I've been writing on and off all day, trying to unravel my thoughts but feeling blocked at every attempt. Sometimes it's difficult to write because there's nothing to say, and other times — like today — expression seems impossible because there's too much to say. I worry about oversharing or being vague. It's funny how easy it is to unload your thoughts to strangers, isn't it? It's so much riskier to be vulnerable and honest with someone who might laugh or leave.
On Monday I was thinking about Trevor a lot, and like the psychic wonder twin he is, today he called from Michigan. He sounded good; I wish we could see each other more than a couple times a year. I tried not to let my breathing give me away, but I cried a little bit because I am so grateful for him. How many times have we carried each other? How solid our friendship is, and how easy it is to talk with him. After 13 years, he already knows my greatest fear. Time and time again, he promises me it is baseless. Sometimes I even believe him.
On Monday I was thinking about Trevor a lot, and like the psychic wonder twin he is, today he called from Michigan. He sounded good; I wish we could see each other more than a couple times a year. I tried not to let my breathing give me away, but I cried a little bit because I am so grateful for him. How many times have we carried each other? How solid our friendship is, and how easy it is to talk with him. After 13 years, he already knows my greatest fear. Time and time again, he promises me it is baseless. Sometimes I even believe him.
Almost five years ago, and after about as much time making what I thought were empty comments about wanting a tattoo, my mother waltzed into an East Village tattoo shop and had a fleur-de-lis put on her inner wrist. That location was not her first preference; she had initially wanted the design placed on the part of her hand where thumb meets index finger. Todd, Trevor and I just barely managed to convince her that this was a bad idea. Today, while talking on the telephone, my mother and I had this conversation.
Mom: And you thought I was drunk when I went to King Billy's!
Me: Well, you were not completely sober. [This is true.]
Mom: I only had two and a half drinks! I was fine! Remember, you were clucking about how your father wasn't going to like this [also true] and you worried about the tattoo parlor being sanitary [again, true]. I still don't see why you made such a fuss about where I wanted the tattoo. I think it would have been nice to just look down and see it whenever I wanted. And YOU said I would have looked like a gang member.
Me: Well, you would have. You should be glad we were there to stop you.
Mom: I don't look like I'm in a gang. Besides, I'm sure a lot of nice people have tattoos there.
Me: Yes, and most of them are gangbangers and prisoners. Or former prisoners.
Mom: They are?
Me: Yes.
Mom, doubting me: Nooooo.
Me: YES.
Mom: Do you think maybe they were gangbangers who got the tattoos in prison?
Me: It's possible.
Mom: I don't buy it. Johnny Depp has one! He has the number three, right there on his hand!
Me: That may be the case, but I think people know Johnny Depp isn't in a gang.
Mom: Well, maybe Johnny Depp doesn't care if people think he's a gangbanger!
Mom: And you thought I was drunk when I went to King Billy's!
Me: Well, you were not completely sober. [This is true.]
Mom: I only had two and a half drinks! I was fine! Remember, you were clucking about how your father wasn't going to like this [also true] and you worried about the tattoo parlor being sanitary [again, true]. I still don't see why you made such a fuss about where I wanted the tattoo. I think it would have been nice to just look down and see it whenever I wanted. And YOU said I would have looked like a gang member.
Me: Well, you would have. You should be glad we were there to stop you.
Mom: I don't look like I'm in a gang. Besides, I'm sure a lot of nice people have tattoos there.
Me: Yes, and most of them are gangbangers and prisoners. Or former prisoners.
Mom: They are?
Me: Yes.
Mom, doubting me: Nooooo.
Me: YES.
Mom: Do you think maybe they were gangbangers who got the tattoos in prison?
Me: It's possible.
Mom: I don't buy it. Johnny Depp has one! He has the number three, right there on his hand!
Me: That may be the case, but I think people know Johnny Depp isn't in a gang.
Mom: Well, maybe Johnny Depp doesn't care if people think he's a gangbanger!
Earlier this year, my good friend Trevor and I went to London and Paris. We were delighted by the cheapness of the flight ($199 round-trip) and excited by the opportunity to do the big trip that we never took in college. Here are a few photographs (London first, Paris later) if that's your thing:
This sign stands outside of Heathrow. Our flight arrived around five in the morning local time, which may have been why I found the Hotel Hoppa heeeeeeelarious. Nobody else who sees the photo thinks it's funny. Go figure.
