4 weeks and 4 days

As I rocked my little bartending cuteness last night at the Cutting Room, a
strange thought kept running through my head. Though, no, not strange,
but really very fantastic. I worked with this other new girl who I
was sharing the front bar with, and who comes traipsing in but E, a
little disheveled, certainly stressed, and rocking big smiles for me,
which pretty much seems to always be the case. The bartender,
Amanda(?), or whatever her name was, asked how long we had been
together. My reply, “Not long”. But she pressed further for more
details, and I said, “No, not long at all”. She looks at him and he
says, “4 weeks and 4 days“.
Although true, the actual utterance of words like that from the mouth
of someone I give a shit about is completely bizarre and I stood there
dumbfounded for a second. Amanda or whatever her name is said,
“ah, so you guys are still in the honeymoon phase”, to which he said,
“life with me will always be a honeymoon, I tell her that”, motioning
to me.

Yeah, I be rocking the honeymoon phase, sure. I can take it. I would
rather take the honeymoon than the big fight to know what is
going on at whatever point in time. I suppose some of my biggest fears
(rejection, abandonment–sure) have been quelled just because he
happens to open his mouth and speak to me. It’s really truly
one of the brightest things going on in my life. And so unlike things
usually, spinning wildly out of control in my own mind because not
knowing is really the issue. I have this security of knowing
what is going on now that I never had before. And me being the
supercharged sexual being that I am used to look at everyone, and I
mean everyone to picture that event horizon if two bodies were to meet.
But now, I kind of just nod knowingly, knowing my situation is beyond
imagining what anyone else would be like.

That old True Romance quote: “You’d be with one guy?” Her: “If I’m with you, I’m with you, and I don’t want nobody else”. I actually don’t care, or even care to notice anyone. I am stuck in my
own little impermeable fairy tale. And even if it exploded into tiny
meaty bits at this point, I would be happy to know that my equal, bound
up in hugging, kissing, grasping arms, could just even exist. You go
through people, forcing head into wall, shoving heart into throat, and
pretending that it doesn’t hurt, and you don’t believe it, sure. But
you also don’t believe that what you want and/or need is available to
you. But somehow it is. I got the
genius/hot/silly/warm/affectionate/giggling/brilliant/fun/badass
package. And no, you can’t have it. All mine. I suffered enough through
the dolt-drums to earn it.

That and the fact that I now have a little cash to get me by until
unemployment rolls in make for a very happy and super splashy deanna.

I got off work and headed to Brooklyn, since bgorno pizza man has the
ability to take care of my dog. I am gonna start dropping him money for
drugs or whatever he wants because I would be paying a dog
walker anyways, and he never complained about it, much to my dismay so
many others did. Anyhow, ten to twenty bucks for two walks and
unlimited use of my space (I have my own 900-something square foot mini
deanna palace) should be enough of an argument to allow my 5 am trips
to Brooklyn after work to continue occurring. I gave him twenty today,
probably another 10 to 20 tomorrow, and we are even.

Oh yes.

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