RED FISH, BLUE FISH, CUTTLEFISH
For those of you just tuning in, let us recap. Friend Karen is getting hitched and last week featured her novella of meeting her Boy. I claim to be a closeted romantic and the tales I dig most feature humour, which Karen’s story absolutely does (see the 27th of October’s issue). Because Karen and I seem to be deviously joined in most things ridiculously outlandish, this week we shall adventure over to ‘How I Met My Own Boy’.
Last year, I moved from Traverse City, Michigan (the Pinky!) to Portland, Oregon (Heaven). I spent three months in solitude with only my alter ego, Pearl. Things had been a little rough in the Great Lakes State and I was long over-do for a move and recovering from the almost shell-of-a-person I had become. I was heartbroken upon tiers of missing my Brother, my family and friends and hoping they wouldn’t forget me, knowing that Photographically I was only ‘shooting to shoot’, the ‘relationship’ I had put so much of myself into had soured itself in the Mid-West, and I was starving myself in an effort to maintain any amount of control. Thankfully, I had a colourful cornucopia of people who encouraged my move and pretty much saved my life.
So, I moved to Portland and spent the middle of November until the middle of February by myself. I listened to the enviornment of the West, happily relished in my mid-morning walks because I could finally see the mountains I’d been dreaming about since I was sixteen, I conversed, albeit shortly, with the swell people in my new hometown, and, mostly, and I learned to appreciate a ‘Great Moseying Lifestyle’ I hoped to make my own.
The middle of February made it’s way to my apartment and an acquaintance I hadn’t seen since grade school (who, fortunately, happened to be located over to Portland) invited me out. ‘Out’ was a Valentine’s Day Singles Barfly Bus Tour with friend Kelly and a few of her chums. For probably one of the first times in my life, I was nervous. I almost didn’t go. I didn’t know Kelly and I didn’t know her friends, but the Internet exchanges the two of us had had were pretty witty and welcoming. Therefore, if I was truly intent on creating this new lifestyle for myself I was going to have to engage in as many activities as I could…even if I had to employ Pearl (who was getting pretty good at Cruse Directing my emotions, needs, and wants in regards as to what I should be doing).
Kelly hosted a pre-party before the bus tour and was all about the V-day Single’s irony. I had the pleasure of decorating her pad (and bed) with faux rose petals as well as discovering that she and her friends got on pretty much like me and my friends from the Mid-West. Then, we were all off to experience nine bars in seven hours via bus. Gawd save the Queen.
I was introduced to my Boy at the initial ‘Meeting Place’ for the tour. I remember happily conversing with new acquaintances Randy & Lisa and hoping to become friends with everyone because…well, they were all pretty wonderous. I mean, I had felt at home in Portland before, but given the chance to meet these Cats was truly rewarding. I’ll attempt to spare the details on how beautiful the Boy was/is and just say that he asked me about what I had experienced in PDX thus far, then he was thrown for a minute by something clever friend Jilly had done, immediately apologized for being distracted, and turned back to me…sincerely interested…with gorgeous brown eyes, hair so black it bordered on purple, and reeeally good shoes. But, I digress.
Bar, Bar, Bar, ohmigosh, sloshed chippies, booze, thank Heavens no one was driving, number exchanges a’flyin’, Kelly & friends proposed a ‘Point System’ for getting lucky, hysterics, Bar, see College-but-better, etc. I wasn’t interested in anything but the humour of our group and the irony we all secretly seemed to be holding against Valentine’s Day. I couldn’t be interested in the Boy until he sat me down at the third bar and shared with me some of the things he loved most: Jazz, Records, and the Blues.
I didn’t wanna get hooked, I didn’t wanna feel anything for anyone because I’d been hurt-half buried hurt-and growing accustomed to living the fabulously denied lifestyle of taking care of myself and the only thing I will ever truly fall in love or lust with was Photography.
Then the Boy pulled out the Gustav Holtz card. Now, the Planets are my Thing, especially Jupiter. Because, if you’ve ever driven to the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, via the Mackinaw Bridge, around nine o’ clock, during the Summer, listening to Jupiter and watching the Sun set, you might agree with me that it’s a moment of absolute gauzy grace. And that’s what meeting this Boy was like. The situation was ridiculous, and it’s even more hilarious now that we’ve been together for months, weeks, and days.
Again, I’ll save you the romantic details and just say that the Boy courted me, listened to records with me, cooked with me, and waited for me. In short, I met someone I honestly adore on a Valentine’s Day Singles Barfly Bus Tour. So, I’ll share the amusement of the situation with my chum, Karen, who also met her Boy lurking about similar once-thought-to-be-deserted highway hijinks.