Random firings

My brain is all over the map today. It's suffering impaired functioning because I imbibed, in serious Mardi Gras fashion, during last night's Mardi Gras party. I wanted to forget what's been going on in my life lately -- or more specifically, what's gone from my life -- and how I've been feeling about it. So that worked pretty well for a night's respite.

Except for the part where I woke up this morning (more technically correct to say "this afternoon"). Alas, I was still intoxicated. Lying there in bed, wiped out, I got to thinking about that party last night.

As I recall, a few people wore great costumes and masks.

-- Bubba and her Lovely Lawyer Lady came as a pair of flappers. Decked to the nines, I tell you. With those long gloves and old-fashioned cigarette holders, even. And LLL had the most amazing little mask covered in petals. I wanted to steal it from her.

-- Dr. R came in something so fabulously vintage that S2 felt compelled to warned me that if Dr. R ended up drugged and naked at the party's end, it was because S2 coveted the dress and coat *that much.* Dr. R was accompanied by two men. Her BF looks a little like Bill Clinton and wore some fabulous clothes from the 1970s that belonged to his recently departed father. Both she and the BF also sported honest-to-goodness Mardi Gras masks of their own. The other man who came along wore a swishy little silver sash at his waist, making him the evenings official gay pirate. (I think he was gay, anyway. He gave me a googly look or two that left me wondering....)

-- S2 came in a wig and had a feather mask, as well as a necklace with a flashing light.

-- GameBoy showed up in a substantial cape and had painted his face, making him the only other person at the party (besides myself) who managed to wear a mask for the duration. So kudos to him.

-- Rather Shy Classmate wore my mask from last year but wasn't able to tolerate it for the entire evening because it was too warm.

-- At various times, other people wore masks I had at the door. A couple of them were these particularly disturbing paper masks I acquired in Vancouver, BC, over the holidays. Others were simple black Zoro-like masks. And there was some sequined Mardi Gras stuff. ... But what I've noticed in general is that people have very low tolerance for keeping masks on for very long.

Although I was smashed by night's end, I do recall keeping my mask on until the very end. At one point, I lifted it to say something where I thought facial expression important, and Dr. R kind of clucked at me for taking it off. So I put it back on, and that was that until the end.

Perhaps other people were wearing costumes or masks. I forget.

One thing I remember clearly, however, is a horrified look on S2's face as she was leaving my place. But I couldn't remember what I said to prompt it. (And you know, pretty much anytime I recall someone having a horried expression, it's because I said something.) So among my first thoughts today were, Oh, I'm *still* wasted, and Uh-oh. What did I say to cause *that* face?

So after waking up fully and properly, I hunted down S2 and asked her what I said. She told me. And then I made a horrified face of my own. The upside to all of it was that I actually said something rather complimentary of her parenting and rather kind-hearted about her Little Pea. But it was all cast in a macabre context expressive of the state of grief in which I've been recently. In other words: Looks of horror all around, but no harm done because I was saying something *nice.* Probably the first time I've managed that combination. It goes to show there really are infinite possibilities from infinite combinations.

Anyway, in short course, I then wondered, Was that a dream, or did I take a picture of someone licking the side of her husband's face? and also, Did someone take a picture of me kissing Dr. R in my bed? I recall it just being a peck on the cheek, but I also recall the circumstances being that there were six or so people in my bed at once, and we were slutting it up for some reason. Perhaps just for the cameras. If that really happened....

Oh, yeah. The *other* thing I remember quite well was getting a fistful of Handsome Gay Male's pectorals. I gestured to him about something, and touched my hand to his chest. I guess he was amusing both of us when he flexed that puppy. Holy mother of god! My hand shot back in shock.

But I was so compelled, I reached out and grabbed him again, and he flexed that baby again. For a few long seconds, I kept feeling it; he kept flexing it. Sweet mother of mary! Curious, I slid my hand to his stomach to see what else was lurking beneath those clothes of his. A hardbody is what. He smiled at me, winked and said, "That boy of yours doesn't know what he's missing," in reference to an ill-fated match I tried to make. No shit! I replied, laughing. *I* didn't know what I was missing!

I think I'm going to start groping gay men more often.

Well, any good Mardi Gras party has its Bacchanalian moments, so that must have been one. Suffice it to say, I was involved in a few of them. That said, I do note that two guests decided to have a bit of fun with the rumor that this party would be an orgy, and they steamed up my bay windows a bit.

I still am really enthralled by the idea of having a dinner party that *is* a Bacchanalian orgy. But that's going to have to wait until I have an appropriate date of my own. No telling when that will happen.

On that note, I passed in the street today a woman I went out with twice last fall. Our last conversation was the night Bubba had decided she'd broken up with her Lovely Lawyer Lady "for real this time," and so I blew off the woman's invitation to a poker party to have dinner -- and later when I was supposed to be at the party, to have dessert -- with Bubba, who was in quite a state of questioning herself and distress.

Anyway, this woman happened to be rather cute and interesting and, unlike ANYONE else I know, a single lesbian. But when we crossed paths while I was walking the dog this afternoon, it appeared she is rather *not* single anymore, so we just said hello to each other, smiled politely, and I kept on my way without stopping.

Well, even though I am still single, the story doesn't have a bad ending: Bubba is back with her Lovely Lawyer Lady, and they seem quite happy together.

And, finally, on the matter of school, school, school:

This afternoon, I was reading "Passionate Marriage" by David Schnarch, and got to imagining what it might be like to have a Siamese twin and to get into a big fight with her. That would be fucked up. But how could you be with someone 24/7 *without* a serious fight being inevitable? (As a side note, my imagination got the better of me, and this fight was carried out in public, turned into a bitch slap and ended up being captured on video for a "Girls Gone Wild: Siamese Twins" DVD. Let it never be said that I don't amuse myself.)

On the matter of Scharch, however, I have conflicting feelings about this book.

Part of me is digging it like gangbusters, even as I'm fighting with its panacea-like promises, appreciating its blunt sexual commetary and left wondering by its intangible categorization of the "outer boundaries of our sexual potential." It's like reading the work of a love child born of Dr. Ruth and Depak Chopra.

Another part of me is busy trying to assess my own level of differentiation in relationships, which seems a particularly difficult task without a significant other around as fodder for my examination. Generally, I've been thinking of myself in past relationships and taking into consideration the way I relate to people with whom I have regular interactions. I'm learning some interesting stuff about myself.

And then, there's that part of me that's just a wee bit bummed not to have a sweetheart with whom to do some ... er, "homework."

But I digress.

In truth, this term seems to be generating some significant perspective shifts for me, even though I'm currently just in two classes (a third starts tomorrow). I've become rather more meta-oriented, which is at times just a little dizzying. I'm feeling too lazy, as a writer, to try explaining that comment right now. But I gather a few of you know what I mean anyway.

Speaking of which, one of my professors called me "extremely bright," the other day and mentioned that it was necessary in class to "work really hard to stay ahead" of me because I get so far out "in front of the conversation." I'm not sure what to make of this comment. It sounded like a compliment, but perhaps it was also a bit of a complaint.

Well ... by the time it's all said and done, it's going to be an interesting term. I guess they all are.

Fortunately, I heard one of my teachers normalize some of my experience in a conversation with another student. "Graduate school puts you through hell," the prof said. "If you're paying attention to yourself and doing the work, almost everything will get turned upside down."

How comforting.