SXSW

I attended South By South West, an annual music conference in Texas. It's like a Mardi Gras/reunion for people who go on tour and/or work in music. After a few years of doing either, one has about a thousand so-called 'friends' whose names we hardly remember, but hug and kiss nonetheless. Then there are a couple hundred folks we actually refer to as
friends, simply because we remember their name and their band. SXSW is where I hug all these people and drink for free. It's totally shallow pretty fun.

I planned a rendezvous with FONTAINE [the soundguy i kissed good-night after a show we worked on last summer]. He was working the festival, but we decided to meet up at the club where he would be all day, just to say a quick hello. He looked good - shorter hair, no beard, texas tan. I sat in the sound booth as he lept around the stage like a gazelle, occasionally winking at me. He finally came over and kissed me on the cheek, whispering, "I've got 20 minutes," then leading me by my elbow to a microphone closet. We kissed and touched eachother outside of our clothes until his coworker walked in on us.

We hugged and I left to find my 'friends' at another party touting free margaritas.

The Carpenter

We've been having work done in my building for a few months. The same guy has been in and out of my apartment on a daily basis since Christmas, and we've sort of become friends. THE CARPENTER is gorgeous. Remember those diet coke commercials, where all those women were staring at that construction worker on his break and wetting their pants? He is that kind of gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. And then on top all those good looks, he's full of manners and interesting conversation. We chat as he passes through my place in the mornings to borrow a wrench or knock down a wall. Over a few months, we've learned about each other's bands, discovered that we share friends, and somehow have become friends ourselves. I like hearing and watching him talk - a sweet southern accent, dark sincere eyes, expressive hands, and plenty of intelligent things to say.

We cross paths at shows or sometimes on the street. We joke around, maybe flirt a little, but it's innocent. THE CARPENTER is not my type. Too pretty for me. And maybe in a grander sense, too good for me.

Breakfast

BOOM BOOM [the drummer with a penchant for neon] came over a few days later for a breakfast date.

Breakfast dates are perfect for we artsy folks. We're all working or being musical in the evenings, yet we never have to be anywhere before noon. And who doesn't want to eat pancakes and bone right after?

The following is an account of BOOM BOOM's Saturday morning date outfit:

-Red sweatshirt, bearing the Gucci logo circa 1982
-Matching red sweatpants bearing the same logo down the right leg
-Orthopedic nurse's shoes (white)
-Neon green windbreaker
-Yellow heart-shaped sunglasses

Yowzers. I have to admit, the brazen fashion sense really gives me a boner. It also gives me the green light on my own freak flag. On this date, I got to wear red running shorts and my favorite sequined tube top that no one likes.

It was a breakfast date, and I did make breakfast. Banana walnut pancakes. We listened to records and talked about our families and at some point during the dishwashing, he said, "That tube top is hideous," and pulled it down, all the way to the floor. I stepped out of it and welcomed foreplay on the buffet table.

We finished up in the bathroom, and proceeded to retrieve our respective clown outfits strewn about my apartment, dressed ourselves, and went off to our jobs.

It's Motherfucking Cuddle Time

I vowed to be on my own for a while after things ended with the WIZARD - take some time to focus on work, read some books, go to the gym....that lasted two weeks. Enter BOOM BOOM.

BOOM BOOM is in a really great drummer I've been friends with for a while, although no flirting has ever taken place til recently. He's endearing, to say the least - beautiful blue eyes, homemade haircut, a bit shorter than me, a speech impediment, and the most ridiculous fashion sense you've never imagined.

He came to one of my shows, citing that he loves my band. Maybe it was the sudden attention from him, but when he walked in, I suddenly wondered what it would be like to have sex with him. He was wearing blue one-piece ski suit and pink sunglasses. Truly adorable. I scooted over to him when we finished playing and it seemed clear he was thinking about sleeping with me too.

The next night I had another show, which BOOM BOOM also attended. Afterward, we shared a glass of whiskey and talked about music. The top button of my blouse kept coming undone, and he finally said, "I'll consider that an invitation." We hailed a cab and went to his place.

In his bedroomm, he put on an album of Cambodian children's songs and we got right to it. My shirt obviously came off easily, and his glow-in-the-dark camouflage sweatshirt came off with some ease as well. It was late-night, somewhat-drunk sex. Not great, but I could sense the potential. We went at it a couple times before I announced that I was going to walk home.

