fall, and why maybe i'll write again

We’ve had weeks (months?) of take out containers and piles of laundry and I’ll-be-home-soons that turned into I’ll-be-home-in-time-to-fall-asleep-and-if-we’re-lucky-make-it-out-the-door-tomorrows. The run-downs turned into some sort of cold that started with a sore throat and ended with three days of intense nausea, which would have seemed unbelievable as a sickness if we hadn’t had identical symptoms. Thursdays have really been feeling like Fridays, and I’ve felt so threadbare as to be invisible enough for an automatic door at the grocery store close on me (literally-- it hit me in the shoulder) and to have strangers sit on me on the subway even more than usual.

Last weekend, we both had the same day off for the first time in ages, and after a day of apple picking with friends and watching movies in bed, I realized that, as much as I love his reassuring presence and the way the garbage disappears and clean laundry appears, I’d missed talking to him.

My busy season ended today; Ted’s is just getting starting. I left work at 3; he should be home before 8. I feel like celebrating being able to be a good girlfriend again along with the chill in the air.

I bought a six-pound butternut squash.



~beatrix

extracurriculars

“Wait. Doesn’t Ted care that you are out with me?”
“That would be hypocritical. And I’m with you. And. . . and we live in a studio. We’d go crazy if we didn’t leave once in a while.”

I had escaped with Pete into the well-air-conditioned world of an electronics showroom with comfortable sofas in Columbus Circle after a quick bite of Whole Foods sushi on what was not just the hottest day of the year, but the hottest day in six years. We were both sporting electric 3D glasses and settled in for a past-due chat about his recent write-up in a big publication and his current status with his (crazy) girlfriend and other Important Things.

“Well. . . No. . . . You wouldn’t worry about that.”
“About what?”
“You don’t worry about ending up with someone just because it’s there and you think you owe it to them.”
“I used to, but not anymore.”
“Right.”

The afternoon before was spent with John, who was in town for a few days and soon introduced to the oasis of the Temple of Dendur which, located inside the Met and with a view of the park, is the best place on the Upper East Side to spend an unrelentingly hot day.

Ted would have joined us, but let me go alone to catch up with an old friend when I decided that would probably be better. He went to the zoo and kept cool at the movies.

I love him and he knows. And I know that love is better when it’s more about trusting than about possessing. And we both know that you can’t keep love if you squeeze it too tight.

~beatrix

general update

For those of you interested, I bought an entire bunch of asparagus this week. And also a copy of Martha Stewart Weddings, but that was for work-related research.

~beatrix

it's hard to be a girl OR yes, i do always talk to myself in the second person

“I feel fat.”
“You aren’t fat.”
“But I feel fat. I wish I wasn’t wearing pants.”
“You can’t weigh 107 pounds and be fat.”
“Yes you can. Look.”
“Ok. You look a little fat.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You aren’t hungry.”
“No really. My stomach is growling.”
“It’s only 9:35.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re too fat to eat.”
“What if I’m pregnant?”
“You aren’t pregnant.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. And the pill works.”
“Not always.”
“It’s only Monday. And you usually start on Tuesday. Or Wednesday or Thursday.”
“So I could be pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“So I can have a snack.”
“Fine.”
“So if I’m pregnant. . . .”
“It would be born in November.”
“January would have been more convenient.”
“Well, none of this is convenient.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not pregnant.”
“Right.”
“What if I can’t get pregnant?!”
“Can’t you think about something else?”
“Like what?”
“How about weddings?”
“Weddings!”
“Was that it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well what are you going to think about now?”
“How about brownies?”
“Mmmm. Ok. Brownies.”
“Hey look. I’m not pregnant.”
“That’s good.”
“Well, I knew I wasn’t pregnant.”
“Right.”
“I feel like there was something else on the list.”
“Fruit? Vegetables?”
“Cheese.”
“Cheese was definitely not on the list.”
“Brie. It’s on the list now.”
“Your basket is embarrassing.”
“I’m going to have brie for an appetizer and brownies for dessert.”
“You can’t have brie for an appetizer and brownies for dessert.”
“Then I’m going to have brie for dinner and brownies for dessert.”
“I think you might regret this decision.”
“I feel fat.”


~beatrix (& beatrix)

as far as i can tell, the good kind of what ifs

Maybe what I mean when we talk about the finances of it all and buying furniture and the groceries and if it will matter for seven months if there is no wall and how maybe a garage will be necessary because parking uptown is a nuisance. . . is that if I buy an immersion blender or a sofa I want it to be ours and not mine. . . and that I don’t really want to be your room mate, exactly. . . . Maybe I wouldn’t mind if our lives got jumbled up along with our things. . . . Maybe what I mean is that I might like to build my life with yours.

~beatrix

battle scars

A snippet of drunken poetry via text message:

Aww I’m dill
At stacia’s buy I’ll call you if I
Am coming to teds
At a
Reasonable
Time

I assumed Sam was having a fun night, especially when, at 3 a.m., as Ted and I were recycling the bottles from the third installment of his birthday celebration, he texted again to tell me he was in a neighborhood far from home. But if he was having so much fun, what was he doing texting me?

“He BIT me. I have BITE MARKS,” Sam told me the next morning.

