Tag: goodbye

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dating personal

Waiting for the Right Scene / Hardest way to Travel

 

 

PCD: (turning to me) That’s not true, I haven’t kissed anyone else in a long time.
Me: Really? How long?
Her: A whole week.
Me: (quizzical look)
Her: (turning back to TV) When you stop kissing other people so will I.

My friend Joanne said once that dating past your 30s is like that board game Scene It. In the first part of the game, if you get something wrong, there’s no penalty. In the second part, you’re penalized for each wrong answer. She said that dating up to 30 is like the first part and dating past your 30s is like the second part.

Spoke to Heartgirl recently. Like HEI, she’s become what I’d consider a close friend. Well, as close a friend as I guy like me has. She thinks I’m going about this wrong, the random dating and whatnot. But I’ve done the serial monogamy thing for 16 years. It doesn’t work for me.

Without a hint of arrogance, I believe that whomever ends up with me is a lucky girlie. Cause I’m whip-smart. Given lead time to prep and the right jeans, I’m easy on the eyes. Have fairly good manners. Can cook.

Most of all, though, I’m loyal. For that girl, I can say, I’m yours. I’ve gotten it outta my system. 130+ dates later, I’m good to go. I choose you.

And yeah, I’m old, weird, clumsy, nerdy, insominatic – the list goes on. No lie, whenever there’s money left over for rum after a mortgage payment, it’s like Christmas morning.

But I know what I bring to the table. SX once asked me what entertainment I’d provide and responded, “I am the entertainment.”

One should know one’s value. Cause if your cup of self worth is only half full, why would anyone else see any more than that, y’know?

In other news, the woman I love the most in the world is on a plane to bury the woman she loves most in the world.

There’s no harder way to travel than with a broken heart. It takes 22 hours to get from here to there. That’s a long time to spend with your thoughts. If I could take that cross from her, I would.

 

Location: in front of a glass of rum
Mood: sigh
Music: Got no place to go but there’s a girl waiting for me

Categories
personal

Useless / Outta time

I feel so useless these days

Sorry, those of you that read me know I’m pretty regular about my postings but this week’s been…hard. Don’t think I had one sober night this week. Heartgirl took me to a fine restaurant, PCD took me out and made me carrot cake, and BEG rang me. They’re all such good people. It’s funny who contacts you and who doesn’t. Slept about four hours a night.

Told you before that A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.

I think I’m fairly quick-witted. Rain’s faster on the draw but I hold my own. S’what happens when you read as much as a nerd like me. But I dunno what to say to my own mother. Isn’t that a kick in the head?

Sucks when you realize a particular talent you have’s only good for entertainment purposes.

The irony of this whole thing is that my mom just came back from Taiwan two days before my grandma died. Now she’s gotta go back.

Her: I didn’t know she was gonna go. (pause) I woulda stayed if I knew.
Me: One of us (kids) should go back with you.
Her: No, it’s useless. She’s gone. You called her all the time. That meant a lot to her. (pause) You’re a good kid.

She doesn’t know that I stopped calling her after the theft cause I didn’t want her to worry. Stupid. I thought we had time. Goddamit, I thought I had time. No one told me we were outta time.

Gonna add that to my list of ten thousand regrets.

Gonna need more damn paper.

Location: my office, beat tired
Mood: beat tired
Music: you wake up in it One fine day

Categories
dating personal

All good things come to an end

 

Him: What’s the point of dating her if it’s not going anywhere?
Me: All relationships end. Some just end sooner than others.

Anthropologist Ernest Becker once said that Everything that man does in his symbolic world is an attempt to deny and overcome his grotesque fate.

All relationships end. And all relationships that matter end in tears. It’s just the way it goes. There’s nothing you adore now, that you can hold now, that you won’t lose at some point down the line. Either because it goes – or you go. It’s all ashes and dust and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

And it doesn’t matter how you go, yeah? Someone’ll wish you didn’t.

Writers try and cheat the end we know is coming. It’s our sad way of staying longer than we should. Because I’ve tricked you, you see. I’ve made you think of me.

My grandmother passed away. I’m heartbroken.

Please don’t say, I’m sorry. Tell me something funny or interesting. Cause I gotta go home and dunno what to say to my mom.

I’m a crap writer. I’ve run outta words.

Location: my office
Mood: heartbroken
Music: the sun was wondering if it should stay away for a day til the feeling went away

Categories
personal

Blessed are the forgetful

Her: I forget a lot of things.
Me: I envy you. Nietzsche once said, “Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.” I never forget anything.  But I’m working on that.
Her: I’d never want to remember everything. That’d be terrible.
Me: (nodding) It’s why I’m an insomniac.

Caligirl’s getting married.

