A Hypocrite in Love, I Am


I am sitting in a café, hung over from my evening out with one of my best gf’s Melinda last night, which started out as “Girls Gone Wild” but ended more like “Golden Girls”, when our afternoon drinkfest eventually turned into the both of us passing out in my apartment with the lights on and the AbbA blaring at 9pm. Pathetic.


She and I are both heartbroken. She, because the guy she’s been on-and-off with is now decidedly off-and-running (some problem about how he dissed on her punky new red highlights and oh, yeah, he also wants her to convert to Judiasm and she won’t hear of it), and me, because the guy that I’m totally ridiculously 6th-grade-puppy-love smitten with lives half a world away and now it’s been a month and despite my best efforts to quell them, the doubts are most definitely creeping in.


As I said in an earlier blog, I am going to use the writing of my blog to manifest the things I want. Build it and they will come = write it and the boys, well, er, they’ll come too. So I’m not going to go in depth about my doubts (which take on the flavor of jealousy---he’s a flirt and has an incredibly sexy way about him, which is part of why I like him so much, but it also makes me wonder how many other women he’s got on his dance card too). Suffice to say that I’m having them and I’m observing myself having them and then I try to stop having them but it’s hard to teach a doubtful dog not to doubt any longer and instead just go fetch the ball and have fun and slobber on the pink fuzzy slippers in the hall and dry hump the pail in the sandbox and just live your life the way you want.


Besides, I reason with myself, I have no right whatsoever to be suspicious!

If anyone has that right, he has it just as much as I do.

I don’t consider myself a “ho” or a “loose woman”, but I do consider myself sexually and emotionally free and independent. Granted, I’d like to find that one-and-only to focus my love and attention on, but in the meantime, I love dating. I love going out and flirting it up. I love the thrill of the chase; the mystery of a new romance.


In other words, I can dish it out but I can’t take it. Which I see now is totally lame and unfair. So in my efforts to reach Mature Adulthood, I am going to stop stressing and just relax with it and let it go where it may. And I’m also going to finally balance my checkbook.


But one thing at a time.


So he’s visiting for two weeks in about a month, which of course I’m over the moon about. (or, in other words, picture me with my 2 fists side by side, thumbs touching, and twisting against each other = the international sign my friend taught me which means “wringing out my panties”) I am already formulating plans for us…I am calculating which music shows might be going on that would be fun to take him to, which open mics I might feel brave enough hitting up in his presence (I sang in Harlem at Minton’s Playhouse the other night and it was awesome but very humbling and I have LOTS to learn…including the lesson of “don’t improvise so much that you end up 2 octaves higher than you can sing so nobody in the audience can actually still hear you and instead all the dogs around 118th st. and St. Nick’s start going ape shit”), and I’ve taken an extra long look at the different kinds of condoms on display at Duane Reade (the “vibrating ring” condoms that Raquelle, Yonina and I all snickered at in Europe are also everywhere in NYC, apparently; score!).


At the same time, I realize I need to keep dating. One, I don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket. If things don’t work out with him, I don’t want to find myself suddenly fantasy-less and bereft. Two, someone can just “tell” if they’re all you’ve got going on, so it creates positive tension if there’s other offers on the table. Granted, it’s a little tougher to “tell” if you’re 1000s of miles away from each other and there’s not much room for the typical game-playing and courtship rules and such, but I’m a big believer in “vibe”, and “vibe” travels around the world and then some in the blink of an eye. Just ask Funkadelic. Their vibe travels intergalactically, even!


I thought I had a mini-crush on a young wunderkind trumpet player (Tim) that my jazz producer friend introduced me to at the big-whoopty-whoop-deal IAJE jazz convention a couple of weeks ago, and Tim and I spent most of the evening together talking amicably and later getting so blitzed that he could barely speak and I lit my cigarette on the wrong end (oopsie!). I could tell he was attracted to me, and he even gave me a little awkward kiss on the neck when we hugged goodbye. But after I saw him perform a little while later and spoke to him after the gig, I realized that he’s either extremely shy and softspoken all the time, or else I intimidate the crap out of him. Also, he’s 8 years younger than me…which I thought would be cool because he’s so mature for his age and I think of myself as being forever young at heart and we could meet in the middle, y’know? His shyness coupled with his immense talent/confidence onstage is a rather winning combination (not to mention he’s adorable, especially when he dons a beret and wears tinted shades when he plays, making him look like One Cool Cat from the ‘40s).

But he’s not a Catalan heartthrob that lives an obscene distance away.

It would never work.