Two Things About Christmas Scrabble

 

For the most part, I'm not pining. I'm looking forward to turning the entire apartment into a nest for the coming snowstorm, feeling cozy and self-contained.

But taking down the Christmas tree the other night had me close to panic. The lights were on there so tightly and so tangled that I had to cut off some of the branches to get the lights off. It made me feel trapped, nauseous, and scared, like I was the one bound and tangled up, absolutely NOT in a good way. 

Even after I had the lights off the tree, I considered just throwing them out because they were SO hard to untangle. I got them apart and put away, not as neatly as I would've liked, but they're out of sight.

I felt a lot of anger and fear during all that untangling, but I also felt just good old fashioned love and grief. I've been having the nicest time flirting with new folks and going to the correct door, but I still have to acknowledge that Christmas with TGNS was a big deal.

So, two things:

***He spelled the word "Wholes" during Scrabble and that's what I felt like we were, just for that moment. Wholes is what you have to both be to have the kinds of relationships I want to have, and we weren't that. But just for a little while, a few sparks of time, we were Wholes.

***He and I sang together. The best part of King of Carrot Flowers: "Than he could dare to tryyyy, ah ah ah ay ay, ah ah ah ay ay." We sang it together and it was so beautiful. Our voices matched and our souls chimed. I loved the moments when I could let down my guard and sing in front of him, and I think he liked those times too.

Of course then Latto's Big Energy came on and made me sheepish, made me hope nobody was paying as much attention to the words as I always do.

Quarantine Crush (Because of Course) Part Three

So while I was drinking in all the poet love, feeling obnoxiously invincible as a writer, and surrounding myself with art and beautiful vistas, I was also, like anyone who moves across the country without a plan might, struggling to survive. I’d come to art school with way to pay for it, bad credit, and (Still so shocking!) no driver’s license. I was getting by on a narrow-to-no-margin, always hungry, sometimes rationing the groceries out to the tiniest detail. For most of my time in California, I slept on the floor in a pile of blankets rather than in a bed.

The Saturday night before I decided to leave, I was scheduled to work at the dress shop past the time the busses stopped running and I didn’t want to take a cab all the way from Fancy Beach Town to the suburbs where my third-apartment-in-two-years was, so I walked. It took three or four hours. It was so beautiful, following an emphatic moon and smelling the eucalyptus in the gentle night air.

I walked so much back then, and with no Spotify, no podcasts, and no audiobooks, I entertained myself by singing. Tori Amos’s “Leather,” Ani DiFranco’s “Little Plastic Castle” (The Russian Doll of its time.) “Amazing Grace,” “The Rainbow Connection” and Jeff-Buckley-Style “Halleluiah” before it became a cliché.

(I’d forgotten about the singing to myself until I read Lane Moore’s How to Be Alone if You Want to, and Even if You Don’t (SO GOOD! READ IT!) where she describes singing herself out of despair. In my case, I was singing myself out of boredom, and in these quarantine weeks, the urge to belt stuff out on the sidewalk has come back. I usually can keep it to just whistling through my mask, but sometimes I can’t help but sing along with my headphones, even though I know it must sound terrible.)

I had a poetry gig the next day and I’d hoped to sell some books so I could get some groceries. That almost always worked, but this time it didn’t. It felt like my synchronicity was broken, maybe it was. QC’s Adorable Cohost took me to Ralphs on the way home and bought me enough food to get me through until payday. I remember picking out one perfect green apple—produce seemed like an incredible luxury at the time!

I’d been having trouble with my roommate, an art student a little younger than me, and when her dad informed me that they were moving her terrible boyfriend in, he offered me 300$ to help me relocate. It would have taken at least a couple thousand to get my own place, and even though I was making pretty good commissions at the dress shop, first/last/security might as well have been a million dollars.

By the end of July 2001, I’d decided the only thing I could do was head back east. I boxed up everything I wanted to keep and mailed it c/o my mom. By the eighteenth of August, I landed on QC’s doorstep, bags packed, to stay a couple days before leaving home/going home.

Kinky Karaoke Part One: The Triumph of Light Over Darkness

“Going out to sing means you have to adopt a staunch pro-believin’ stance. But it also means you have to suspend your rational doubts. “Don’t Stop Believin’” isn’t about actually believing in anything, just as nobody in “Livin’ on a Prayer” prays for anything in particular. The belief is in belief itself; the prayer is just for more prayers.”

