part 1

part 2

Oh. My. God. How did I end up in the midst of writing a tome on ancient history? All I meant to do when I sat down lo those many days ago was to reflect a bit on what the significance of November 18 is for me. And now? I fear it is never going to end. I fear that I am trapped in some kind of blogger's Bermuda Triangle and will never get back to recording the flotsam jetsam of my daily life.

*sigh*

But I really have no choice but to continue and try to reach the end. Worse, I've got that Stealer's Wheel (you remember those one-hit wonders) song looping over and over in my head? ... stuck in the middle with you ...

So when we last saw our heroine, Genevieve had just called dibs on T. . .

Sunday morning must have been uneventful because I have no memory of it. Next thing I know, we are back at work. Genevieve and I have an e-mail exchange going about "the bearded guy with the sweet dog". That was the subject line as far as I recall. And yes, T had a dog at the party whose name was Jack and no I am not adding any more details to this story like how Jack figured into it--- I am sticking to the straightest line possible so stop trying to pull me off into the weeds!

Meanwhile, my friend Georgia and I got together for drinks one night. In the course of the evening, we talked about her new man, Mr. Right, and she said something to me like, "even in college I could never get a read on you. What kind of guy do you go for?"

And I said, "C/A."

"C slash A?" she asked. "What the hell is that?"

"Carpenter/Artist," I answered. And then, to help her understand better, I provided an example OH SO CASUALLY, "like that guy at the party the other night-- the one with the sweet dog and the broken arm."

"Oh T?" Georgia was definitely surprised. "Hm. Well I don't really know him-- I know his brother, but Mr. Right went to college with him so I could find out if he's available."

"Oh, I'm not saying I'm interested in him," I tried to backpeddle. "I'm just saying he's a C/A type."

"Oh," said Georgia. And we continued on with our drinks and our reminiscing about college days. Funny how Genevieve's name never came up.

Thanksgiving comes and goes. One day soon after, I receive an e-mail at work from Georgia telling me that a bunch of people are going to be getting together at Johnny D's to listen to a band and T is going to be there.

I forward the e-mail to Genevieve and ask her if she wants to go. She does. I call my friend Tara (who should be well-known to all you regular readers by now) and invite her as well. So on the second Saturday night after Thanksgiving, I walk into Johnny D's with Genevieve, Tara, Tara's roommate Leah, my younger brother, and two of my younger brother's friends.

I later described it to people as a meeting of the clans as T had with him: Georgia, Mr. Right, T's younger brother and two of his friends, Willie and Suzy and some guy no one remembers who he was but he and Leah ended up making out all night right in front of us (kind of like in Four Weddings & A Funeral).

T's clan had arrived first and commandeered a long table against one wall. I kept well away from him and allowed Genevieve to make her moves. Which she did. She went over to him and asked him to dance and they went out to the dance floor. I was fine with that cause my feeling was--if it was meant to be for them, so be it. And honestly? At that point in my life I was so cynical about dating that it would've been a relief not to have begun another painful and ill-fated love affair.

However, Genevieve and T didn't last long on the dance floor and at one point T and I were sitting on the same side of the long table with several empty places between us. I looked over at him and just raised my eyebrow like, if you're gonna come over, fucking come over already and if you're not, stop making eyes at me.

Next thing I know, he's setting his frosted mug of beer next to me and sitting down to face me. And I looked right into those blue eyes and we started talking like we'd known each other for a thousand years. And I had a once in a lifetime moment where the music stopped and I heard a little voice in my head and then the music started up again. And he asked me to dance. And we were on the dance floor for the rest of the night.

At some point Genevieve came over to us and told me she had found another ride home, and I should've felt badly, but I didn't because this was so right.

The band finished. We went back over to the table where people were finishing up their last drinks. Tara had disengaged Leah and was ready to go home so I walked over to T and said I was leaving. And he tugged on the edge of my scarf and said, "I want to see you again."

"Great," I said pulling back my scarf. I walked away without looking back, knowing full well he could easily get my number from Georgia if he wanted to.

The next morning when I came back from taking Tara to the bus (she had spent the night at my apartment) there were 2 messages on my machine, both from T.

He came over around noon and we sat and talked and then walked down the street to the Greek restaurant and sat and talked some more. We got back to my apartment around 4 pm. We sat in his piece of shit truck (did I mention that it was a PIECE of SHIT?) at the end of my driveway. I went to leave but then ducked back for a kiss. *magic magic magic* We said goodbye. He drove the two hours back to New Hampshire.

He called that night and the next night and the night after that and on Wednesday I got a poem in the mail that he had written. And after I had revived myself from the swoon induced by the poem, I knew that my life as I had known it was over. A new chapter had begun.

He drove back down from NH, threw my boxes into the pick-up truck, grabbed me by the hair and threw me on top of the boxes and dragged me back to Hooterville. Green Acres redux. The End.

POSTSCRIPT: When I sat down to write this on Thursday I started off talking about smarts--- cause my point was going to be, although I have done some incredibly stupid things in my life and given my ongoing dip-shittedness I fully expect to do many more stupid things in the future but agreeing to let T rope me into the bondage of wedded bliss was, hands down, the smartest move I ever made in a life fraught with idiocy.

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