is this being a grown up?

Living with a boy is the weirdest. There are some questions I've just stopped asking because I either know the answer or there is just no good answer:

How could you forget that we have two brushes specifically for the bathtub?

Do you want to watch this David Tutera wedding show?

Do my arms look chubby?

Remember that episode of Sex and the City?

Why was there a copy of the New Yorker and a strawberry-banana yogurt on the lid of the toilet when I came home?

Are we keeping this snake thing preserved in a bottle of liquid?

Do you want to have sex?

~beatrix

we talk so much

I realized, when Ted and I were buying some books from a taciturn man behind a counter, that the two of us might be too chatty for New York.

A waitress will ask how things are, expecting a “Fine thanks.” or a “Can we get more water and another fork?”, but instead she gets something more like this:

“Oh, it’s fantastic. This French toast is delicious.”
“How long has this place been open? This location is great.”
“Can I have a little more coffee. But only a little because if I drink too much I’ll be jittery and I can only have anxiety or coffee. . . one or the other.”
“I really like this.”
“I really like these cups. I really like your haircut.”

So today, at a festival in the park, we made a friend who was almost as chatty as we are. He was working at a non-profit’s booth, and I can’t remember who started it, but the boys talked about baseball and basketball, then we all talked about college and barbeque and when was the last time we ate a hushpuppy. I really liked his glasses. He and Ted exchanged cards, and somehow, I think we might actually hear from him.

We were only steps away when Ted said, “Maybe we should set him up with Sam!”
“That’s what I was thinking!”
“No, my Sam.”
“No, my Sam. Your Sam is a vegan, and this guy doesn’t want to date him just like my Sam doesn’t want to. No one can be happy without cheese and butter.”


~beatrix

all i know

“The Asian guy. He was cute, no?”

I guess it’s a strange question, coming from your boss. But you get used to it in a place like this.

“Yeah, he was pretty cute,” I agree.

“But I think he plays for her team,” Sam chimes in, gesturing toward me.

Phil’s eyes light up.

“You think he likes her??”

“No. Not, like, my actual team,” I try to explain. “But, you know, the straight team.”

While Sam and I are waiting for the elevator, Phil’s head pops out the door.

“Beatrix,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes, “how did you know that about that guy?”

“That he’s straight? I don’t know. Sam thought so, too.”

“Oh. I’ve never been able to tell. All I know is cute or not cute.”



~beatrix

i guess it is a little weird

Trix: I wonder if that boy from Alabama will call me. I hope so.
Sam: You could call him.
Trix: I don’t have his number.
Sam: You didn’t exchange numbers? You just gave him yours?
Trix: Yeah. [half shrug]
Sam: Straight people are so weird.

~beatrix

what team are you on?

“He’s cute. You should talk to him.”
“Um, I think he plays for your team.”
“He can’t play for my team; he’s a boy.”
“What? How many teams do you think there are?”

I think there are four teams: boys, boys, girls, and girls. Sam and Fin insist that there are only two: gay and straight. And I guess that makes sense. Because , if there are four teams, then two of the teams just play internally, while the other two play with each other. But if there are two teams, then they both play internally, and it’s not like teams at all but more like leagues or divisions or something. It’s really an altogether terrible analogy.

At any rate, I'm pretty sure I'm not on the same team as the boys.

~beatrix