. I don’t get to go to Italy, but that’s the price I pay for being happy now.”

Austin said, “You are right. They just don’t see it. They have small minds and don’t understand. We understand.”

I said, “I mean, I don’t go around telling people they are living life the wrong way. I don’t tell people how to live. The thought never occurs to me.”

He said, “I know. I know.”

I said, “If John Lennon says I am doing the right thing, then I have to be right? John Lennon knows more than all of us.”

Austin said, “That’s right. They can’t see the truth, we can see it. Don’t worry.”

I said, “Do you know the song The Cave by Mumford & Sons?”

Austin, “No.”

Me, “It’s popular right now, but it’s really good. Its based on the Allegory of the Cave by Socrates.”

I sipped my Stella over onion rings.

Me, “The Allegory of the Cave is about people living in a cave, who only know life from what is projected on the wall in front of them. A false reality, or simplified reality. When they look to the light outside, they are blinded and can’t understand it, so they return to the Cave and the shadows, and resume a life with less knowledge and experience, less light and are no longer confused or overwhelmed.

Only a few venture out into the light to discover life no matter how abstract.”

It’s a pedestrian summary but what I gathered from one early morning using the internet and reading a healthy portion of the Socrates’ dialogue.

Austin said, “You are right. They are living in the cave.”

He kept ending each sentence with my name. I don’t know if he read that in a book or something, but it really makes you feel fuzzy. I don’t know. Maybe I just like hearing boys repeat my name aloud, over and over again.

We went back to his guesthouse tipsy, or I was.

The Saturn Awards specialize in awards for Horror, Sci-Fi and Fantasy films. So when he asked if he should wear his Freddy Krueger belt buckle, I said, ABSOLUTELY!

The damn thing was hard to fit on a dressy belt, so I had to get on my knees and try to push the metal casing over the front of the buckle and thread it through the existing holes on the belt.

I said, “Here, I need to get down on my knees, that’s what she said. Let me take a look, yeah, we have to pull a little harder to fit it in the hole, that’s what she said. Almost there, it’s barely poking in, that’s what she said. Here stretch it out so its longer, that’s what she said. Just another inch, that’s what she said.”

Austin, “It might stretch out the hole, that’s what she said.”

I said, “I think it will make it in, that’s what she said, we just need to yank it a little harder, that’s what she said.”

We gave up and put another belt on. It fit fine.

I got dressed in the only formal gown I own, put on my minimal make-up and off we went.

The Awards were at a very nice resort type place in Burbank; resort type place meaning there was a restaurant and a golf course. A car from Star Wars was parked in front with a man holding Yoda. I passed by Michael Beihn, who I lusted after in the 80s. Not so much now.

Also Kurtwood Smith, best known for Red on That 70s show, but also Total Recall and other Sci-Fi awesomeness.

I don’t really bother celebrities because I just don’t know what to say. I usually come in with a plan, a question or something. If I have nothing, then I keep sipping my drink.

Me, “I am glad this drink comes with two straws because it increases the likelihood that my mouth will land in the right place. Wait . . . what happened to my second straw?”

A stranger next to me said, “Is that it? On the ground?”

Me, “Oh . . . yeah. A fallen soldier. So sad.”

We found our seat at a table near the back with several older strangers. We drained the complimentary bottle of peach vodka before the entrees arrived.

The man sitting at the table behind us hit my chair as he left.

His Wife, “Sorry! He does that.”

Me, “That’s ok. I just spilled my drink on my table and asked for another.”

His Wife, “Good! I piss on anyone who doesn’t ask for another drink.” Hollywood, dude. They are all high.

I was sitting next to a much older woman in her 80s.

Old Lady Next to Me, “I had a stroke so this is the first real meal I have had in 5 months.”

Me, “How is it?”

Old Lady, “Bland.”

Me, “So what’s having a stroke like?”

Old Lady, “Like being trapped.”

Me, “Trapped inside a dead body?”

Her, “That’s a really good way of putting it. I think I should be dead.”

Me, “Do you regret being alive right now?”

Old Lady (shrug) “I am thankful I got to see my grandkids again.” (to the waiter) “Bring another bottle, this time to this side of the table.”

It turned out she worked on the original The Day the Earth Stood Still.

Em’s Hubby was there by chance, part of his new job. He saw me and crossed over.

