odd little bean

last saturday night i was at a rooftop party full of boston’s finest gay men.  it was one of the only moments in the past month that i’ve actually felt like i was in my element.  this isn’t to say i’m a gay man trapped in a straight girl’s body…it’s just to say that i’m an incurable gaysha.  i’ll take a homo sapiens over a hetro sapiens any freaking day of the week.  cock suckers, please file yourselves in a straight line behind me.  oh, and feel free to hum madonna tunes while you do it.

anyhow.

i was talking to one of the boys and telling him how much i miss my san francisco GBFs, and how i have been reminiscing over the precious moments like the time fredo hoisted me up onto his bed and placed my body in the correct position for attempting anal sex, should i ever lose my mind and decide i want my shit compacted.

the boston boy said, “oooh.  what position did he show you?”

i told him it was sort of like a crouching lionness.  it required kneeling on a bed on all 4s with my butt low in the air, my forearms both fully on the bed, and one leg bent and skewed forward with the other leg slightly bent and skewed back.

the boston boy looked at my skeptically while i explained it, and then said, “no.  no no no.  that isn’t the easiest way at all.  let me tell you how to do it. . . ”

he did, indeed, give me a very different posturing, which i was somewhat skeptical of, causing me to phone fredo the following morning.  here’s how the call went:

me: FREDO!  i went to a homo party last night!  it was awesome!  i showed one of them your “butt humping for dummies” position and they told me that they had an easier one.

fredo: mmm hmm.  well, honey?  what was it?

me: apparently newcomers to anal should lower themselves slowly down onto the penis from on top and then twist down onto it. . .

fredo [interrupting me]: HONEY!  you were hanging out with [dramatic pause] ADVANCED GAYS!  i can’t believe he told you to start out with the helicopter.  jesus christ.   you’ll break your va-jay-jay in half if you try that.  god [rolls eyes (obv i couldn't see him rolling his eyes bc we were on the phone, but i know fredo, and i know he was rolling them)] you’re not ready for the helicopter, sweetie.

me: it DID sound sort of tricky…somewhat like the chinese basket trick.  how long did it take YOU to do the helicopter?

fredo: JESUS!  I HAVEN’T DONE THAT YET!  I’M NOT THAT ADVANCED!  i’ve just seen it in movies.

me: will you call me when you finally do it?

fredo: of course, sweetie.  now go find yourself some beginner gays while i go to the fredo kahlo exhibit at the moma.  mmmmwah.  bye!

in other news, fredo taught me a new word:  gabies.

vocab word in action:

fredo: what kind of gays were at the party, honey?  were they gabies?

me: ummm.  what’s a gabie?

fredo: gabies are the kind of gay men who get married and have babies.

me: hmm…i don’t think any of them had kids.

fredo: no, no, no.  they don’t ACTUALLY have to have babies.  they just have to be that TYPE.

me: one couple had cape cod outfits on.  one boy was in seersucker and a striped nautical belt and the other was in whale pants.  does that count?

fredo: close enough.

he’s right i think.  wearing whale pants is a total gateway behavior choice.  next thing you know that dude will be helicoptering his asshole around a cock, and then BAM! out pops an ass baby.  or would that be an ass GAYby?

i laughed.

i ran as fast as i could in my new yellow suede high heels, and i laughed at the top of my lungs while the sky mercilessly caned rain onto my helpless little body. i ran past people ducking in doorways, huddling in the backs of open moving vans, and gathering in droves in small dry shops. i ran past all of the people who did not want to get wet. silly little bostonians. unlike them, i wanted the rain to soak through every pore in my body. i waited 8 years to feel rain like that. i wanted to feel it with fervor. feel it i did.

i definitely had a choice in the matter. it wasn’t raining when i stepped out of the park T station on my way home from work. the air was, however, gusty and wild, and trash was flying about with abandon. girls screeched as their skirts flew up, and people were sprinting for cover. I was mainly just confused. I thought maybe a tornado was coming. cool. i sauntered out of the station, seemingly the only calm person anywhere in sight. then the rain began to fall. i could have still easily turned back. i was only 15 steps out of the station when the rain turned into full on sheets of water and the thunder and lightning began. i shouted out a little yelp of joy and kept walking.

about 3 blocks into my 6 block walk home i was sure i was going to get hit by lightning and die, but i was SO EXCITED to be caught in a rainstorm that i couldn’t bear to seek shelter. i made it home a sopping mess, passing people who stared at me from their cars with shocked smiles and empathetic chuckles. maybe they had lived in california too. maybe they understood.