For my longtime readers, she was also the girl in this entry. She’s everything I’m looking for in a girlie. Yet I don’t love her. Least, not in the way she wants. Dunno why that is, but that’s as it is.

As a kid, I remember reading about Soma in A Brave New World and wondering why anyone would wanna forget stuff. Not a kid anymore. There’s no Soma in NYC. There’s no River Lethe. That part I knew. But I’m also finding that there’s no SING. No girl on the east side missing a heart.

There are, however, any number of fine (and not so fine) drinking establishments in the big city where they’ll serve me my favorite poison on the rocks with a big slice of orange for $14 a glass.

I know cause I went to two of them Wednesday and Thursday nights with any number of girlies, some very random, some very specific. The weekend forecast looks similar. They’ll have to do.

Suspect I’m not invited to the wedding.

I’m an insomniac cause I lie awake remembering. I’m so talented at it that I even remember things that never happened, people that never existed.

Location: 10:00-14:00 yest, all over Manhattan
Mood: calm
Music: Why so scared of romance?

Categories
personal

It’s me

I’m not an ill-willed person

Since I lost my phone, I ran through all my old messages.

I’m sorry I couldn’t come…
Mr. Logan, this is…

Hey, it’s me…

The last one stopped me cold.

In response to the person that sent me an email a while back, the answer is: 24 hours. Sometimes less than that. Sometimes it just takes one screwup to go from being someone that calls and says Hey it’s me, to being a complete stranger.

———-

Yesterday, was out in Brooklyn grabbing some court papers. Not fun. Sheridan had a dinner to attend and the hostess wrote to him, “Make sure you invite Logan Lo!” He laughed and said I had to come. It was another catered affair with wealthy lawyers, entertainment people and artists.

The hostess was trying to set up Sheridan with people. She said that she would say, That’s a lovely dress/outfit, to indicate that the lady was available. Clever. People said she fixed up Kevin Klein and Phoebe Cates. Who knows?

A French waitress I briefly dated was there completely by random. Literally, completely unexpected. She told me to call her; told her I would.

Bounced early with this clothing manufacturer because Sheridan got us into the Hamptons party in midtown. It was thrown by the same guys that threw this and this. Open bar, beautiful people, the usual song and dance. Walking around, bump into the French waitress again! Call me; I will.

John Leguizamo was the guest of honor – and the host mispronounced his name, which clearly pissed him off. Had a lot on my mind, and rum in my system, so I really wasn’t into it. Sheridan and hopped before midnight. Walking up 10th Avenue, I rang someone.

Me: Hey, it’s me.
Her: Hey.

Location: 9:10AM, kitchen making coffee & eggs
Mood: busy
Music: I am not an ill-willed person I do not wish bad things for you

Categories
personal

My random nights

Her: (picking up hairclip on bookshelf) Wear this much?
Me: Was that there?
Her: It’s cool. (putting hairclip back) Every girl leaves something behind. Except me. I’m not going to leave anything behind.

I’m getting sued again by someone else. It never ends.

Tuesday night, skip fencing to see the pretty Hazel-Eyed Italian for a private party on a rooftop garden on Fifth Avenue. It’s a catered affair with an open bar and we pound rum all night in between getting massages and chatting with Pat Kiernan and his wife. HEI and I duck out to catch a late night flick. The next day, she tells me she’s not hung over at all. Ah, the power of rum.

Wednesday night, meet up with Elle at the South Street Seaport. She’d never been either and took me out for my birthday. We walk from there a mile or so to a friend’s place where we end up shooting the breeze until midnight. I tell her that most of the women I meet are usually bi-sexual. Or don’t want kids. Or are 22. Or don’t want to ever get married (like her). Or something. She laughs.

Her: We have a strange relationship, you and I.
Me: We do. Why? What do you think of it?
Her: (getting up and smiling) Bye, Logan.

Thursday. Wonder what the weekend has in store for us.

Location: 20 mins ago, Grand Central Station
Mood: thinking
Music: This city is for strangers Like the sky is for the stars

Categories
personal

Uncool me

A few weeks back:

Her: Wait, you only have one bowl?
Me: (shrugging) I only have one me.

I don’t have an iPod – don’t have an “i” anything, in fact. Someday maybe, not now.

Almost all my music, DVDs, books, papers, works, I’ve digitized and put into a computer I built myself. I watch it all through either a TV I bought seven years ago or a projector I use for business.

Got a lotta Valentino shirts and about eight custom-made suits but I bought ’em all at least a decade ago when I was young and stupid. Tee-shirts and Levi jeans for me.

Drama notwithstanding, I spend coin on:

I’m lucky because I’ve never been cool and I’m WAY too old to start now. Plus, I have zero need to impress anyone.

Where do you think the happiest place on earth is? It’s here. Not what you expect, huh? Happiness comes from community and purpose. Stuff cannot make you happy. Don’t be fooled by ad execs (I was one) – there’s no pill, shirt, shoes, phone, that will make you happy.

