oh, antony! ooooh, antony… November 13, 2007

The party went fabulously. For the “Famous Ex’s” theme, Ford went as Marilyn Manson and I went as Dita Von Teese. I thought about dying my hair black but instead I just wore a wig for part of the night, before I tore it off and tossed it at one of Ford’s friends, Tom, while lipsynching “Toxic” and bouncing up and down on the sofa in a pink and black corset. Jeez. Jane and Tom dressed up as Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton from “Cleopatra.” Which was like, so perfect, since Jane spent half of the evening insulting Tom and half of it making out with his face. 

It bodes well that Jane and I can still throw a killer shindig outside of the college scene.

Corsets hurt!

By the way, both of my dating situations bombed, partly of my own doing. Things were just too complicated with Alana, I guess I’m not as postmodern as she is. Jealousy was distracting me. It was a deal-breaker when Tennis girl refused to drink anything but beer in one of those beer coozies when I was hanging out with her a couple of Saturdays ago.

So I’m “enjoying the single life.” As in, the voicemail box has been pretty empty. I think I should actually try to start going to gay clubs more rather than straight bars. That would be a start.

halloween party plans October 18, 2007

Jane and I have decided to have a Halloween party. Our house looks haunted enough, what with the rickety doors and light fixtures (in Martha Stewart world, disrepair=haunted, am I right?) so we figured why not. I haven’t decided what I’m going as yet but we’ve decided that the theme is “Famous Exes.” Ford and I are brainstorming something delish…

I’ve tried to cool down on the girl front. Well okay, I haven’t tried as much as I haven’t had the energy to put in to stoke the desire fires. I haven’t seen or heard from Alana in a week, and we only just had coffee then. Tennis-player and I have gotten together a few times to take walks, but no sparks have flown, and we haven’t even kissed. I guess work is just taking it out of me.

I really don’t mind waitressing, but I hardly have any energy left for even a love life.

hetero weirdness October 10, 2007

Ford joined me for a rousing kickboxing class yesterday afternoon, to which he wore a grey athletic t-shirt and navy mesh shorts. If it weren’t for the addition of white knee socks with royal blue stripes up the sides, he actually would have looked decently butch.

Well he took the socks off because he said they were “encumbering his high kicks.” ::eyeroll:: But when we came back from class, Ford in his sweat stained gray shirt with his hair all messy with sweat, smelling like a wrestling team locker room, the pheromones brought Jane out of her bedroom like a cobra out of a basket.

“Ooh, Ford you’re so sweaty,” she said, a hint of sarcasm still thankfully lingering in her voice, but with an edge of something that made me want to squeal under my breath and wave red flags in the air.

“That’s what happens when you sculpt guns like this, Jane,” he shot back back and flexed. There was a bizarre moment of silence while Jane gazed. I banged some pots in the sink to break the sound of Twilight Zone music playing in my ears.

Fast forward ten minutes, and Jane is taunting Ford about his taste for Watermelon Smirnoff Ice. Whew.

I am choosing not to think too hard on that one for the sake of my own sanity.

Also, re: waitressing for the rest of my life–no. I’m looking into doing nursing school during the day. It seems like every other job I see online is for some kind of nursing job. Or I might try to check out some business management classes. Boring, but necessary if I want to move up in this world from the position of customer service wench. Wish a liberal arts degree meant shit in this world.

net zero date October 9, 2007

Date with Grace (woman who is actually near my age) went okay this weekend. It was sort of a roller coaster though…we went out to an Italian restaurant at her suggestion…which isn’t the most original thing in the world, so, I was feeling like, “Ehh.” Right after she sat down, she began talking about this amazing book she is reading by Ariel Levy, Female Chauvinist Pigs, and talking about the misogyny involved in the news coverage of Hillary Clinton’s campaign, and really impressing me with some feminist thought, so I thought to myself, “Eeh!” Then she ordered a beef dish– Eeh. But then I noticed that she had the longest eyelashes in the entire world, which accented these brilliant almost teal-colored eyes– I mean, I’m not going to lie, this girl is gorgeous–Eeh! She’s more into playing and following tennis than art or poetry though–minus a thousand. But she’s also really involved in GLBT politics in Nashville–plus a thousand. So as you can see, the scales were tipped down and back again, and I’m still at about net zero opinion. Have you ever had a net zero date? I felt like I went back and forth at a dizzying speed until I really had no idea whether I wanted to drive her directly back to my bedroom and light some candles or run away screaming. I mean, I’d see her again if she calls me.

I miss Alana. I called her last night and can’t help but think she didn’t pick up because she was with Bill. Blah.

Have to work tonight. Major Blah.

date with Alana and other possibilities October 5, 2007

She sat me down on a plush sofa, brought me a robust glass of red wine, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Then she called me into dinner in this gargantuan dining area, appeared from the kitchen door carrying two square ceramic plates with a supernova-looking aqua glaze, on top of which she had prepared two plates full of vegetarian sushi with pink radish garnish. It was truly edible art.

