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So tonight is the first Buffy of the new season. We have eight friends coming to our apartment for dinner tonight. Our apartment is a huge, huge mess. So last night, of course, Chris and I went to the grocery store to get dinner supplies. This was good�we needed to do that. But I probably didn�t need to spend the rest of the evening cleaning out the closet in the spare room or sorting all of my clothes into piles�the �save for sentimental reasons� pile, the �put back in the closet� pile, the �return to the drawers� pile, the �put it away until next season in the newly cleaned out spare room closet� pile and the �yard sale/trash heap� pile. I really should have cleaned the bathroom. Or vacuumed the rest of the house. Or done the prep work on dinner. But no. Instead, I went on a mad clothing spree. Not good planning on my part.
It also just served to depress me.
The first Halloween after I met the Artboy, we went to a party at the Irish Embassy in Easton, where he and his friends used to hang out every weekend. It was a costume party. I needed a costume. I was also in a precarious place with the Artboy, and knew that Jen, his ex, would be at the party, scheming to get him back. So I went for the trampy, revealing look.
I grabbed Steve, my old roommate and the only man I could ask to do this for me, and we went to Hubba Hubba in Cambridge, a store that specializes in the slightly seedy. There, I tried on dress after dress. Finally, I chose one, an asphalt grey latex number that zipped up the front, created cleavage where there wasn�t any usually, and left nothing to the imagination.
The dress did what it was supposed to do as far as the Artboy was concerned. I combined it with a black wig, a la Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, and a pair of black heels. It was a fun party. I love the pictures from it. They show a me that�s so different from my day-to-day presentation.
I�ve never worn the dress again. Not a whole lot of functions in my life that call for black latex dresses.
Last night, I pulled it out of the closet and tried it on, just for fun. Took me six minutes to zip it. Once I did, I was sorry I�d bothered.
I need to get some exercise.
Anyway�
So�
I had lunch with the Artboy today. He didn�t stand me up or anything. We even really managed to talk business. I think the benefit show is really going to happen. He thinks we could raise a couple thousand dollars for BARCC. More importantly, though, it will get the word out there to a lot of people. You never know what something like this could bring in.
He called me from the car when he was almost here and met me behind the building. Like lots of other days in the seemingly-distant past. He�s put a cap on the back of the truck, now bringing the grand total of colors it exhibits to four, five if you count the white paint he used to stencil the gallery�s name on the side when he registered for commercial plates.
He was extraordinarily scattered when I first got in the car, his conversation all over the place. He made a show of avoiding what was bothering him, then finally just spilled it. Apparently, NGF didn�t stop at feeling neglected in their relationship. She moved on to cheating on him with his best friend and roommate on the side. He found out Thursday, but it�s been going on for some time.
One of my coworkers, a friend who has watched my relationships with both the Artboy and the Boyfriend develop to where they are now, asked me how my lunch had been. I gave her the nickel version of the NGF story. Her first response was, �Wow, payback�s a bitch, huh?�
Her thought was that I should feel gleeful, that somehow, karma has come around and bitten him in the ass, and I should feel like retribution has been served.
Never crossed my mind.
Not until she brought it up, anyway. And then I tried it on, to see how �serves him right� felt.
It felt terrible.
He�s a mess about it. Talking about chucking it all and moving back to the suburbs, getting a desk job and being done with the whole art and music scene. I know he�ll never do that, but hearing him say it is disturbing. What�s an Artboy without Art?
Seeing him devastated didn�t make me happy.
I told my coworker that. That it was water under the bridge at this point. That I didn�t want him hurt. That I wanted him to have learned from our mistakes and be able to be in a good place now.
I don�t think she believed me.
Is it that hard to believe?
Regardless of the whole NGF thing, we had a good lunch. We enjoyed each other�s company. I think we�ll work well together on the benefit. I get the good part of the Artboy here, without having to deal with the crap.
I got back to my desk late, having taken almost a two-hour lunch. As he pulled in behind the building, he apologized for getting me back here at such a late hour. I told him that was okay, that I�d been late before. He laughed. �I�ve made you late for work before. And I�ll probably make you late for work again!�
It�s nice to have him in my life. It�s nice to not have him be my life.
There�s only so much Artboy I can take.
Both my bosses are now gone for the day. I�m going to sneak out and attempt to clean the bathroom before anyone else arrives at the apartment!!!
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