HIM: No. You can't leave now. It's motherfucking cuddle time.
ME: But your apartment's cold.
HIM: Here. Put this on and come sleep next to me.

BOOM BOOM handed me a hot pink PEPSI sweatshirt, so I snuggled up next to him, listening to the screeching sounds of those Cambodian kids.

The V-Day Massacre of '09

As you may recall from last year, I don't have the happiest Valentine's Day stories. This year was unfortunately more of the same.

Before my trip to see THE WIZARD, he booked a flight to visit me on Valentine's Day. We talked about honoring the plans, even though we had technically ended our relationship. What was wrong with spending a weekend together?

Of course, there is a lot wrong with this scenario, so we agreed to keep our distance. But his flight was booked, so he ended up in my city for the weekend, silently taunting me from a friend's place the next neighborhood over.

On V-day, I made plans to attend an infamous Make Out Party here in town with a friend. I put on a great outfit and danced with my friends, temporarily forgetting about the WIZARD. I even let SAM [the smarmy guy in a famous band I went out with last year] kiss me on the mouth for a second. I thought it just might turn into a decent V-Day.

The next day, I woke up feeling disgusting, from too much whiskey and a little bit of regret. I wanted to see the WIZARD. And apparently he wanted to see me. He asked me to meet him at the ice cream shop.

Amidst fluorescent lighting and squealing kids, many tears were shed. We unloaded all the feelings - anger, remorse, and some unrealistic ideas about our future... There was discussion of being in a very open relationship: staying in touch, and being together when we happened to be in the same city, and seeing if that led to something more serious. But it all seemed incredibly stupid upon some thought.

As we finished our banana split, I suddenly saw him as someone I wasn't falling in love with - he was a mess and his life didn't make sense with mine. He grinned at me, hiding his fucked up teeth the way he did when we first met. Poof. It was over. We said goodbye in the snowstorm:

HIM: Dude, I totally love you.
ME: I know.

Move Along!

My trip to see THE WIZARD was contaminated before it began. This long distance thing was about to fall apart.

The sex was still pretty explosive, but the intimacy was gone entirely. A month before, while fucking on my dining room table, we locked eyes and said sweet things to one another. This time it was strictly dirty talk. That kind of emancipated sex used to turn me on, but in this case it made me a little sad.

We spent the weekend playing guitar hero, cooking, fucking, and not really talking. The night before I left, I drew up the courage to ask what changed his mind about me. He pretended he didn't know what I was talking about for a while, but then admitted to me that he was over it.

HIM: Dude, the long distance thing doesn't work for me.
ME: I like the distance. I get to look forward to seeing you. And phone sex is great!
HIM: Phone sex is depressing. Even seeing you is depressing, because I know it won't happen again for a long time.
ME: So that's it? I can't be in front of your face all the time, so you give up?
HIM: Yeah.

He took me to the airport and we kissed good bye in front of two security guards who yelled "move along!" over and over. I didn't cry until the plane landed in my city.

To See The Wizard

A lot has happened. And I have not been writing. I apologize to my 4 readers profusely.

So. Here goes. I went to see the Wizard. But I should go back about a week before that.

We were in the midst of one of our text frenzies, where we go back & forth about really dirty sexual scenarios. Towards the end of it, he started texting some pretty sappy, cute stuff - something about wanting to hug me. So what did I do? I told him that he was grossing me out, which I thought came across as a joke.

He didn't call me for two days. And when he did start calling again, the conversations were short and lacking the phrase "I can't wait to see you." When I apologized for my coldness, he accepted it, saying he wasn't upset, but something had shifted.

And then I went to see him. I arrived on his birthday.

Walking through the airport, my stomach turned. I was nervous, whatwith the shift. But the stocking cap he stole from my house was on his head, and his extremely fucked up teeth smiled sweetly. I lept into his arms and bit his face.

We squeezed eachother's knees and kissed at every stop light during the ride back to his house, where we wasted no time tearing off clothes and boning in every way imaginable. We even did the awkward thing he'd seen in a porno and described to me a couple weeks before (I promise to dedicate a blog post to useless porn scenarios).

But afterward we sat on his floor, leaning against his sweaty bed and took a long look into one another's eyes and followed this look with a simultaneous shrug.