“Better to be an older man’s princess than a young man’s whore,” my college friend Danielle used to say when we poked fun at her for dating a forty year old. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to see Danielle’s point.

I know Alana has the money to wine and dine me; she’s one of the rare few who can make good money from figure painting. But I don’t want to be someone’s pool girl, like I said. Still, I can’t say I hate being catered to once in a while, considering that I’m on my feet for six or seven hours most days sloshing trayfulls of booze everywhere.

After some relaxing and a rockin’ back rub, I had to set some boundaries.

Darcy: So, if you’re still with your husband, then…I’m also going to date as well.

Alana<pained expression>: If you’d like.

Darcy: Okay. I will.

So I set up a date with Emma, the girl who left her number for me at the bar, this weekend.

The rest of the night at Alana’s was spent looking at photo albums by the light of dimmed lamps and all of these gorgeous candles she has on sconces around the walls. And there was a kiss or two exchanged. But I’m trying to put the breaks on until I can see things a little clearer. I hope I’m not jumping in too deep here. And even if I am, it beats spending the time watching things like it happen on TV.

quickie October 4, 2007

About to drive to Kickboxing at the Y, then come home, shower, paint my toenails Amelia Redheart, and see what Alana has to say to me tonight when we have dinner at her place.

The thing is, I got a phone number from a customer last night at work. A cute, sweet, smart, Southern customer. Who’s practically my age.

The potential drama is as thick as the humidity today. We need a good rain to clear the air.

Major updates to come.

how (not?) to date married women October 3, 2007

After my little Sex and the City therapy session on Monday with Ford and an extensive thrift shop binge with Jane yesterday, I felt I’d exorcised Alana from my system. The obsessive cell phone checks had dropped down to about one an hour, which was an improvement. Sometimes when I’m expecting a call from a woman, I convince myself that my phone actually will not ring or vibrate and that the only way I will not miss the call for sure will be to obsessively check the tiny screen for it to light up with that magic name, at which time my heart will emanate rainbows as I pick up the silent call. I say I’m just checking the time, but please. I’m focusing hard on willing sweet little call to come through the airwaves. Cell phone whisperer.

Anyway, cell phone whispering failed. Then last night, as I was carrying two Goblin Tonics to a table of identical twin brothers with hair down to their butts, I nearly dumped my tray onto the floor when I spotted a sweet looking fortyish woman sitting in the corner, stirring a Shirley Temple. Tania, a fellow waitress, brushed up behind me and whispered, “I think someone’s here to see you.” She offered, thankfully, to take my tables for a minute.

Darcy <approaching table with ‘what are you doing here’ tone>: Well hi there.

Alana: Hey Darcy. <which she says, Dahhcy, and I just melt right there, against my will…kind of>

Darcy: Didn’t think I was going to hear from you.

Alana: I didn’t think I was going to call.

Darcy<raising eyebrows>: I can’t really talk now. I have…well, I’m working. <I see Jane frowning in the background from behind the bar, shaking her head and making the “cut” signal>

Alana: That’s okay, I’ll wait.

Darcy: It’s going to be another two hours.

Alana: Meet me at the diner across the street?

<I look over at Jane, who is now bugging her eyes out incredulously>

Darcy: Ummm…okay. I’ll call you when I get out.

We had coffee at three a.m. She didn’t offer any excuses, except for the fact that she was scared about actually loving someone outside of her marriage. I said I wouldn’t stand for being treated like a pool girl, expected to show up in a garter belt with champagne and strawberries every time her husband was out of town (although, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so terrible…but I digress!) She was much less forward than our first meeting. Kind of shy. She has such large brown doe-eyes, and the longest lashes. She invited me to dinner at her place on Thursday. I’ll probably go.

When I got back home an hour later, I found Jane in our office, lights off, youtube videos of Mark Wahlberg glowing in reflection on her face from the computer, her ironed-straight bottle-red hair up in a ponytail, with Twizzler hanging out of her mouth. She said, “Well, it’s about time, beotch! What the deal?” I told her Alana invited me over for dinner. “Oh yah,” she said, biting off a piece of Twizzler. “Don’t say anything!” I said. She shrugged, gave me a hug, Twizzler still hanging out of her mouth, and sauntered toward her bedroom. She made a little whip-cracking motion with her hand, and said “wha-chh!” and shut the door. Whatevs.

fag hag is out. lesbro is in. October 2, 2007

Well, there’s that awful term  “fag hag.” So what is the term for a metrosexual straight guy that hangs out incessantly with his lipstick lesbian friend, during which time they admire and occasionally bitch about women and have passionate discussions about art and fashion? 

Basically, Jane and I were pondering what we should call Ford.

