Wednesday, June 28, 2006
I woke up at what felt like the crack of dawn this morning, although it was already 11:40. I'd been up until nearly 4:00 am the night before talking to Jag on MSN. It was a good conversation, but boy was I tired.
I woke up to the jarring vibrations of my cell phone hopping around in its charger. It was Hayley, who'd woken me up for a change. She was thrilled to hear me sounding completely wrecked and sleepy, because that's usually the state I catch her in. She also sounded incredibly cheerful and funny, almost like her usual self. She told me that she'd had a dream last night in which she fucked PJ Harvey in a seedy restaurant bathroom.
I nearly laughed myself off the bed. I know this is a real-life fantasy of Hayley's, and were such an exquistely rare and unlikely scenario to ever occur in real life I would pretty much nudge the small of her back and tell her to go for it, have fun, and give me all the details later. Somehow I'm pretty sure that this makes me a better girlfriend.
I went back to the bookstore today, where all my coworkers were super-sweet as usual and told me that I looked beautiful (too kind), and that they'd really enjoyed my emails from Europe (also rather too kind). Most of them desperately want me to come back to work there, but most of them also know that they should probably discourage me from doing so -- for my own good. The management is a mess as always, and several people have quit. I still haven't decided what the hell I'm going to do beyond have a great summer and try to start writing my novel at some point.
I went to see a jazz trio play tonight at a bistro by my house. I was rather taken with the bass player, a fuzzy, hulking bear of a guy with long shaggy hair and a copious beard. I'm not usually into facial hair, at all, ever, and much less the 'My Dad Circa 1972' look, but it was the way this guy played his bass that really floored me. I got the impression that this guy could do amazing things with his hands, and would given the chance. My brother said later that he "made love to it," and I thought that was a terribly astute observation for an 18-year-old lad. But maybe that's just the 18-year-old lad's hormones talking.
I'm not allergic to boys, really. I'd definitely sleep with a lot of them if given the chance. It's their personalities I struggle with, because unless I can find a guy who's somehow managed to escape 98% of the stereotypes associated with his gender, then it could be tricky. I know there are loads of atypical men out there, just as there are loads of atypical women. It's just a matter of finding them. I'm not closing any doors.
In other news, the Girl with a One-Track Mind is my newest guilty pleasure. She's delightfully graphic and single-minded, almost like reading The Teaches of Peaches.
I'm determined to go to her concert, by the way. Hayley is booking the night off and she's already crossing her fingers for getting sprayed with more fake blood. Haha. I love that girl.
By the way, it's come to my attention that at least some of you are under the grossly mistaken impression that Hayley is some sort of vixen who I've unwisely become smitten with but is pretty much all wrong for me. I don't think I really need to get into the private details of why this is so patently false. I could tell you about the way she curls her toes into mine in the mornings, or how she comes to all my family's events -- even the most mind-numbingly boring of them -- and manages to enjoy herself. I could tell you that she never pulls away from me when I reach out to touch her, or that she's the first person I've ever been with who strokes my hair and runs her fingers down my back.
I could give you all sorts of very intimate details, but I won't. Instead I'll just ask you to reserve your judgement until you have at least a modicum of the facts. Jumping to conclusions was never an activity I much admired.