been lonely too long...

August 31st/Sept 1st 2007

I saw my very first boyfriend tonight. I went to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery with a few friends to see "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" I heard his distinctly gay South African accent two rows away from me in the line to get into the cemetery. I turned around to find that it was, in fact, the red-haired, skinny, flamboyant, leprechaun-esque young man I had known for 2 1/2 weeks about 6 years ago. I had only since seen him on the internet after our dramatic break up in the parking lot of a coffee shop in Redondo Beach. The pictures of him on the net were sweaty dance club shots that made him look bald and chubby.

But I can't say anything terrible about the way he looked in person. Bubbly. Bright orange. Happy. Seeing him made me feel terribly lonely...like I hadn't grown up at all.
I was never heartbroken when our affair ended, but for some reason his presence made me feel like the boring, mainstream little boy he once told me I was.

I may just be bitter because I didn't get to make out with someone tonight. The setting was a ridiculous kind of romantic and it was all wasted. I felt tired after three glasses of wine.

Side note: I wish I was more productive with my time....like this guy...

A Lover Who Will Drive Me Crazy.

I'm trying to imagine how you could be more perfect.
I know one thing.

I love that every want is expressed as a need, and the way you end even the most normal and mundane sentences with exclamation points.

I'm usually terrified of passion. And in a situation where fears perhaps should hold me back, I'm uncharacteristically relaxed.

And if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again...

I had what I think was a profound moment recently...

I spent several days on Catalina Island. Drinking beers and soaking up cancerous UV rays during the day and singing karaoke and dancing to mexican pop music by night. I even dragged myself into the ocean-- full of cigarette butts and soapy urine bubbles-- a few times to really make an attempt to be one with nature.

It wasn't until the boat ride home that I felt completely at peace. Sitting outside, I could feel the salty air flow through my newly sun-lightened hair and vibrations in my feet and legs as the angry waves of the polluted ocean violently hit the sides of the boat as we raced toward the mainland...

...I imagined it was the very early 80s, and I'm in a sailboat...my sailboat. The sea is a close friend of mine. I know the ins, outs, ups, and downs of every great body of water. While the ocean is unpredictable and treacherous for most people, it's a clean smooth ride for me. Sailing is merely something that happens between the wind, the ocean, and the boat, while I sit calmly smoking cigarettes, drinking diet coke, and listening to Christopher Cross.

I'm wearing a navy blue bandana around my head, with aviator sunglasses and cut-off jean shorts. My skin is dark brown with many premature wrinkles... I feel complete. Like nothing exists except me, my lover, and our boat. No responsibilities, no guilt.

My hair feels sticky. My skin feels chapped. A shower would ruin everything. My lover has a salt and pepper handlebar moustache and looks amazing in his faded orange t-shirt. We both feel drunk...Could it be the constant rocking of the boat...or the Budweiser and marijuana?



Now, whenever I'm near the water (the coast, a river or a lake), I'll be able to recall these memories which never happened to me. Experiences that likely happened to someone else. Someone who's no longer alive but is still very connected to the ocean.