Sunday, October 26, 2003
does that satisfy your curiosity?
i love the city but sometimes it can become so overwhelming. damn tourists. damn Common squirrels. damn homeless people. damn puddles that collect at the end of sidewalks. so i go to into the suburbs for a bit. this time it's for a reason and more than just a change of scenery. it's also the end of the line, the farthest you can get away for just a buck. this is vacation. this is escape.
i don't do grocery stores in boston. mostly because there aren't that many. but i try to use fake college money to get as many as my meals as possible. it's virtually free, free as included (not really) into my million dollar make-me-poor emerson tuition. but we need groceries to cook. i mean "we" as in him. mostly, i make politically incorrect jokes that i swear he laughs at out of pity, and that i realize i should't have said in the first place. he has mad skillz when it comes to driving the cart, and i feel my own lack of grace as i clunk behind him, tugging at the bottom of my skirt. we head back to his house with several bags of groceries and 6 martini glasses.
his house reminds me simultaneously of my grandma's and my old house in pennsylvania. it smells familiar and musty. i want to breath it all in, but i become used to it too quickly. i like it because i feel "right at home" right away.
he doesn't make me lift a finger -- so i guiltily watch him and provide the small talk. hours past and we keep changing CDs, and every so often the music stops and it gets quiet. we always seem to stop talking just at the same time. and the pause lets me soak everything in. glance at the boxes of books, which ones i've read and which ones i want to read. but it never lasts long. i make him listen to elliott smith, and he makes me listen to harvey danger. i admit i should own that cd, but really he should own elliott, too.
i watch him make tomato sauce and search for a recipe that contains more than just the ingredient of "ravioli" for ravioli. finally, success when his roommate returns, he amuses us with random outbursts and his gift for the art of dance. he and i exchange knowing glances -- his roommate doesn't get it. i can't stop laughing. by that time, the tomato sauce is dead. too thick with oil, grave yard of tomatoes at the bottom. it's okay, brand name sauces taste just as good anyway. better luck next time.
his other friend arrives and it's time for a drink and i think, "eh, what could it hurt?" suddenly, i'm more aware of the 3 on 1 guy to girl ratio. they promise not to molest me, but he looks at me and says, "i might." either no one else hears or no one else cares or no one else thinks he's serious, but i'm not so sure. after a while, i can't think of anything to say but when i do it seems slightly more obnoxious than usual. i'm drunk. drunk off "drunk." so i stay quiet and watch. the friend and roommate leave the kitchen to play video games and i think, "finally." i think i figured out why people are always having sex in kitchens. it's slightly romantic in a way. and it makes sense to me to kiss him at the time, so slurring out "come hither" doesn't really seem like such a bad idea. and yeah, it wasn't. i was too drunk to care if someone walked in, even if i kept eyeing the door every few seconds.
dinner is way more filling than i'm used to and it's nice to have a full stomach for once, and making things from scratch is so worth it. but he keeps asking if i'm okay and i'm just thinking and absorbing everything and thinking about that kiss in the kitchen and how it was so much better than i thought it would be. then he offers to take me home and we talk on the T and on the way to my dorm and he tells me about the Wonder Years episode that gets him close to crying and i can see why because i almost tear up just from his retelling and then we hug and say goodbye.
¶ 9:24 AM
|
i love the city but sometimes it can become so overwhelming. damn tourists. damn Common squirrels. damn homeless people. damn puddles that collect at the end of sidewalks. so i go to into the suburbs for a bit. this time it's for a reason and more than just a change of scenery. it's also the end of the line, the farthest you can get away for just a buck. this is vacation. this is escape.
i don't do grocery stores in boston. mostly because there aren't that many. but i try to use fake college money to get as many as my meals as possible. it's virtually free, free as included (not really) into my million dollar make-me-poor emerson tuition. but we need groceries to cook. i mean "we" as in him. mostly, i make politically incorrect jokes that i swear he laughs at out of pity, and that i realize i should't have said in the first place. he has mad skillz when it comes to driving the cart, and i feel my own lack of grace as i clunk behind him, tugging at the bottom of my skirt. we head back to his house with several bags of groceries and 6 martini glasses.
his house reminds me simultaneously of my grandma's and my old house in pennsylvania. it smells familiar and musty. i want to breath it all in, but i become used to it too quickly. i like it because i feel "right at home" right away.
he doesn't make me lift a finger -- so i guiltily watch him and provide the small talk. hours past and we keep changing CDs, and every so often the music stops and it gets quiet. we always seem to stop talking just at the same time. and the pause lets me soak everything in. glance at the boxes of books, which ones i've read and which ones i want to read. but it never lasts long. i make him listen to elliott smith, and he makes me listen to harvey danger. i admit i should own that cd, but really he should own elliott, too.
i watch him make tomato sauce and search for a recipe that contains more than just the ingredient of "ravioli" for ravioli. finally, success when his roommate returns, he amuses us with random outbursts and his gift for the art of dance. he and i exchange knowing glances -- his roommate doesn't get it. i can't stop laughing. by that time, the tomato sauce is dead. too thick with oil, grave yard of tomatoes at the bottom. it's okay, brand name sauces taste just as good anyway. better luck next time.
his other friend arrives and it's time for a drink and i think, "eh, what could it hurt?" suddenly, i'm more aware of the 3 on 1 guy to girl ratio. they promise not to molest me, but he looks at me and says, "i might." either no one else hears or no one else cares or no one else thinks he's serious, but i'm not so sure. after a while, i can't think of anything to say but when i do it seems slightly more obnoxious than usual. i'm drunk. drunk off "drunk." so i stay quiet and watch. the friend and roommate leave the kitchen to play video games and i think, "finally." i think i figured out why people are always having sex in kitchens. it's slightly romantic in a way. and it makes sense to me to kiss him at the time, so slurring out "come hither" doesn't really seem like such a bad idea. and yeah, it wasn't. i was too drunk to care if someone walked in, even if i kept eyeing the door every few seconds.
dinner is way more filling than i'm used to and it's nice to have a full stomach for once, and making things from scratch is so worth it. but he keeps asking if i'm okay and i'm just thinking and absorbing everything and thinking about that kiss in the kitchen and how it was so much better than i thought it would be. then he offers to take me home and we talk on the T and on the way to my dorm and he tells me about the Wonder Years episode that gets him close to crying and i can see why because i almost tear up just from his retelling and then we hug and say goodbye.
¶ 9:24 AM
|