It was the worst hookup of his life, he claimed, and when I saw the damage on Monday morning, I believed him. A devastating hickey, teeth prints, the works.

And he’s dodging phone calls and texts and facebook friend requests from the culprit, unsure if he should somehow tell this boy that he’s doing it all wrong.

(Also we learned about some gel you can get from Whole Foods that makes bruises go away. Despite my skepticism, it seems to work.)

~beatrix

something is certainly working

We were in the throws. The whispery, giggly throws because he had friends in town, sleeping in the next room.

I don’t remember why he mentioned the grocery store at a time like this, but he did.

I moaned, then laughed, “I love the grocery store.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite part?”
“Oh! Produce. . . .”
“Produce from the grocery store? . . . or the farmer’s market?”
“Oooo. . . Farmer’s market. . . .”

Giggles, before he starts again.

“ I was thinking of vegetables. Like butternut squash. . . or zucchini.”
“I’m more excited about summer things. Like tomatoes. . . and corn.”
“I like corn. . . .”
“Oh! Oh! And peaches!”
“I think this is why we work.”

~beatrix

i love sandwiches

I had a really delicious sandwich, which is important when you’ve spent the previous day puking.

I’d felt like I should give Christophe another chance because you can’t talk to people while you are watching movies. And he’s nice, I tell myself. There’s nothing wrong with him.

He laughs too hard when he tells me about a room mate he had who smoked marijuana. He laughs, like, really hard. And that was the whole story: sometimes this guy’s room smelled like. . . marijuana. And. . . um. . .maybe he should never meet some of my friends. Or my boss.

He’s wearing a sweatervest.

The sandwich is good. So is the soup.

He tells me lots of things look good on the menu, and you’d have to come back a few times to try them all. I don’t bite (in a figurative sense, but I’m doing lots of literal biting. I was so hungry).

I tell him I need to go because I have to stop at the grocery store on my way home. He offers to help me with my groceries, but I assure him I’ll be fine.

We walk. He wants to know if I want to have dinner Friday. I don’t want to commit, just in case Gyan wants to see me. I feel bad, but I lie. I tell him I think I have a going-away party for one of the interns at work. I am pretty sure the party is on Wednesday, but I say I don’t know when it is.

I need to turn right for the grocery store; he needs to turn left for the train. He hugs me, so I hug him back. And he plants a big kiss on my cheek.




I wander around in the grocery store for a while and leave with only a loaf of bread and one apple.



~beatrix

groceries for one

Today I bought asparagus.

And because I am so very single, I was about to spit apart a bunch. It is just too much, and it’s by the pound.

But there was already a perfectly sized bunch there, with one rubber band instead of two.

And I thought, Somewhere in this city, in this neighborhood, maybe even still in this store, there is a person who eats the other half of my bunch of asparagus.

I should totally write a Lifetime movie.

~beatrix

almost there

One more hour. One more hour and I will have done it: a whole month (31 days) without kissing anyone. Not even a little.

It feels amazing.

I’ve done no kissing. I have not a single loose end remaining. I’ve been sleeping in my own bed a lot. I even made a girl friend.

The days are getting longer.

I did my taxes and bought some food with vitamins (frozen edamame and veggie burgers count, right?).

I think I can make it through this last hour. Things are looking up.

~beatrix

what happens in teaneck. . .

I was dancing and squirming around in the bus shelter. It was freezing. And I had to pee. And I couldn’t feel my butt cheeks because I had tried sitting on the bench.

We’d waited in Blockbuster for a while, eating five different kinds of snacks that we bought for $8, making us consider going to Jersey to grocery shop. But now Blockbuster was closed, and we were stuck outside eating chocolate-covered pretzels, Milk Duds, Peanut M&Ms, Pringle-like chips, and Starburst.

We’d missed the second bus because it turned out that you needed to consult both a chart and a graphic to know how the 12:45 bus back to the city works. When I’d jumped around pointing “A bus! A bus!”? it didn’t turn the corner because it wasn’t our bus so much as because this wasn’t its stop.

We’d missed the first bus not so much because we’d taken a wrong turn so much as because we’d failed to take a right one. And it took us a while to figure out that the street we were on was curvy and dark and residential and not leading to the bus stop intersection.

We were in New Jersey in the first place for a party, which turned out to be full of old hippies. I’d done shots with men old enough to be my father, thrown things off the second floor balcony, and danced with a guy named Bob.

We both kept saying, “I don’t really feel drunk, but I know I must be.” And we must have been, because sober people do not get stuck in Teaneck, New Jersey at 1 o’clock in the morning.

I should have been worried and annoyed and anxious, but I wasn’t. I don’t think it’s because I was drunk either.

Alix is funny, and she thinks I’m funny. We have compatible tastes in junk food. She’s slutty enough to confide in, but not too slutty to trust.

Guys, I think I’ve made a girl friend.


~beatrix

grocery shopping

Maybe some people want to pick up boys in the grocery store, so here is some advice on how to make sure the boys there know you are single:

Buy one can of tomato soup, one big orange, two containers of (full fat) greek yogurt, a pound of butter, and a bag of egg noodles that costs $1.69. No one will ever think you are going home to cook dinner for your boy.

And forget to get a basket and balance all your groceries to the register. Never mind. . . Looking ridiculous might not actually help your cause.

~beatrix