2001:May:22
2001
Every Friday night now without fail, Kent, Greg, and I end up wheeling out the Friday party machine. It's gotten rather odd lately as the dynamic produced when Kent, Greg, and I are together is rather strange (like mixing garlic, peanut butter, and tumeric). It turns out that our combination makes Kent and I use our heightened knowledge of human nature against Greg's vast philosophical tenets. This in turn makes Kent and I feel that we are bonding over pointing out the frailties of man, and we feel dirty. Greg seems to react in trying to side with Kent against me - when Kent doesn't seem to want to side with him. Greg ends up being a big grumpy oaf. I become an in-the-clouds mystic. Kent frets that he's too deep and smart. It's much much better when we have a buffer in our midst. We are much less defined.
This last Friday, Kent and I decided that it was too intense to be in the house, so we decided to all take a walk downtown and have one beer. Halfway there, Kent began to get buyer's remorse and tried to change plans into eating plans. As there was no good downtown restaurant, we were vexed. Kent then stripped away from Greg and I to go write and be alone. I figured I was next to depart after our one beer. Greg and I are downtown (our usual dynamic restored), and I express my regret that I don't have the money or wish to drink in the bar for three or four more. Greg gets cranky again. We intentionally walk down Shark Street looking for some friends to join Greg with. Steve F.(the gentleman realtor) is not at home. We pass by Craig's house and hear music and the door is open and lights are on. I tell Greg to knock on the screen door, and I'll make sure he gets in before I depart to watch old movies by myself. He says nevermind and that he will just go home if I don't want to come in. I'm touched by this as I've been a bit annoyed at Greg using me as his personal punching bag. So, I go in after I remember that Craig has a new kitten. I'm sitting in the back of the room. Craig has some background music on. He offers us beer or wine, and I say no thank you. I'm high (and I'm leaving soon). He then materializes this bong in front of me. Ah my favorite drug. Come to Mamasita. I thought: oh how nice. I'll be able to really like the movies now.
It's really good pot. I start asking Craig for any suggestions on a destination for my lover and I to vacation to. He gets animated, and we get to hear stories about Amsterdam and Paris. Craig is actually leaving tomorrow for Paris. Intermixed in this conversation are glimpses that Craig might be a lot smarter and deeper than I had thought. I only know the guy in passing and had only hung out at his house one boring time before. This creates sexual tension (either that or the pot). So then, I'm basking in this potential for mutual appreciation. It's all in my head, but I don't care because it's all inspiring. It's so nice to feel new feelings once in a while instead of always just thinking new thoughts. I would wish sexual tension on my husband because it's just so fun. You start to suck in your gut and start giving out your best material. So then, Craig hands me a "German Times" magazine turned to an article, and he resumes talking to Greg who has either been caustic or begging for hockey the entire visit. It turns out the article is written by Craig. How funny. The bong came to me again - an article in "German Times". I'm expecting pro-Nazi or something. I sort of half-heartedly started reading it. I hate when I'm forced to read something by someone. What if it sux? So, I'm reading the article. It's about how when Craig was backpacking across Europe, his father gave him a copy of his grandfather's birth certificate. The father asks Craig to stop by the birth town, Oberndorf, if he can. Craig thought it would be easy. He stopped in a town and asked the way to Oberndorf. No one knew. Then he went to the post office, it wasn't listed. Then on the second page, there was this beautiful photo Craig had taken. It was one of those amateur photos that aren't pretty until you really look at them. It was a starkly arresting photo of winter. The trees were brown. The grass was yellow. It looked like snow was seconds away. There was a brown cold road slicing the middle of it.
I take a break from reading, complement Craig on the photo then I launch into my monologue on love. I explain how I had tried early in my quest for love to find a man who would laugh with me but would lick my blood to prove that he loved me. I was an intensity junkie. I wanted mythical, legendary love. I theorized that you only get one chance at this and then most people don't want to go through the rubble down this path again. So instead of the money road, the "glamour" road, the surface road, etc... I chose the funny road of love. I married someone who is a small percentage intense but who is mainly so perfectly suited to my sense of humor (and that's no cakewalk). When I had explained this earlier to Greg and Kent, they both agreed that they still wanted the blood route. I assured them that they would pursue that, but that one day they would realize funny was better. Craig seemed to be amazed by my words, but then confused me by saying something shallow and off the mark. I continued reading. So he still can't find the damn town. He's driven at this point. He can't have misspelled it. It's on the official document. He finds a storefront with an old German map in the window. He spends two hours scouring it section by section. No Oberndorf. Then he goes to several bookstores. Finally, he's led to the basement of an old bookstore, and an old man gently looks through his historic books stored in the basement. No Oberndorf. At last hope, some antiques shop lady finds it. Craig memorizes the location and bikes away. I didn't read this last part very well, but Craig told me that he felt a psychic, mystic connection with his grandfather the whole time. He also said it snowed at bizarre moments in the town, AND just when he was finished with his quest and riding back to the train... he was thinking: I could be here for hours. The next train that comes could not be mine. It's getting dark. Then, right when he got to the station, a train horn sounded. It was his train. It started snowing when he got on the train.
I'm amazed by the story. I tell him. He then says that he bought another edition of "German Times" just to see what sort of magazine it was and what other people wrote. He showed that to me. In the editorial was a letter from the editor stating how the magazine had never had such response in the history of the magazine as they had to Craig's story. They were going to reprint it in its entirety. It was an interesting tidbit.
So then, we're smoking and talking about life, love, and trivia. I'm on a glass of wine by now. His house is nicely decorated (which is a big thing for me and I RARELY go to someone's house and have it be nicely decorated) and I told him so. He said it was important to him to. I'm feeling like I'm a million bucks. Here I am a woman in this pretty company, and by this time Greg is so stoned he's not even defensive. It was wondrous. I have never seen Greg as relaxed and pleasant as Friday at Craigs. Instead of his usual reaction to me talking, he actually listened, responded, and didn't rant at all. He actually supported things I said. Craig's kitten was perfect. It was the sort of kitten that didn't cling and didn't scurry. It was curious and small as a man hand. Towards the finale of the evening, we were so high that we all wrote on an envelope: Princess Dumas (I pronounced it Doo-MAHS. They pronounced it Dum-ass), Lucy, and Queen Joyce "wuz here"... and we all signed our fake names. We had begun calling each other by these names towards the end. It seemed like a good time to go. We said our goodbyes and tallyed ho. I love those unexpected good times.
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