The same nutballs that inhabited Pal’s have returned – G with his psycho self, the butch lesbo contingency, neighbor of N’s and neighbor of ours, and the tatoo’d bartenders. Next door the party is just getting started, pink wig and a few witches, and lots of Christmas lights plus a lighted snowman. Tomorrow night we’re headed to August with the M’s and at precisely the time of our res, the Faubourg group will be on the bridge toasting with tiki torches and wine to the return of the neighborhood. And yet N and B couldn’t wait to get out of here, leaving behind the debris that litters their yard, and gutters half hanging from the roof – no desire to nest again in their home – the porch still in disarray.
Third day of walking the dogs through City Park as L refuses to return to Cabrini fearing substances left from Katrina. Little by little we keep seeing familiar faces returning. L’s situation with K remains a puzzle – her phone cut off he has been bereft of her attention and therefore pining away for her – S continues to tell me that men only want what they can’t have – is that true? Or is L an enigma? Or one of those men that do need the hunt? She assures me that playing hard to get is the way of the land but from someone who is a jump in with 200% I disagree wtih these shenanigans – I don’t believe absence makes the heart grow fonder – petty nonsense. Too much is never enough.
L said he was fine until he got the email from K that said – honey I love you and want you – which then made him hesitate. Good grief – jump in with both feet would ya? Or maybe I could just kick him and tip him over there. Today at the gym while I was listening to American Idiot on the elipitical machine I glanced over at L jawing away with some guy by the weights – he then walked over and said I’m not going to push myself too hard today – I thought of the tire that threw out his back – “Rachel, d’ya know how heavy a tire is?”
So back to Pal’s – six weeks and in one night they were able to accumulate enough smoke to make it seem like there was no interruption at all. The rum and cokes were absent the syrup part of the equation – just soda from the gun or something nast – not worth trying to make it up with bourbon. Tomorrow night at August we’ll have a proper Manhattan.
Oh my – the band is starting right now at Gal’s – sounds kind of good – maybe we’ll hang on the porch and enjoy from our side of the fence. Better cocktails.
L came to check emails before going out with the manatee tonight and here are his jokes:
Guy walks into bar and sees a monkey crawling across the top of the bar, the bartender takes a glass and hits the monkey, the monkey falls to the ground and gives the bartender a blow job. Bartender says, you want to try and the guy says, yeah, but don’t hit me as hard.
Okay I won’t even tell you the gay rommate joke because it’s too dreadful.
The band at Gal’s is playing a rock song in back – “I never will tell you about the time in the hall when she kissed me – I started drinking whiskey.”
Let’s go back to fantasies – bike shops and buses and motorcycles – how about sanatoriums and medical gowns – checking out – or even just walking off the planet for a few minutes with your eyes open – these are things that keep you up at night wondering what the hell you are doing and what keeps you from screaming at the top of your lungs at every given moment of the day 0r at certain moments of the day. Fridays sometimes are haunted by ghosts even when it is not close to Halloween.
Tomorrow late the time changes – time changes – time passes – time crawls – patience – if there were world enough and time – why does that band sound like it is in the bathroom? Time expands, time contracts, time drifts, time shrinks – suddenly it is 3:30 – time to go – band now singing “Can you feel the heat, can you feel the passion, well, drunk on whiskey tonight” – whiskey seems to be the theme – now it seems the entire crowd knows the words and is singing. They said they played Jazz Fest – but I wonder where?
New tarp on La La – W said “sell the LaLa, are you crazy?” – he told me that I should be prepared because when I put the pool in he is going to invite a lot of people, some he doesn’t even know, to come swim – cub. Think the black tarp had more going for it than the blue which mimics every bad roof in the city.
Shouldn’t it bug me that a nonwriter can write in a certain way that is compelling? It’s like what goes on there? Besting me at my game.
Now singer is yelling to feel the heat and feel the passion – do I need someone to proselytize feeling the heat and passion? How can three days change a neighborhood so much – Oscar back to get his stuff, Alan back two days, Nicole back and watering roommate’s plants, Robin and Susan resuming life as usual across the street (W already making his presence known there with gifts of notes) – the taxi guy who leaves notes returned. Susan back and having her Gal party.
Where is that Muse?