Archive for the ‘platonic relationships’ Category

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.

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.

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.

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.

yeah, we went there
September 25, 2007

There comes a turning point in every really volcanic fight where there is a pregnant pause, and someone utters in an infuriated whisper, “OH, I know you did NOT just go there.” And then you scream your heads off until you’re exhausted and apologetic and even euphoric because you run out the adrenaline rush, like giving birth or running the mile or something. If you didn’t have that post-big-game relief after you let the anger run its course, you’d never forgive anyone. Or, if you didn’t have that euphoria after giving birth, you’d never want to engage in an activity that involved vaginal tearing again. But people do have more than one kid, and they also forgive and forget. Most of the time, if you let it out, by the time you’re finished you’ve forgotten what you were even fighting about at the end and you are oddly filled with love and adoration for that person, and even though fifteen minutes before you wanted a bear to attack them, now you just want to bear hug. I guess it’s an adaptive strategy to keep humans from totally killing each other 24/7. You can go that route, or someone can stomp off and you stay at a steady, slow boil for days. Luckily Jane is not the steady, slow boil type. But she will throw things. At your head.

Alright, we said some pretty nasty things to each other. Here’s a brief recap of the blow-up.

Jane: You’re just afraid of men.

Darcy: You just need approval from anything with a dick. Just like society tells you to.

Jane: And you’re jealous that I have an easier time meeting men than you have meeting women. It’s my house and I get a say in who visits.

Darcy: It’s my house and I get to say no one with a fanged vampire clown tattoo that covers more than half of their back can visit.

Jane: His name is Derrick.

Darcy: Okay, fine, rude Derrick can’t visit.

Jane: That’s fine because that was a mistake anyway. I’m just really stressed out, and I went out for a few drinks at the bar I interviewed at on Sunday, and you know… I didn’t have sex with him but we did make out and pass out. When I woke up I had no idea where I was. <We both start sobbing here> This sounds pathetic but…I miss college.

Darcy: Come here.

::Bear hugs and head patting::

We decided to invite Ford over for dinner tomorrow and see if he wants to bring one of his non-sketchy friends. Who I hope also will not be deathly boring.

Also, I have an interview with an INSURANCE COMPANY TOMORROW! I was hoping the all-caps would make it look exciting at least…

          

east tar pit, wva, to skyline, tn
September 18, 2007

When I step onto the front lawn and look to my right, I can see the Nashville city skyline. I live in a city. With a skyline! Screw the hum of the food processing plant across the street, this is a cosmo location.

Jane and just I rolled into beautiful Nashville about an hour ago this morning to sign our *brand new lease* with our landlord Devon. We stayed in Kentucky last night with one of Jane’s ex-boyfriends, Steven, which was less dramatic than I thought it would be…he made us some delectable curry and we drank some wine and watched “House.” And I only needed one pillow over my head to block out the barbarian moans coming from the other room in order to sleep. I’m only on my third cup of jasmine tea today…so the writing abilities are still a little fuzzy. But I thought I’d try out the wireless connection in the house. Hello out there?