Working jobs you hate, to buy crap you don’t need, to impress those you don’t know – that’s just !#@$ nuts.

Connecting, man, that’s where it’s at. Ah, but there’s the rub. Another person cannot make you happy. But losing them can make you all sortsa bent outta shape.

Connecting. It’s harder than one might imagine:

Her: Can you not call me?
Me: Tonight or ever?
Her: (pause) Ever. ()
Me: (pause) Well…that sounds about right. (sighing, putting down phone and turning to fish) Yes George, I know it’s nonea my business. But still…

Location: my blue couch
Mood: throughly confused
Music: I think she’s leaving Ooh man she’s leaving

Categories
personal

Who pays the price?

Me: If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were happy couple.
Her: (long pause) We were.

Thanks for all the well-wishes; got me through a rough day. Worked until 1AM on my birthday. S’ok cause I did a lot of living this past weekend.

SX came up from Philly to see me and I showed her my city.

Saturday night we hit up a party that my friends Paolo and Cindy threw for me. Do you remember that last scene from It’s a Wonderful Life where Geroge can’t believe all the people that came out for him? Sorta how I felt.

On Sunday, SX and I grab brunch around the way. Then she gets ready to go. It’s terribly sad. Terribly. My self-sabotaging’s pretty much train on time.

Ok then.

Her: It’s funny, I feel like we’re breaking up and we were never together. Who knew I’d find a 35 year-old womanizer appealing? (pause) I like you, Logan.
Me: I like you too.
Her: (pause) Will you write about me?
Me: I like to keep some of my private life private. (pause) Do you want me to?
Her: (long pause) Yes. I want you to write about this weekend.

This weekend I had a beautiful girl come visit me for my birthday and we had an absolutely amazing time. But I discovered that I’m a lousy womanizer. Cause Paul and I stick to two rules:

  1. Never lie.
  2. Always leave people better off having met you.

Causea rule one, I never know if somea these people that cross my Venn Diagram’ll cross them again. Causea rule two, I tell SX that she should be with that other guy because he can be there for her and I can’t – then again, I’m no one’s careful consideration.

I sighed this past weekend and SX asked me what I was thinking. I just smiled and shrugged.

But what I was thinking was that, My head knows I’m doing the right thing but it’s never my head that pays the price.

She picked up her bag, shut the door, and walked away.

And here I am again.

Location: 22:23, 57th and 8th Avenue
Mood: alone
Music: There’s a somebody I’m longing to see

Categories
personal

Remembering Snow Angels and Lynda

Location: 10:00 PM, yest, fencing in Manhattan
Mood: contemplative
Music: and I say goodbye na zai jian

My college English teacher, Stewart O’Nan was a good fella and an amazing teacher. He once said to me, “Your stuff is good. Just…work on it.” I still remember. His novel, Snow Angels was just made into a film with Kate Beckinsale. I was lucky, I think, because I had a string of really good English teachers people in my life.

Paul used to have a B-Team of friends that were fun but he learned that you should only have an A-Team because you only got so much time and energy.

Remember when I said that your friends are mirrors to yourself? If you’ve changed and your friends haven’t, maybe it’s time to start cutting. Or call the ones that matter.

I should have called Stewart. Had his digits – just never got around to it. He was a good guy. Probably won’t remember me now.

But I remember him.

———-

Thomas Mann once said that A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.

Lynda was murdered ten years ago by a guy in my college circle of friends. My friends who knew her well never talk about it but it’s always there.

She and I only met a few times so it was more consoling my friends than anything else. But I did want to write something – if only to confirm that what the reporter wrote was true. She was beautiful.

Yeah, call your friends that matter.

Categories
personal

Being a brick wall

It’s hard keeping it together when it comes down on you

Me: You can do this. You’ve done it before, you survived. You can do it again. You just gotta be a brick wall.
Her: What does that mean?
Me: Two things. First, a brick wall doesn’t cry, it doesn’t beg, it doesn’t plead, it doesn’t do anything. It just is. A brick wall does what it’s supposed to do – without compunction, without complaint, without contempt. A brick wall’s built for pressure; you’re built for pressure.
Her: And second?
Me: Second is it doesn’t give anything away – you can read a face, you can’t read a brick wall. Keep it together. People’re relying on you. You’re relying on you. Don’t ever let him break you down. A brick wall doesn’t break; everything else breaks against it.
Her: (quizzically) I’ma brick wall?
Me: Yeah, you’re a goddamned brick wall.
Her: (deep breath) I’m a brick wall.
Me: You’re stone.

Location: 18:30 yest, hopping onto the seven train
Mood: beat tired
Music: the only one here now is me; I’m fighting things I cannot see