two days later (today) it rained like a hurricane on crack once again. i planned to leave work by 2:30pm (people here work “summer hours” on fridays) but i decided to wait out the rain this time. in 30 minutes the skies were clear again, and i walked my 40 minute walk home and all was good. my coworkers informed me that there are typically 2-3 downpours per week in boston, and that i really need to go out and buy a rain jacket and umbrella this weekend. an umbrella? really? the last time i owned one of those i was 15 and living in portland, oregon. i don’t even know what features to look for anymore. quick open? curved handle? HELP! i probably need galoshes too, since i really love the word galosh.

for the record, all of my california friends say i will be feverishly missing california by the time winter comes around, if for no other reason than because the weather there is so much better. i scoff. better? BETTER? california doesn’t even HAVE weather. boston, thank you for giving me a warm and wet welcoming party. i will gladly bathe in your rain, frolick in your leaf piles, and bury myself in your snow. in return, i only ask two favors from you, and they are completely unrelated to weather:

1. could you PLEASE convince target to open a new store in downtown crossing? pretty please?

2. i’ve been waiting for my blue recycling bin for over a week now and you refuse to answer my e-mails. i understand that being green isn’t a big concern of yours, but i’m getting really frustrated. i hate throwing away perfectly good aluminum cans.

okay. i’m done. now when is the next storm coming? i want to make sure i unearth my puddle jumping boots in time!

1. pedestrians blatantly disregard crosswalks.  they cross wherever and whenever they want.  it’s fierce.

2. no one allows rain to fall on his/her parade.  much like crosswalks, rain is completely ignored.  it rained yesterday for a spell, and when i went outside, i was shocked to see zero umbrellas and/or raincoats.  i didn’t even hear ONE PERSON mention the fact that it was raining.  seriously?  in california (a place that desperately needs rain right now given the fact that it’s officially in a drought) one drop of rain is enough reason for people to leave work early, cancel parties, and bitch and moan for a week about it.

3. people are really friendly, and love to give directions to losties (people who are lost).

4. it’s not so much that people are racist, it’s just that they’re not politically correct.  in california, if you’re trying to point out someone to someone else and that someone is black, you would give every descriptor EXCEPT black.

california style: “do you see that woman over there?  the one in jeans and the t-shirt?  ummm…she has medium length hair and a small dog in her purse.  … no, not that one, a bit to the left.  she looks like a democrat.  her jeans are boot cut. … no, not that one either.  ummm…nevermind.  she’s too hard to describe.”

boston style: “hey, see that black chick over there?  the one with the big booty and apple bottom jeans who is next to the black dude in sean john and cornrows?”

it’s so much easier this way.  i asked for directions from an old white woman the other day and she struggled with trying to get me from the pru to the nearest T stop, so she said, “go down that street and ask a black man.  they all work at hotels.”  was she right?  yes she was.

5. heat and hot water come free with just about every rental property.

6. roof decks

7. high ceilings and fancy molding

8. i haven’t seen ANY skinny leg jeans held up by a studded belt and met at the bottom by ripped up old keds.  none.  zero.  THIS CITY DOESN’T HAVE HIPSTERS!  people dress like themselves!  it’s SOOO AMAZING!  to be clear, i do suspect that there are hipsters hiding out in jamaica plain with the lesbians, but i’ll be damned if i’m green lining to JP to find out for myself.  i am truly basking in the well-dressed glory of this fine city.

the only thing i hate so far is the smell of my shower water, but hey, a little toxicity never hurt anyone.

more on my first few days in boston in the next post.  right now i need to keep unpacking.  i still have miles and miles to go.  blah.

i know girls who fantasize about getting married, moving to the suburbs, and coaching the softball teams that their 2.5 kids play shortstop for.

i know girls who fantasize about getting promoted at work and finally making enough money to be able to afford a down payment on a house.

i know girls who fantasize about being iced in diamonds and covered in yachtie hotties.

me? i fantasize about the day i wake up and NOTHING HAPPENS. yup. a day of absolute nothing. no drama. no chaos. no life changes. no frantic phone calls from family members. absolutely and completely nothing. i feel like someone out there must be experiencing those sort of days; i read about them in books all the time.

my nothing day would go something like this:

1. wake up
2. eat some cream of wheat with chedder cheese melted in it (don’t knock it till you try it)
3. put on a fancy frock with ruffles and bows in all the right places
4. invite some chums over for croquet and a tea party
5. take a late afternoon nap
6. eat a burrito and flip through the tv channels, catching a bit of the episode of the nanny where fran walks in on mr. sheffield coming out of the shower
7. go out for an evening stroll with someone fascinating
8. drink a mug of tea and call it a night

ahhhhh the joy of living in a fantasy world.