After sleeping off some of the jet lag, Trevor and I took the train from the suburbs into London. Our first stop: the Tate Modern, which was hosting this exhibit by Olafur Eliasson. Absolutely stunning sunning.
I didn't eat very well in London. This grumpy photo was taken the morning after a particularly unsatisfying vegetarian stew in Covent Garden, if memory serves. I tried to have a positive attitude toward dining in merry olde England, but most of my attempts fell flat. I was too scared to try the famous curries, because while we were visiting, that scary tandoori/cancer report came out. Yikes.
Spring hadn't hit back in the States, so we were very happy to see flowers and greenery and sunshine at Westminster Abbey.
The buses in London are great because there's an element of danger to them. You get to hop on and off while they're moving. Although the older buses are being replaced by safer models, there are still quite a few fun ones in service. They're much more fun and old-fashioned than any other buses I've been on before.
This sign stands outside of Heathrow. Our flight arrived around five in the morning local time, which may have been why I found the Hotel Hoppa heeeeeeelarious. Nobody else who sees the photo thinks it's funny. Go figure.
After sleeping off some of the jet lag, Trevor and I took the train from the suburbs into London. Our first stop: the Tate Modern, which was hosting this exhibit by Olafur Eliasson. Absolutely stunning sunning.
I didn't eat very well in London. This grumpy photo was taken the morning after a particularly unsatisfying vegetarian stew in Covent Garden, if memory serves. I tried to have a positive attitude toward dining in merry olde England, but most of my attempts fell flat. I was too scared to try the famous curries, because while we were visiting, that scary tandoori/cancer report came out. Yikes.
Spring hadn't hit back in the States, so we were very happy to see flowers and greenery and sunshine at Westminster Abbey.
The buses in London are great because there's an element of danger to them. You get to hop on and off while they're moving. Although the older buses are being replaced by safer models, there are still quite a few fun ones in service. They're much more fun and old-fashioned than any other buses I've been on before.
When I briefly lived above the Clark Street subway stop in Brooklyn, Trevor came to visit. In the evening, it began to rain. We walked south on Henry street, paused near a brownstone's stoop, and took a snapshot of ourselves. So now: I have a picture of you and me in Brooklyn on the porch it was raining I remember that day.
- - -
Chris and I have been friends for almost ten years, which doesn't feel as long as it is. We had many wily hijinks in our little group. He and Matt Paris were kicked out of school for piercing their eyebrows (Matt did it first, was suspended, and in protest, Chris followed suit). My other friends and I thought the school district was in error, so we interrupted a pep assembly. Oh, the rebellion! A handful of us marched up to the principal as he was babbling about Ram Pride. We were so smarmy as we asked why certain students weren't allowed to show their Ram Pride. Then we were escorted into the AV auditorium, where we were all given a lecture on the importance of school spirit. Later, I was pulled aside and admonished by the Vice Principal: "You're a role model, you get good grades, you need to be a leader," etc. Eventually, with the help of the ACLU, Chris and Matt were readmitted to the school.
Now Chris is parent to a toddler boy, and on Wednesday, we finally met! He was blond with a perfectly rosy little-boy pallor, and he was wearing overalls and a turtleneck with trucks. I found him absolutely charming. The three of us ate grilled cheese and hot cocoa (which the little one barely touched; he wanted milk instead). When we left, I got hugs and milk-breathed kisses.
- - -
Chris and I have been friends for almost ten years, which doesn't feel as long as it is. We had many wily hijinks in our little group. He and Matt Paris were kicked out of school for piercing their eyebrows (Matt did it first, was suspended, and in protest, Chris followed suit). My other friends and I thought the school district was in error, so we interrupted a pep assembly. Oh, the rebellion! A handful of us marched up to the principal as he was babbling about Ram Pride. We were so smarmy as we asked why certain students weren't allowed to show their Ram Pride. Then we were escorted into the AV auditorium, where we were all given a lecture on the importance of school spirit. Later, I was pulled aside and admonished by the Vice Principal: "You're a role model, you get good grades, you need to be a leader," etc. Eventually, with the help of the ACLU, Chris and Matt were readmitted to the school.
Now Chris is parent to a toddler boy, and on Wednesday, we finally met! He was blond with a perfectly rosy little-boy pallor, and he was wearing overalls and a turtleneck with trucks. I found him absolutely charming. The three of us ate grilled cheese and hot cocoa (which the little one barely touched; he wanted milk instead). When we left, I got hugs and milk-breathed kisses.
