Monday, Jul. 28, 2003 - 4:54 am
Um... I'm sorry.
This relationship just isn't working for me.
I'm at www.dailypreciousness.org now. So change that bookmark.
I approached the fountains of Neptune on my right. A small, purple-shirted legion of parking valets gossiped, their voices barely audible above the spray of the fountains.
On my left, ugly, pre-apocalyptic shielding grew out of construction pits on the Southern end of the Congressional building. I was talking on the phone with the 'rents, painting a picture of the 6 o’clock sidewalk scrambling of energy-charged Capitol South. To my left, Japanese tourists posed for pictures. Ever so carefully, they framed themselves with the stately columns of SCOTUS in the background. (That’s the beltway abbreviation for Supreme Court of the United States, which was on my right.)
“Oooh , Jeffrey, I’m jealous! You’re just seeing all those sights and meeting all those people,” Mom sighed. She was sitting on a porch swing in north Louisiana with a cat on her lap, probably sipping on mint juleps.
“Oh, Ma, you know me – I lead this glamorous, carefree life of leisure, here in the big city. It’s pretty glamo—oh, wait. There’s one of the justices, now… It’s Sandra Day O’Connor. Hey, Sandy!” The Japanese tourists pay no attention to me as I pass by them. I can hear ice jangle in Mom’s glass. She laughs at the joke.
After a turn onto Maryland Avenue, I soon find the address to the Mott’s House. Of course, it’s under construction, just like everything else around here. They’re no doubt adding reinforced hull plating with polarized shield harmonics, to guard against pulse weapons and other disrupter beams. Ah, the sweet smell of security! I walk through the yellow tape and follow a well-dressed man into through the garden gate. Before I even go in, I can hear the hum of the neck-tie wearing gliterratti.
“I hope you don’t mind it if I follow you in. I think I’ll let you cover me, just in case we shouldn’t’ve gone through that police line,” I tease the well-dressed man, who turns out to be named Mark. He’s friendly, but I lose track of him soon after I’ve been tagged (like a wild animal in a captive breeding program).
Todd invited me to the gathering to spice things up a little. Some give of their money. Some give of their time. Others give of their presence. And this precious commodity is what I can add to the party. (Let me tell you, when it comes to charisma, I know how to make a little go a very long way. Of course, yesterday when I was mad, I was quite prepared to give up anything. Admitting, I don’t believe in anyone’s sincerity – and that’s what’s really gotten to me!)
I’d like to think of myself as a seasoned political fundraiser party guest. Have cocktail, will chit-chat. And eat snacks. And mingle with folks. Grin, parry, thrust.
Ran into a jovial power-mover-shaker who asked me about my current love. Laurie, a power-lesbotronic unit grinned and sipped her cocktail. It was great to run into her. The last time I’d seen her, months ago, I had been hopelessly and hopefully smitten by a certain glbt rights attorney who worked for the Senate. With a Cheshire grin and a wink, she asked if I was still seeing him… but she only mentioned him by way of his initials, “ML.” Sadly, it took me a few seconds to ride that train of thought back to her station. [Pause] “Oh!” I gasped. “NO, he and I are just pals. Actually, we’ve gotten really close, but there are absolutely no sparks there …just mutual admiration.” She seemed satisfied and went on to shake more hands and meet more people.
Before long, the murmur of mingling was replaced with the sounds of gospel music. Yes, we were lost, but now we were found. And we found ourselves piled into Trip’s comfortable new Jaguar. City lights streak by us, as we nestled ourselves into the soft white leather comfort. Laughing, we sit in the womblike comfort of the car.
The Maybeline-Clairol Plaza restaurant is full. It's always full. And the food isn't even that great. As Amyleethwa would remind me, "They need to check theyself 'fore they wreck theyself." So true, Amy, so true. So we go across the street. And then it happens.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the pale skin, dark roots and black clothes of a roaming goth girl. Fear flashes through me. And my mind floods itself with images of the night before: Anya, the goth girl, with a demeanor as sweet as strychnine, attacked me with a hypodermic syringe at work the other day. She had filled the syringe with tattoo ink. So after she was done injecting the black, poisonous-looking fluid, I had a huge black stain at the base of my neck. It was a horrible nightmare.
It is a restaurant of fusion food from deepest, darkest Africa. And it's nearly empty. There are maybe three other tables that are being used. Our waitress seems slightly nervous about offering us more drinks. The white wine at the fundraiser was decent. Sen. Nelson would be happy with us. We drank to our hearts' contentment, toasting him after his delightful speech.
He spoke of challenges in the Senate and his concerns for service members in Iraq: American blood spilled on the sands of Iraq. Hard-core stuff. "Yep," my grandfather likes to say, "it makes you think." This is his standard reaction to issues of mortality. Or pending legislation. Or dream interpretation. And it would've served me well in this situation, except for one small problem...
I WASN'T THINKING. And I was in no mood to think. Thanks to the white wine and the cocktails at the African place (one of which was called a Ma-HOOF-tee), I was no longer in the business of thinking. I was in the business of laughing. What a bliss-filled business it was, too. Todd was busy flirting with an MBA type. An alpha-male. A hunter-seeker. I was focusing on the amazing cous cous topped with yam. A gift of food, worthy for the best hunters of the tribe. Trippy Trip is bursting through with his usual bon homie. I'm just feeling silly after the six or eight glassfuls of white wine. I dare not indulge anymore. Pickled me is not on the menu tonight. Just pickled bell peppers. And they are amazing.
Flash forward. Near the end of the meal, Sweet Lil Cory gets a call from an actress friend. Would he like to come and see her play. Would he like to see her play tomorrow night? He tosses the question casually. Up flies my hand, as I'm eager to partake of some stagework.
Flash forward once again.
The KenCen is as grand and impressive as it can be, amid the sinkholes and piles of rubble of its giant reconstruction. It must resemble what Iraq looks like right now: splendor amid chaos. Todd arrives nearly on time. He's got Barak (named after one of the rulers of Israel during the 300 following Joshua's death.) I immediately loved his accent and his warm demeanor. But Barak was a possible enemy combatant. So, doing my duty as a true and faithful 'Merican, I had to feel him up to make sure that he wasn't carrying any explosives into KenCen.
Indeed, he *was* packing a weapon. It was breathtakingly large. After feeling it, I had to compose myself for a few moments in the men's room and wipe my mouth.) Luckily, the weapon posed no threat to anyone but myself. And I was wearing my most disarming smile to keep myself (and everyone around me) safe. ([Cue vaguely celtic music and background of waving 'Merican flag.] Just doing my duty, folks. No need for a medal!)
Kosha, Cory's friend, proves herself to be quite an actress. She's such a good student of the art that she even manages to share a certain stage intimacy with her former teacher. Patience is the name of the show. If fate has ever bitch-slapped a character in a play in a more engaging and entertaining way than this show, I've not seen it. It was a great dot.com play about the glorious 80s and the gilted age: start-ups and run-downs. Dow Jones taking swan dives and that sort of thing. Very well done.
Afterwards, Kosha joined us for drinks at Firefly.
There was the usual ceremony with Todd. (Thankfully, Kosha's navel passed inspection.) Drinks were served.
They passed inspection, too, and were quickly consumed. Afterward, Cory and Kosha treated us to a quick demo of swing dancing.
Fun, fab evenings with Todd... As he would say, authoritatively, "Very exciting. Very exciting, handsome man. Well, thank you for a glorious evening. And until next time..."