We spent most of yesterday evening while we were cleaning the house calling ideas from room to room. I was swiffering the kitchen and screamed, “Dykelike?” And Jane yelled from the vacuum in the front room, “No, sounds too much like dick lick! How about lesbian bro? LESBRO!” We cackled, but knew it was a fit.

Thus, my lesbro was christened. Ford isn’t what you’d call feminine, per say, in the culture’s weird narrow version of that word. He’s 6’2″, and he’s a total gym rat so he’s got the David Beckham bod thing going on (apparently that’s hot? to me it just looks very…structural…I can admire it like the Chrysler building), glacial blue eyes, dark brown hair with sideburns grown just a little bit long, but impeccably trimmed. He shows up most of the time in a bright polo and dress pants. Thankfully he’s never popped the collar. And one thing I will say– he smells divine.

He came over yesterday afternoon after Alana did NOT call. He brought over this loose rose petal green tea for us to make in the kickass clear glass tea pot Jane got me for graduation. Then we lolled on my bed and watched the episode of Sex and the City where SJP tries to get Aidan to go out with her but he just wants to sit on his bed and eat KFC and watch sports.

<Mutual wailing>

Ford: Ewww.

Darcy: How do they proceed with their relationship after that? Seriously Ford, how does she actually have sex with that guy after she has seen a bucket of chicken resting on his stomach?

Ford: I have NO idea. God she looks so good in those strappy gold shoes, wait go back.

<I rewind on the DVD player>

<we pause>

Darcy: So hot.

<He mumbles in agreement with a mouth full of kettle corn and feeds me the last piece in the bowl, our eyes still glued>

Then, as is our custom, he brought in some shirts from his car that he “wanted me to look at.” Which means he changes in the bathroom and parades out for me and Jane to give either the ‘thumb’s up’ or ‘thumb’s down.’ Boy has money for clothes, I tell you. Boy’s parents do at least. We gave him the thumb’s up on this darling black dress shirt with visible grey stitching…it was just the right amount of 70’s.

You’d think Jane would be all over this guy. But, as she’ll tell you herself, she’s more into that asshole you see with a dirty busted baseball cap at a bar, sitting with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Her idea of courtship is an upwards nod in her direction.

We just don’t get it. My lesbro and I.

is free love for free? October 1, 2007

Making out with Alana and hearing things like “Yor so garrgeous” in a soft alto with rolling Irish rrr’s in my ear kept me more than occupied until about 6 a.m. Saturday morning, when she had to drive to the airport. It makes the back of my head tingle just thinking about her snow-white neck and black stick-straight hair, the way when I was nervous after the restaurant walking around the apartment she laid down with one leg dangling off the sofa and one arm on the back of it and said, “why don’t you come over hare darrling?” And motioned to me. She sat me down, took off my shirt, and sketched me for an hour before she leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Watching someone watching you so they can render you in charcoal: turn. on.

She had to leave at 6 a.m. to drive to the airport…to pick up her husband.

 I had to work Saturday and Sunday night, and I was plagued with thoughts of what was going on at Alana’s apartment. Jane’s currently at her laptop spouting off frequently asked questions from this polyamory website. Thanks Jane.

Ford promised to come over this afternoon for tea and to cuddle and watch Sex and the City with me. Plus he had some kind of date this weekend with some little tennis bracelet of a Vandy undergrad, so he said he wanted to “dish” with me. Not to use grossly overused stereotypes or anything, but isn’t he just the gayest straight man you’ve ever heard of? 

Okay, Alana’s supposed to call me back at noon because I said I needed to talk to her about this. Deep, cleansing yoga breaths.

re: hott neighbor September 28, 2007

Let’s do the time warp (again) to junior high maturity level. I had Ford do some recon on The Downstairs Neighbor and the marriage situation. She mentioned her partner, Bill, a couple of times in conversation, with whom she has been living for ten years. But also mentioned an ex-girlfriend she broke up with last year. So I was confused. Ford chatted her up last night and apparently she is in some kind of open relationship situation. Which would explain why she kept touching the small of my back while we were walking around looking at her art. Maybe.

She called me though. She called my cell, and when it lit up and buzzed on the kitchen table, and the caller ID said “Alana,” I nearly had a heart attack full of awkward glee. Speaking of junior high, it’s the, ah gee, I am special feeling, which never changes no matter how old I get and I get a call from a woman I really like. I know you’re not supposed to depend on validation of your attractiveness or intelligence from other people, but…come on. I’m all for healthy self esteem, but that notion is so woo-woo self-help-book and a little boring. Did I mention how cool she is? ::junior high self does a little dance in a circle and points disco hands a few times::

We’re going to a Thai place on the corner of her block and then back to her place for painting. Nervous, nervous. Note to self: two glasses of wine at dinner, tops.

In other news, my first day of work at Poe’s was actually great. I love the people there. Some dude dropped a fifty dollar tip for me too.