nothing NEVER happens to me. i am a magnet for everything. everything can’t fricking get enough of me.

last tuesday my dad picked me up from the airport and the first words out of his mouth were, “i’m getting a divorce.” he then informed me that his wife (my step-mom of 27 years) has been having an online affair with her high school sweetheart, and that she is flying to europe to see him in three weeks to see if she likes him more than she likes my father. classy. three days later my sister called me to tell me that she just got engaged AND is getting married in two months. in between all of that, i sold my car, lost my sunglasses and the apartment i wanted in boston, and packed and loaded all of my earthly possessions (minus two suitcases full of stuff) onto a moving van.  oh, and my mom sold her house.  to reiterate, this all happened in ONE WEEK.

i’ve been living with my dad for the past 10 months or so, and as you can imagine, things have been a bit…ummmm…rough since the big infidelity discovery. the words cunt and bitch punctuate nearly every sentence i overhear.  i scarcely flinch when i hear something being thrown.  i no longer get alarmed when i see rows of empty wine bottles on the counter when i wake up in the morning.  and then there’s the paper product thing. last night we ate chinese food and my dad ate his fortune along with his cookie. tonight he did the same thing, but followed it up by eating his gum while it was still in the wrapper. is this some sort of ancient fiber-packing divorce ritual i don’t know about? you would think i would know all of the rituals by now given that my mom is rounding the corner on marriage #4 and my sister who is getting married is already on #2. i can’t turn my head without something happening. WHERE IS MY NOTHING? huge sigh.

i have faith that someday when i least expect it, i’ll hear clippity-clop sounds in the distance, and slowly my nothing will appear.  riding in on a horse made of tinker toys and jellybeans (because this is my fantasy, and i get to make it as weird as i want), nothing will swoop me up off my feet and carry me off into the sunset.  i would finish the story for you, but it’s pretty boring since nothing happens in the end.

no dad chewing up all the junk mail.

no brother making obscene charges on the family credit card under the logic that if his mom moves to europe and takes half of our dad’s money with her, then really it’s in his best interest to spend as much of his parents’ money as possible before to divorce, that way his mom can’t take half of it.  still confused?  my brother says that the easiest way to understand it is just to look at the price of something and divide it in half.  it’s like the world is having a 50% off tag sale.

no moving to a new city without having a place to live yet.

no weddings.

no stomach aches.

no awkward bangs.

no changes.

no alterations.

no nothing.

which brings me to the confusing mobius strip section of the whole thing.  how can nothingness contain no nothing?  by definition, nothingness is made up of nothing, and nothing is something.  i’m probably just over-tired, but i feel like i just scientifically proved that my fantasy can never become a reality.  this is either the most depressing moment of my life, or a monumental breakthrough; i’m on the fence about it.

never one to have my dreams crushed, i will continue to harbour hope for my 24 hours of uneventfulness. nothing?  are you out there?  i’m not looking for a long term commitment.  i don’t even need you to love me back.  all i’m looking for is one day and one night of wild inaction.  you don’t have to do anything…just lay there.  ummm…and no anal.  obv.  if you so much as poke one finger into my asshole that will count as something, and something is just not what i’m looking for.

for about 3 or 4 years now, i’ve been a blogger (whatever that means).

a few months ago i got hired by a company that has been known to fire employees based on personal blog content. “zoinks!,” i thought, “time to 86 my blog and go undercover for a while.”

or was it?

a few days before i left my old job, a guy i worked with turned to me and said, “you’re an odd little bean, aren’t you?” my immediate reaction was to exclaim, “oh my god! what a great URL!” the woman standing next to him (who just MIGHT be the most fervent dwight yoakam fan in the cosmos, but you didn’t hear it from me) laughed and then said, “especially since you’re moving to boston…beantown.” i quickly added, “not to mention the fact that i’m a vegetarian and eat beans like they’re going out of style.”

it was at that point i crossed my fingers, hoped to die, stuck a needle in my eye, and plugged www.oddlittlebean.com into godaddy’s domain search. available? seriously? it was obviously meant to be.

and so the new journey begins. it took me 2+ months to get this blog up & running, but now i’m ready to roar, and by “roar,” i mean document my long awaited return to new england. for eight years i’ve talked non-stop about getting back to my roots, but will it be everything i ever imagined? will i start talking like click and clack? will i miss all of my nerdlet friends from 2.0 land? will the boston brahmins and their old money leave me yearning for the land of meaningless silicon valley start-up money? do people in boston really throw a higher than usual rate of tea parties? will paying over $1700/month for rent drive me to start flipping tricks in the closest public alley? all this and more, folks. you ain’t read n-n-n-n-nothin’ yet…