I need to stop talking to strangers. Today a street vendor asked me to remove the scarf I was wearing and wanted to take a photo of it. Then he asked me to wear it again and took another photo. I suppose he is going to go back to some sweatshop now and copy the design. He gave me a pair of gloves for my trouble and as I was leaving, I heard him telling someone, “that scarf was expensive!” True, but no one's business but mine. I went from being amused by this man to being terribly offended. No mood swing if I could have just kept to myself.
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Friday night, a pedestrian was struck and killed by a car on Broadway and 90th Street. M and I had just finished having dinner at some Belgian brasserie in the Upper West Side and were on our way to Riverside Park to have a walk when we happened upon the “crime scene”.
M was not prepared for the weather. I gave him one of my scarves – a swath of magenta cashmere with gold and silver sequins. I wrapped the length of it around his head and neck and then we forced his had down his head—a ridiculous look for anyone (including me, but I sometimes love ridiculous things). For someone as uptight as M, it was pee-in-my-pants hysterical. I tried to take a photo but he yelled at me and demanded that I just “enjoy” our time together. I told him he was cranky pants and he bitched even more but in the end ended up laughing at himself.
I am not sure what is going on with us now. I keep thinking this is all in my head but we have our nice times (really, these times are not so grand, but it feels, to me, just right). It seems impossible to me that I would be the only one who feels something. Then again, stranger things happened. We come very close to moving toward each other BUT we don’t.
This is all in my head isn’t it?
He is moving six blocks away from me in a few weeks. I suppose we will continue our strange friendship and nothing will change but there is some part of me that hopes for clarity. The only problem is that I don’t want to lose him. Wendy suggested I jump his bones. I don't see this happening -- it's not my style. But a funny thing to contemplate.
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Saturday morning I ran into A in the R train on my way to the bookstore. He was on his way to see a flick at The Film Forum, a Kurosawa. Probably with his girlfriend and her friends. Seeing him was not as bad as I have imagined it would be. After we said goodbye, he called to tell me I looked great (really he is a bottomless pit of compliments, it bugs me) and that we should get together for a drink soon.
I’m not sure how I feel about seeing him on purpose. I do know that I’ve been quite fine without him in the last few months. So maybe a meeting would just set me back. This is not making me run to my calendar to schedule a get-together.
Could it be true that I might actually be a little bit over him? Could it?
What does he want from me? It’s kind of weird. I’m rather unpleasant when I don’t know how to act around a person. I imagine I must have been awkward this morning. Mean, even?
Last week, I ran into that tall guy I briefly dated over the summer (6 foot 7 to my 5 feet). It happened at the bookstore. I couldn’t stand the thought of talking to him so I actually hid from this perfectly nice man.
Maybe I need to find somewhere else to spend my Saturday afternoons.
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CC had a double mastectomy on Wednesday. She seems to be doing fine. I am so scared for her. What happens when the pain medication and whatever dope they have her on wears off and she realizes, with a fully lucid mind, that her breasts are gone?
The other night at dinner, I said to M, “we are sitting here having dinner like nothing has happened, but just a few miles from here, my friend is sitting somewhere a totally different person.”
M is not the kind of person who can have such conversations. I didn’t elaborate on it. But I thought of CC all night.
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On Thursday night, an unexpected trip to the opera house to see Turandot. The opera makes me wish I were rich and could see performances any time I want. Oh well.
Tomorrow, I am going to see Carmen. I swear I live my life like an old lady. But that’s quite all right.
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