25
Sep
07

Hips like Cinderella

I find solace in the end of the weekend. I look forward to Mondays and Tuesdays. They are the days I don’t feel wasteful being so languid and unproductive. I awoke at noon yesterday; twisted, ridden with dreams. I dreamt of the older Guatemalan woman that used to come by in the mornings and pick up around the house. My mother would insist that she dishevel her hair, as she was so consumed with proper appearances. There was warmth about her, as opposed to my mother, that was unworldly, magnetizing.

But I have always been attracted to Spanish speaking women. For the most part, I do not admire women, but there are days I am overcome by the beauty of a humble but proud, olive-skinned woman whose Spanish isn’t the quick and fiery variety, but deliberate, pronounced. Almost like a song. The Guatemalan, she was that way. Much older than I, but she was very beautiful, even if in a matronly way. On my thirteenth birthday, upon her departure, she hugged me tightly, burying my face in her neck and chest, which smelled like cardamom and sunflowers. She kissed me lightly on the lips and as a result, I found myself moistened, enthralled.

But I could never fall in love with a woman because they are too much work.

I’m starting to wonder if I could fall in love ever again. It just seems like such a ruse, reminiscent of organized religion. Sometimes I wonder, while walking through public places, if these couples that surround me are being paid by some secret government officials (or perhaps EHarmony.com?) to inspire the young cynics to keep the population going. It all just makes me feel like I’m being swindled.

But I digress. After a few more kisses and a lot of deliberation, I decided it was in my best interest to give Drew a chance, but he’s been fickle and elusive the past few days. I don’t know if perhaps he stumbled upon my blog and is hiding out now for privacy purposes, or if he really is the loner he claimed he was, in a cloud of booze and heavy conversation. He always has me on the drama. It’s not quite fair. He delivered the “you shouldn’t fall in love with me” speech before I could give it to him first.

It’s difficult to wrap my mind around it. Just a few days ago, I was ready to forget him altogether. I think he knew that. I think he exploited that. I think he’s smarter than I originally gave him credit for.

Which promptly leaves me in a state of quasi-longing and complete confusion. In an attempt to keep busy and stop agonizing, I posted a Craigslist ad yesterday, much to Vincent’s chagrin. He’s certain that the only people that put themselves out for the public eye to peruse and judge are of the desperate type, insecure, needy, requiring coddling to. But his opinion is constantly changing. One day he thinks I could meet a nice young man in my bar; the next, it’s a dive where he and I are the only worthwhile folks that ever grace its stools. I believe it depends on what influence and how much of it he’s under.

I despise ‘meeting people.’ It seems like such a generic, childlike activity. It reminds me of the first day of school where your teachers force you to do icebreakers with your classmates in order to ‘get to know each other better.’ I have, and am never going to be the woman who is offering my hand, asking someone’s name, inquiring professions, hobbies, movie tastes. This goes double for my bar. It’s true; I’ve often been deemed a snob. It’s not something I take offense to. I’ve never had a problem being a recluse. Spend time with those you enjoy; life is too short to waste your time otherwise. It didn’t seem too far off base to put an ad out, observe what the cat drags in…

Again, I’m escaping my point.

It’s amazing how many people responded. Although the ad had been pretty literal, almost immediately I regretted making it so suggestive. I think I received about twenty cockshots. There were quite a few responses that caught my interest, but I really haven’t had time to respond properly to anyone yet. Perhaps tonight I will take aside an hour or two to sift through them again.  

Maybe I’ll just turn my phone off, drink a bottle of wine and finish Ask the Dust. Thanks Robb.

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