Em’s Hubby, “Hey, take it easy. I am worried about a John Belusi situation happening.”

Me, “What do you mean, with me?”

Em’s Hubby (pat on my back) (laugh), “Yeah.”

Me, “Oh God no, all things in moderation.” Really, I am just in an experimentation stage. Four days out of the week I am sober and playing Scrabble, but I am pretty sure no one wants to read detailed blogs about that.

Em’s Hubby invited me outside for a smoke with one of his new co-workers, so I chased them out in my peach vodka fog.

I said, “I heard Oliver Stone is bi-sexual, which ruins the fantasy of ever having unprotected sex with him.”

Em’s Hubby’s Co-Worker, “I am sure he wouldn’t want to have unprotected sex with you.”

Me, “Why not? A 71-yr-old director tried to have unprotected sex with me last week.”

Co-Worker, “Yeah, but he’s not Oliver Stone.”

Me, “Are you kidding me? He would have unprotected sex with me just BECAUSE he is Oliver Stone.”

The awards show went on and on and on. The alcohol drained out of us and I struggled for a signal on my phone a) to update my Facebook status and b) to get Em into the after-party . . . which I did.

She was outside with two men at a table. I joined her and we were already both amped up on alcohol. I stroked her hair and announced that I loved her and she informed Austin how perfect of an event this was for me since I love old horror movies.

We chased down a boy and convinced him to let Em pose in his cowboy hat for pictures. He spoke slowly with large eyes so I think he believed we were blasted. I didn’t feel off my game anymore than usual. I kicked off my heels and spoke to Em’s Hubby quite a bit as Austin circled around the party.

I was explaining how I sent Alan an email prior to visiting him the coming weekend. I started spotting, common for going on the pill, but I was worried it would be awkward when we had sex so I sent him an email:

ME: June 23 at 1:42pm

“I started taking the pill 2 weeks ago and now there is blood dripping out of my vagina.”

Alan: June 23 at 2:40pm

“Wow.. that is probably the exact opposite of anything I wanted to read about when I logged into facebook. I don’t even know what that means. I hope you are ok.”

ME: June 23 at 2:44pm

“Hahhaha!!!!! No, it’s normal. Don’t girls talk to you about this? 🙂 “

Alan: June 23 at 3:21pm “When you are going to spend a rare weekend in bed with someone, there’s just some things you’d rather not know about in such detail.”

Ok, now I was having doubts. Maybe this guy wouldn’t get me.

ME: June 23 at 3:31pm

“I say what I think and thought it better to tell you instead of hide it from you. That’s me. So if you want to be with me, it’s something you will have to respect.”

Alan: June 23 at 3:33pm

“I didn’t say for you not to talk about it. I said I didn’t want to know. You can do whatever you want with that but they are different. 😛 “

Me Drunk: June 23 at 5:46pm

“Be sensitive with me. I am honest which gives me power but also makes me vulnerable to criticism.”

I spoke openly about it all at the after-party to Em’s Hubby as men slowed down to study Em and me, trying to piece together if we were single or not.

Em’s Hubby, “You don’t have to talk about everything all the time, especially at a place like this and to this poor guy in San Diego. No one wants to know that.”

A handsome gentleman, a little older than me caught my sideways glance and stepped forward as if it was an invitation. I think it was since I was getting the feeling that Em’s Husband was upset with me.

Producer, “What are we talking about?”

Em’s Hubby, “She is about to go down and spend a weekend with a guy she likes and she sent him a Facebook message telling him she is spotting blood.”

Me, “I wanted to tell him I was spotting in case he didn’t want me to come down and have intercourse with him.”

Producer, “If you were rolling in feces on his bed, he would still want you to go down and have sex with him.”

I laughed. The producer tilted his glass, nodded and took a drink.

Producer, “Who are you here with?”

I said, “A guy I went on a date with a year and change ago.”

Producer, “Why is he taking you to this?”

Me, “Well he has been trying to get me to go out with him since.”

Producer, “For over a year?”

Em’s Husband turned away, sipping his drink and manically smoking his Spirits.

I said, “That’s right.”

Producer, “And this is what it took to get another date with you.”

Me, “That’s right.”

Producer, “Does he know you are driving down to see someone else in San Diego tomorrow?”

Me, “Yes.”

Producer, “Huh. Why are you dating someone all the way in San Diego?”

Me, “Because he is smart and funny. That’s hard to find.”

