Tuesday, August 09, 2005
"I Hear Casablanca is Highly Overrated this Time of Year"
And other phrases that can only be overheard when partying with Provincetown's elite
This summer will officially go down in history as Middle School Reunion All Day Every Day and I absolutely loved it. While I could fill this space with my usual Seattle wrap-up, I'd much rather write about the past week and beyond, because this is the span of time that has included D, amongst other wonderful things.
Ready for the twists?
D and I originally met in seventh grade. It must be said that we did not travel in the same social circle, as I cannot remember a single conversation with him during my three years at hippy-love-group-hug-junior-high. To my surprise, however, I recognized him immediately during a chance encounter at the local Wallingford (holla!) pizza shop where he is employed. This was during the Great Black-Out and Lauren and I were walking over to our dear friend Nichole's ex-casa for a birthday/end-of-lease party/sleep over. Having purchased heavenly fries from Dick's minutes earlier, I was simultaneously stuffing my mouth and checking myself out in the shop window when D and I locked eyes (he behind the glass, me outside gorging). After a brief "oh, it's been awhile" session, we exchanged numbers and went our separate ways. Little did I know that one week later D would find his way to my going away party and into my pants.
Getting it on with D reminded me of Oprah's interview with Sting and Trudie. Although I find Sting and Trudie (especially Trudie!) creepy to no end, there is nothing better in my mind than being in bed with someone for lengthy stretches of time. When all was said and done, D and I had logged fifteen hours in a matter of three days. Take that Mr. and Mrs. Sumner! Ready for the juicy tid bits? Too bad. I'll say that D meets every single one of my requirements and more. If you think you're eligible enough, sign up for my Notifylist (left) and I'll tell all. Shameless self-promotion and sex talk? Genius!
Allow me to skip ahead a bit.
There was much text-messaging. And much wine. And much exploration of neither regions. And a few rounds of 20 Questions.
After kissing Seattle the big wet one and flying back to Cape Cod I had absolutely no idea what would happen between D and I. In fact, I'm still not sure. Word on the street is we're "seeing each other", although "seeing" implies actual physical interaction, of which there has been none since I hopped aboard Alaska Flight 12 in the wee hours of Thursday morn. Scandalous late-night conversations and basking in the glow of each other's pure unadulterated intrigue seem appropriate for now. And by "scandalous late-night conversations" I mean at least five texts, one email, and three phonecalls per day. Hi, I'm fourteen again with better technology, wider hips, a checking account, and an added twist of bitterness.
In between whispered sexual innuendos and life plans, Hoffman came and went. She's back from Prague (Atascadero bound) and looking good.
Saturday night we were lucky enough to be invited to a birthday party hosted by John Waters at Enzo, Provincetown's latest overpriced restaurant of the season. The party was truly special for Hoffy, who has been idolizing JW since her diaper years. We were tragically uncool for five minutes as we asked for a photo. Mr. Waters was kind enough to indulge.
Stephen Merritt of Magnetic Fields fame DJ'd, as well as Emerson, who I hadn't seen since Laura's sweet 20th last June. Merrit nearly made Hoffy and I wet ourselves as he offered us pieces of Big Red. I attempted to not sound completely inept by talking to his boyfriend about urban planning majors and who spilled their drink in the bathroom.
For added creeptasity, feast your eyes on a few stalkalicious camera phone pics of Mr. Merritt and Monsigneur Waters (because what else would you expect from me?)
As always, there's more to see on Flickr.
And other phrases that can only be overheard when partying with Provincetown's elite
This summer will officially go down in history as Middle School Reunion All Day Every Day and I absolutely loved it. While I could fill this space with my usual Seattle wrap-up, I'd much rather write about the past week and beyond, because this is the span of time that has included D, amongst other wonderful things.
Ready for the twists?
D and I originally met in seventh grade. It must be said that we did not travel in the same social circle, as I cannot remember a single conversation with him during my three years at hippy-love-group-hug-junior-high. To my surprise, however, I recognized him immediately during a chance encounter at the local Wallingford (holla!) pizza shop where he is employed. This was during the Great Black-Out and Lauren and I were walking over to our dear friend Nichole's ex-casa for a birthday/end-of-lease party/sleep over. Having purchased heavenly fries from Dick's minutes earlier, I was simultaneously stuffing my mouth and checking myself out in the shop window when D and I locked eyes (he behind the glass, me outside gorging). After a brief "oh, it's been awhile" session, we exchanged numbers and went our separate ways. Little did I know that one week later D would find his way to my going away party and into my pants.
Getting it on with D reminded me of Oprah's interview with Sting and Trudie. Although I find Sting and Trudie (especially Trudie!) creepy to no end, there is nothing better in my mind than being in bed with someone for lengthy stretches of time. When all was said and done, D and I had logged fifteen hours in a matter of three days. Take that Mr. and Mrs. Sumner! Ready for the juicy tid bits? Too bad. I'll say that D meets every single one of my requirements and more. If you think you're eligible enough, sign up for my Notifylist (left) and I'll tell all. Shameless self-promotion and sex talk? Genius!
Allow me to skip ahead a bit.
There was much text-messaging. And much wine. And much exploration of neither regions. And a few rounds of 20 Questions.
After kissing Seattle the big wet one and flying back to Cape Cod I had absolutely no idea what would happen between D and I. In fact, I'm still not sure. Word on the street is we're "seeing each other", although "seeing" implies actual physical interaction, of which there has been none since I hopped aboard Alaska Flight 12 in the wee hours of Thursday morn. Scandalous late-night conversations and basking in the glow of each other's pure unadulterated intrigue seem appropriate for now. And by "scandalous late-night conversations" I mean at least five texts, one email, and three phonecalls per day. Hi, I'm fourteen again with better technology, wider hips, a checking account, and an added twist of bitterness.
In between whispered sexual innuendos and life plans, Hoffman came and went. She's back from Prague (Atascadero bound) and looking good.
Saturday night we were lucky enough to be invited to a birthday party hosted by John Waters at Enzo, Provincetown's latest overpriced restaurant of the season. The party was truly special for Hoffy, who has been idolizing JW since her diaper years. We were tragically uncool for five minutes as we asked for a photo. Mr. Waters was kind enough to indulge.
Stephen Merritt of Magnetic Fields fame DJ'd, as well as Emerson, who I hadn't seen since Laura's sweet 20th last June. Merrit nearly made Hoffy and I wet ourselves as he offered us pieces of Big Red. I attempted to not sound completely inept by talking to his boyfriend about urban planning majors and who spilled their drink in the bathroom.
For added creeptasity, feast your eyes on a few stalkalicious camera phone pics of Mr. Merritt and Monsigneur Waters (because what else would you expect from me?)
As always, there's more to see on Flickr.