–Rob Sheffield, Turn Around Bright Eyes: The Rituals of Love and Karaoke

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.”—Carly Rae Jepsen

Saturday was my church’s Diwali celebration (Unitarians feel entitled to any holiday we choose, that’s one of the things I like about us.) and I’d originally planned to go in early to help with the feast, but my day had been so fantastically indulgent and dawdly that I was nowhere near ready to leave at the appointed time. Sweetie and I heated up some frozen samosas and naan and had our own little Diwali feast at home, while watching Top Chef.

My suitcase was packed for Kinky Karaoke, so I hoped that the service wouldn’t be too long. When I got out of the car at church, most people were already inside and I was alone in the woodsy church parking lot with the brightest moon you’d ever see, peeking through clouds that were fluffily arranged in rows across the sky like the stuffing of a comforter. The path to the church was lined with star lanterns, and the walk in ended up to be the most transcendent part of the service.

Usually our Diwali is a joyful affair, with lots of singing and dancing and making art out of flower petals, but this year, the pastor began the service with an admonition that children should not be allowed to run around in the aisles, and it continued in that tone. In place of any religious experience, there was a lecture, complete with PowerPoint. One of the great joys of adulthood is that if you’re sitting in your church pew stifling yawns, you’re allowed to just get up and leave.

I was happy to venture back out into the clear, starry night. I got in the car and set the GPS for the out-of-the-way corner of the city where the Karaoke King and Queen live, turned up my Training Montage mix, and belted out every song along the way.

Pretty Slave has a wonderfully geeky bumper sticker on her car that reads:

And whenever I see it, I get all bubbly-over with joy. I was also excited that I’d see The Lady of the House, who was my main inspiration for showing up that night.  I walked in to many hugs and felt so excited that I’d recovered so quickly from last weekend’s triggers enough to come.

I’m so grateful that I am me, and that these are my friends. I don’t know what they were doing over at the Scary Party, but I’m pretty sure nobody was sitting in anybody’s lap dueting “Piano Man” at full force (high five, Cute Master!) or singing Cee-Lo in their underpants. (I didn’t arrive with much bitterness in my heart, but “Fuck You” really is the very best karaoke song ever.)

Pretty Slave told me I’m prettier than ribbons and Cute Master was sweet and sympathetic about the heart-hurts of last week. I was touched at his recalling that this house was where we met over the summer. “I fingered you right over there,” he said “It’s too bad they moved the couch!”

And then! Some people I didn’t know I’d been wanting to see! Remember the munch I cried at toward the end of the summer? Okay, doesn’t really narrow it down, but the night that I was soothed by the nice ladies goofing around and bringing Long Island iced teas, Mrs. Sweetface was one of the ladies doing the soothing. (Not to be confused with Ms. Sweetheart. The naming part’s not as easy as it looks.) We’d joked about me becoming Mr. Sweetface’s cuddle partner, since she’s not so into that part. I’d yet to meet him and I couldn’t believe she remembered that, but it was the first thing she said: “Your cuddle buddy’s upstairs.”

When she introduced him, he said “Oh, that was you?”

“Yep! If we’re gonna cuddle, we’d better start practicing!” I said, pulling this complete stranger into a hug. It was a hug with a little spark of energy, with potential. Clearly it was time to employ my “Talk to the cute couple until they’re doing stuff to me” strategy, which I devised the last time I was here.

But first, lots and lots of songs. Pretty Slave and I did our song, “Call Me Maybe,” of course, and then the young woman that CS and PM are dating (I don’t think she’d mind being named “Their Girl”) joined us for Nikki Minaj’s “Starships,” which is totally my top Training Montage hit. The Lady of the House seduced our hearts with some Steely Dan, and then teamed up with me on my song of the year, “I Just Can’t Get Enough.” This is how I was born to be, stripped down to my basic ridiculous histrionics and enjoying the fuck out of my friends.

Incidentally, I got a chance to talk with Their Girl and found out that she’d left that party a few weeks ago because she got jealous—of me! It was strange to be on the other side of that equation! I told her she should have joined in and we made plans to conspire against Pretty Slave and Cute Master at the earliest opportunity.

A couple of times during the evening, the Karaoke Queen took a break from her hostessing duties to bend over and get some spanks, and just like that, another sweet little bottom for me. Even though they were just playful party spanks, she got all melty in my arms afterwards and I loved the power of getting to make my friend so woozy-happy. Plus, the Lady of the House was watching and looked impressed—I like that.

Next: Eeeee! Yesyesyes I got tied to another girl!