Producer, “Well . . . good luck.”

Me, “Thanks!”

Em’s Husband turned back around, “So where did we leave this?”

Producer, “I wish the best for San Diego. I hope it all works out.”

After some polite questions about his business, and my documentary, he gracefully stepped away, leaving me with Em’s Husband.

Em’s Husband, “Why can’t you just tone it down?”

Me, “I am not hurting you. It doesn’t affect you.”

Em’s Husband, “Am I being hurt by your general insanity? Yes.”

Me, “No one cares. I am here independently.”

Em’s Husband, “Can you think about me and my career first?”

Me, “No, I am too busy thinking about me and my career.”

Em’s Husband, “I think its in bad taste. I think you make people uncomfortable and just do that thing you do. Oliver Stone and unprotected sex . . .”

Me, “No one cares, it’s a Hollywood party.”

Em’s Husband, “These are my co-workers. I just can’t have you two running around being crazy.”

Me, “Please, my stories were probably the highlight of their evening.”

Em’s Husband, “Do you even know who that was?”

Me, “That guy? Some producer . . .”

Em’s Husband, “We don’t know. I might want to work with him.”

Me, “That doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Em’s Husband, “Yes it does. He might be someone I will work with. Now he knows me only as the guy with the girl talking about her bloody vagina.”

Me, “He won’t even remember you. He will always remember me and our conversation, and not because I am one of the many actresses at this party.”

Em’s Husband, “And your date looks miserable.”

Me, “No he doesn’t.”

Em’s Husband, “Yes he does, you keep talking to everyone else but him.”

Me, “He excused himself to go talk to some people.”

Em’s Husband, “You know, one of these days, a couple years from now, I am going to make you cry.”

Me, “You are going to make me cry? Do you have any idea what type of people I’ve worked for?”

Em’s Husband, “Oh, doesn’t matter. I’ve been holding back. One of these days I won’t.” His eyes narrowed as he sucked out the remainder of his cigarette.

Me, “I accept the challenge.”

Listen, I love Em and her husband. They are the closest thing to a family I have out here. The idea that my general zaniness and off-the-cuff behavior bothers either of them or Alan leaves me with doubt. When do I grow up?

After going into the exclusive after-party area behind a curtain with a life sized version of ROUS (Rodents of Unusual Size from The Princess Bride) and a few of the award winners, I felt my feet get cold and my body winding down. I was looking for Jeffery Ross, who hosted but was no longer there. But that’s alright. My feet were killing me and I felt bad.

I ran into the Producer again and said, “My friend thinks I made him look bad. Did I?”

The Producer cupped my face, kissed me on the cheek and said, “No, you’re perfect.” Well then.

I went home with Austin to let the vodka thin out. We sat on his couch and watched a really awesome movie called The Room as he massaged my feet. I heard about it, championed as the worst movie ever made . . . its bad. Oh so bad. And you should rent it with some friends immediately.

Austin offered me a vicadin, which I took half of until I really got into the movie, then I took the other half. I slipped into a dream world, and Austin retired to the bedroom. Why am I popping prescription pills boys hand to me in the middle of the night? I really don’t have any kind of a good answer for that.

He woke me up at 5am so I could get a jump start on traffic and get home to feed my dogs.

I was slow moving, so he played some B-sides of the Doors . . . Hyacinth House, their version of Gloria, Moonlight Drive alternate versions, Who Scared You . . . stuff I haven’t been able to listen to over the last few moves since living alone doesn’t motivate me to organize my things. Also, since my last two computers suicided themselves with all my music on it, I have been using the radio, YouTube and Pandora for musical gratification.

We chatted as the sun came up. We examined our gift bags like it was Christmas morning; a DVD collection of the Exorcist and several other DVDs, nail polish, a ball that lights up when you bounce it. Score.

Dear Prudence circulated back to the speakers . . . ♫ ♪ The wind is low . . . the birds will sing . . . That you are part of everything . . . ♫ ♪

It was a fairly respectable seduction. I liked Austin. I could see why he thought we would get along. And after the email exchange with Alan, I found new doubt with the San Diego trip. That said, I wanted to give Alan a chance with a clear mind.

So I went home and listened to music instead of sleeping more. Then I went to work, came home and gave the tour to my dogsitter/co-worker before driving down to San Diego.

TO BE CONTINUED

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