Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

  • Music:

Sleepy, Swearing, Bat Guano, Things That Start With the Letter W, and Bad Porn

Oh man I am so tired -- staying up 'till four something to update my journal -- yeah that'll show me, show me what? Something, I don't know what. Maybe that I need someone to put me in a crib, turn the lights off, wind up a musical dolly or something and then force me to go to bed at a reasonable time.

Scott just beat it out of here as soon as I set him free and there I was feeling guilty, thinking he'd be wanting to stay, wanting to order a leisurely breakfast and a movie, make love, explore the hotel, and I was depriving him of fun and company by being too tired to play with him. I'm so crazy, what was I thinking? Even if he had been up for it, so to speak, I sure wouldn't have, literally, (is literally the right word here, and can you use a question mark inside a parenthetical mark in the middle of a sentence, and is this even called a parenthetical mark?) as soon as I have my dark chocolate croissant and Valrhona hot chocolate, (Man, no one is ever going to wonder how or why I gained weight, if I keep eating things like this and then writing about it, "I just ate the best butter cream frosted Christmas cake, and oh whoops I just gained a pound"), I'm heading back to bed. I asked them for the latest check out possible, which gives me until five to try to catch up on lost sleep. I'm like a baby vampire bat sleeping upside down in a tree somewhere, better a tree than a cave because I'm not too crazy about the whole guano thing.

I found out what the W stands for; nothing and everything that begins with the letter W. It's Wonderland in Winter and Welcome to Wonderful, and a whole lot of other things that start with W, even the valet parking has a W name, Wheels I think. I love how cute and fun that makes this styley place, that could be colder but for this, seem.

At the back of the hotel guest information book there's a list of DVDs you can order, and at the back of that list there's a page of porn with titles like Spank Me Daddy, and The World's Biggest Gang Bang 2. I'm sorry but I just couldn't resist, I had to call the front desk and order Sweet Black Cherries just for the fun of it, then I burst out laughing because the poor young girl at the front desk kind of stuttered to a friendly halt for a minute there. she was so shocked she almost ran out of friendly words that begin with a W, I guess the rock stars who stay here bring their own porn or order it off the TV instead of calling down to the front desk. It took her a while to get that I was just kidding, but it was fun while it lasted.

I was just remembering how funny Robby was yesterday when he came to pick up Beau. We see him so rarely and he knows so little about our lives that we were telling him Chippy is Beau's favorite cat. Chippy has been Beau's best friend from the day he was born. Everyone knows this about Beau. He is so attached to Chippy that I worry about what will happen to Beau if anything ever happens to Chippy -- they're like twin souls or something. All Beau has to do is say, "Chip, Chipper, Chippy," or "Chips," and he'll come running from wherever he's been making trouble.

When they were both much smaller they used to take turns chasing each other around the stairs and through the kitchen, over and over in circles, every once in a while reversing directions. It was so much fun to watch from the top of the stairs, the little boy human chasing the cat and then the cat chasing the boy, round and round.

Anyway, we were telling Robby this, saying, "This is Chippy, Beau's favorite cat," and Robby instantly said, "Oh, well, we won't he eat him then," and when he left he asked me if I could wrap up ten cats to go. He also made me laugh when he was picking on the bad carpentry work of crazy Cowboy, my friends Kitty and Sunday's sometime man, who put in the doors to the kitchen for me. After having found fault with just about every aspect of these two doors Robby walked away saying, 'Would you like me to nitpick that door a little more for you, because I could do that," but I think this is probably one of those things where you would have had to be there to get how funny it was.

I had even forgotten how funny he was, well, not completely, I think I just had to obliterate all good thoughts of him from the record of my memory, in order to survive the pain of separating from him. I remember when my therapist, who for a time became our therapist, talked about marriages and relationships becoming like two plants in a pot whose roots have intertwined -- that at some point people will grow too big for the original pot and that something has to change, there will be pain either way, whether you have to break the pot and plant yourselves in a bigger, better one that will be more suited to your changed selves, or tear your roots apart in separating from each other.

I couldn't agree more, at least as regards the way I handle the ending of relationships. I must be some kind of seriously deep rooted plant, some drought-tolerant, long-surviving plant that never wants to be uprooted and will tolerate the harshest conditions -- any amount of suffering just to be allowed to stay where I am planted, like a yucca or some other unusually hardy relationship cactus. Shhh, don't tell Scott he'll think he can get away with fucking bunnies or something and I'll never leave.

I used to wonder about these three day or three month celebrity marriage flame outs and wonder what must have gone wrong, "Oh man, he must have done something really awful to make her leave that fast. Like maybe he shit the bed or something." But then I realized that no, a guy doesn't literally have to shit on you to make you throw in the towel, other people just don't have the same desperate longing for couplehood-at-any-cost that I have.

I felt a little sorry for Scott yesterday because Rob and I immediately fell back into our old comedy routine banter with each other and he could easily see what I had seen in him -- what we had had together -- and might have felt a little left out. But it was good for all of us to be standing in a room together for the very first time since everything exploded and sent all of our relationships hurtling into oblivion. I have to hand it to Scott and Robby for being so brave and behaving so maturely when once we had all thought that if they ever met again in person it would be like atoms colliding.

I've noticed that I kind of tossed my let's-try-to-keep-this-relatively-PG-rated journaling style to the wind here in my last two posts, there sure are a lot of references to shitting and fucking, now what can this mean? Probably that I'm just too damned tired to censor myself and am enjoying ignoring the fact that nuns could be reading my journal, (you think I'm kidding, I'm not), and am allowing myself free reign here to be my authentic liberally filthy mouthed self. Fuck, Fuck, shitty, shit, shit, okay now go run away, see if I care. Okay, no, come back, I do care, and how come I capitalize the word Fuck but not shit? Explain that one.

Valrhona chocolate be damned, I have got to get some sleep. Good thing I didn't order the Vosges or you'd be stuck with a much longer entry, heh, heh, heh.

Love you gals, (just thought I'd change that one up on you a little bit there),

PS: I'm swearing and writing about sex while in the near distance church bells are peeling, there's something ironic in this somewhere, but I actually find the sound of these bells comforting.

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