you can just shrug it all off...

i can't get the smell of smoke out of my hair. Two stupid cigarettes and I smell like I smoke a pack a day.

It's been at least six months since my last cigarette and yeah, GB would probably kill me if he knew the minute he left town I started smoking.

But it was only two.

Although one of them was one of those ultra-strong American Spirit blue pack cigs that I bummed off the Poet.

Last night was, to say the least, strange.

Not only was the Poet there, but of course the Quasi Rock Star as well.

On the Poet front all is well though - it's nice to know that I have at least one ex-boyfriend that I'm friends with and I can pretty much tell anything and he'll always accept me as I am.

You know, now that I've gotten over that part where his ex girlfriend came to stay with him while I was on the road trip w/ Cupcake and he didn't tell me about it because he didn't want me to not have a good time - only I found out via Cupcake and thus obsessed and fumed about it the whole freaking trip - well, he's really quite a doll.


Ah, but the Quasi Rock Star.

Fuck, had it really been more than a year since I'd seen him?

We got there late (on purpose, on my part) and walked in while he was on stage.

Do you want to go in and watch? K. asked me.

No, I said, I can't -let's just sit in the bar and watch it on the video screen..

Even in there, watching his blurry black-and-white image, it felt strange and yes, kind of hard.

He sounds really good K. said, turning away from the screen to look at me and judge my reaction.

I know, I said wincing. And I hate it.

And, other than seeming as if he gained maybe a little weight (but not in a bad way) and that his hair was a bit longer, he still looked the same.

Indeed, when I finally saw him face to face I realized with that electrifying, stupifying, sickening jolt that his eyes are as blue as ever.

After his set I stood outside talking to the Poet to calm my nerves. One of the Poet's friends was trying to hit on me, I think ...in sort of that passive-aggressive, cooler-than-thou sort of way.

I mentioned I had the new Beth Orton CD already. For a split second he looked impressed (which was not why I told him. I mentioned it because the Poet wanted to know what I was listening to) and then he composed himself and said yeah, I love Beth...she's such a sweet girl, so fun to hang out with.

I raised my eyebrow at him and tried not to sound too skeptical or annoyed when I said oh really?...that's cool.


The Quasi Rock Star came up just as we started discussing Ryan Adams and suddenly the Poet and his pretentious indie rock friend disappeared.

He hugged me and told me how glad he was that I came out.

We made small talk.

And then the small talk drifted into topics we'd used to cover with regularity and as some of his friends and hangers-on came to join the conversation, little snippets of our old in-jokes started creeping in.

And yet, through it all, I felt oddly disjointed and guarded.

Maybe it was because I knew? Somehow I knew?

Sure enough, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the tall, willowy brunette dressed in the flowing black skirt was his girlfriend.

And so I blew it off and made sure I was the first to leave the scene.

There was no way in hell I was going to let him - or them - walk away from me.

Because yes, I really am that petty and insecure and still hurt over old wounds and it gave me at least one much-needed ounce of self-confidence to suddenly drop my cigarette to the pavement, grind it with my heel and say this band that's playing is really good, I'm going to go watch them now.

And that was the last I saw of him.

And that's fine.

At some point I made it back to the barstool next to K. The Poet bought me another drink of which I only drank half and K. and I flirted with a few casual acquaintences who wandered in and it was K.'s belief that the drummer in the glam band was checking me out and damn if my freshly-cut and colored hair didn't look pretty fucking good and who cares if deep inside I am insecure and fraught with anxiety when I have a loving husband who loves me very much and leaves me sweet messages on the answering machine.

I really miss him.

I mean, I am having fun - last night was fun in that sort of teenaged-angst sort of way - teenaged angst amped up a few mixed drinks and the knowledge that I am an adult.

And the vacation and the Summer of the Shivers and K. are both finally under way...

still, I do miss him...

9:09 pm - 07.19.02

sounds: the Reputation: self-titled
words: Angels Go Naked - Cornelia Nixon
i am: on vacation for the next nine days ...


previously on ... - next time on ...

money can't buy happiness but it does buy small pieces of of serenity - 15.07.12 - 4:29 pm

sh)t's about to get real, y'all - 31.05.12 - 9:46 am

why the hell not? - 29.04.12 - 8:38 pm

Hear that lonesome whistle blow... - 02.04.12 - 5:18 pm

a faith in something I can't see - 30.03.12 - 3:33 pm

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