The memories fire, the rhythms fall slow
Song of the hour: Mojo Pin by my baby Buckley via jukebox. Not my quarter. Never my quarter.
I’m surviving social overload.
I’ve been to 2 parties this weekend, which is 2 more than the last 3
months; not to mention being already jaded from "Tuesdays with Andy" at
Mitch’s with even more social contact… the kind that involves loud
explicit sexual content that makes me cringe as it echoes.
Marco’s birthday was a success, in that he’s now 30. The party, too,
was fun. It was more mature than other birthday parties that spring to
mind, the ones where people get slobbery drunk and make out with people
they didn’t make out with the day before, nor would they tomorrow.
Wait, that was my birthday. My bad. Anyway. even though I knew
maybe 4 people there, I managed to not hide in a broom closet… though
if I had seen one I may have caved. I felt like I knew a lot of the
guests just from listening to Marco’s work stories, which includes a
full cast of characters in the tongue-in-cheek sense, so it wasn’t
quite as intimidating to the socially terrified such as myself. As with
most things that make me nervous, it was fine by the time I left. How
he manages to absorb the bizarre and eclectic types of people into his
life that he does fascinates me. Engineers and writers and trapeze
artists and everything in between. It was a beautiful night to spend on
a porch, which is what we did and it was wonderful. Happy birthday
Marco, hope you had a great time. One day you should tell me who those
other 30 people were. 
Amanda, however, had to endure
the more reclusive me. After driving through that major monsoon that
saturated raleigh, 4 hours ago I made my way to Amanda’s door and then
through Amanda’s kitchen and living room and then I proceeded to hide
in her office/library for the next 90 minutes. It was FASCINATING to
see her parents again, who I haven’t seen since Joss was born, so far
as I can remember. I know she has a great relationship with them now,
but when I see her mother I can’t help but think of the white sofa we
ruined, that one goddamn beer cap after the party that gave it all
away, and mental institutions for teens. I can’t help it. The
church-going doesn’t make it any better. I’m going to try to figure out
what 10 years means to other people’s lives and get over this, but if I
didn’t see them grow and change it’s like it never happened somehow,
you know?
So I hid in the office/library. Amanda’s bookshelves
are a tangible reminder of all the books I know I should have read by
now but haven’t. I was in lust. I reread parts of The Hanged Man. I
read parts of Election. I looked at the original art for V for
Vendetta. I read some Borges. Pyncheon. Collins. Plato. It was my
little idea of heaven, except for the part where there are windows. My
heaven is in a cave and it has one of those ashtrays from a 1970’s
airport. Otherwise, it was perfect. And she was kind enough to abandon
the other party goers (comers?) and talk to me and Brian while I left
thumb prints on everything she owned in paper format. Her house is
adorable and I plan to start tracking her movements so I can slip in
while she’s out and pretend I live there. Wait and see.
So,
again, sorry I’m such a social spazz. Everyone was really nice to me
and maybe if I had consumed some alcohol or had a less social week I
would have been interesting and participatory. My dad kept calling me
though, so I bailed without talking to anyone for longer than 3
minutes. But, as a step above Sara’s wedding, at least I said goodbye. For the record, Amanda’s new sister-in-law is friggin’ gorgeous, and
Mr. Paul Straw is as adorable as ever.
Okay, it’s wind-down
time for jenny. If anyone needs me, I’ll be alone in a dark room with
the shades drawn curled up in a corner either reading with a flashlight
or watching Veronica Mars with my head under a blanket.
(as she
finishes writing, the Jukebox sneaks up and spits REM’s Country
Feedback at her like sound wave tear gas. Holy shit. How long has it
been? Seriously. It’s crazy what you could of had, I need this… what
are the chances? )
night all.
love.
