I call on Sunday evening as I’m packing up my room. SO…how was your week?
Hi. How was your week? She asks me the same question as soon as she picked up the phone. We laugh and start over.
So. I repeat. How was your week?
Well. I got kiss and a snuggle on my birthday.
My heart sinks. I remembered her birthday ON THE DAY, but forgot to do anything about it. I’m wrapped up in my world of contracts, websites, and rentals. UGH. I have to get a life. But the kiss and the snuggle sounds promising. So I tell her: Well. That sounds promising.
Nope. Not really. I got a kiss and a snuggle and a “I just want to be friends”.
Oh. “Just friends”. We all know how that feels. But at least she (they) are mature enough to be friends. And mature enough not to start anything physical.
We talk a little bit about the one of the Sex and the City episodes where Carrie is researching her column on having sex like a man. And she meets Mr. Big a few times around town. And he finally gives her a ride home. And he asks: Why are you researching such topic? And she says: Well. It seems like a good way to have fun, don’t you think?
And he says she obviously hasn’t been in love before.
And we (my friend and I) determine that there really is a difference. Attachments start once anybody starts in physically (especially more than once).
We talk about that for a bit. Being able to put yourself out there knowing you might get hurt. And I know I can’t do that yet. BUT damn! I know I’d certainly like the feel of a warm body–but I’m just not putting myself out there like that (unless you count making out with a 20-something on a Friday night after I’ve had a few drinks–but ugh–have to watch out for that. Don’t want to become known as the local syphtonicmegatoid).
She’s putting herself out there though. She’s not afraid. She has a list even. I tell her if she lets me post her list, I’ll post mine (and then we’ll both be out there). COMPLETELY. UNPLUGGED. RAW. EXPOSED. And not just out there in our little hometowns. Out there. For real. On the internet.
She said she’ll take a few days to come up with the one she wants to post.
We talk about boys. Man. That’s what we do. We talked about boys in high school. Now we talk about boys from high school. And I don’t even remember their names until she says them:
Chris Jeselnik (definitely a spelling mistake). I’m going to have to look him up.
Lee Parker (I remember Lee Parker)
Those are the only ones we remember right off the bat. I tell her she needs to get on Facebook and start reconnecting.
I’m packing up my room and I find the photo album from when we went to Europe in Grade 12. And laugh. We’d ended up in London at the other end of the hotel from the rest of the group. We had ADJOINING ROOMS with three fellows from Georgetown University. I only remembered two names: Tony Giaccobi and Felix Bachoftner. I have a letter from Felix somewhere I’m going to post on my other website. It wasn’t a love letter, but I probably wish it were.
How is it that we didn’t get into more trouble with those guys? I ask.
Because we were so responsible Jen. That’s why we got the room on the other side of the hotel. We were the only ones who didn’t require supervision.
Too bad. I muse. We know could have had much more fun with those guys. Didn’t they invite us to the Les Mis production? Good God! Why didn’t we go to that? What were we thinking? (Was the three-dimensional neon L over my head even then?).
We could have talked all night, but I had to finish packing and painting and everything so we just left things at that. She’s going to send me a letter to post on the other site. She found it while she’s packing up her house.
She’s also going to send me her list! I’ve got to dig mine up. A dare is a dare.