So I guess B. got engaged because he knocked up his current girlfriend, because he now has a baby and the photos to prove it on Facebook. (Note: first time I had looked at his profile since I saw that he was engaged, and I was just curious as to whether he had actually gotten married yet.)
A small consolation is that perhaps his new wife will no longer be able to wear that teeny weeny bikini on their next vacation. Also, thank god I am not single right now.
Most of the time, I take you for granted.
So you know how I talked about the night he kissed me for the first time? And how there was a photographer from GQ there?
Well, my beau and my roommate are both pictured in the new issue. (Thankfully, I am not.) The beau says it's a terrible picture of him but a cute one of my roommate - I haven't seen it yet. Neither are named in the cutline, but that shouldn't prevent you from rushing out and flipping through the magazine immediately to find the story about food and drinks in our fair city.
This week has been one fucking disaster after another. Looking forward to a lot of booze and a lovely wedding and many friends to take the pain away.
I can fit into my 28"-waist James jeans again!
Ok, I know compared to you ATL/ATH/CHA folks, I shouldn't be complaining, but dear god in heaven above, there is a reason I don't live in San Fransisco, Portland or Seattle. And that reason is called sunshine and a relatively moderate amount of rain. So when it's been cloudy and rainy every day for something like two weeks, and I am laid off and have zero job prospects and then some easy-peasy freelance assignments turn super stressful and the sink starts leaking and the lighting fixture over the "dining room" table starts falling from the ceiling and good lord, but nothing, nothing, will go right with my computer, then yeah, I've been in a bad mood for days.
My wonderful new boyfriend took me to dinner last night (where we saw two of his students, separately - I maybe forgot to mention this earlier, but within 36 hours of our first kiss, in which time I had told two people, neither of who had told anyone else, and he had told no one, like, half the town knew we were dating. Seriously. This is how small this town is.) to console me, and I had oysters and truffled frites and bread pudding and a Sazerac and wine and it was perfect and lovely and made me feel a million times better. And then I went home alone and was asleep by 10 p.m. And good food and funny stories make everything kind of ok.
There were more state budget cuts. They decided my position was the least essential one they had.
That's it.
I'm the only person in the whole organization who got laid off, so, yes, I feel pretty shitty. Also, I have a lease until the end of May in a town of 19,000 people where the biggest employer is the state university, which also had a 5% budget cut. So it is back to begging for underpaid freelance assignments, begging for part-time jobs, begging for money from my mom. I'm not moving again, until next summer at least. I just can't do it.
But unlike last time, I won't be dealing with a move, a break-up, AND unemployment all at once. I'm somewhat stable here, friend-wise, and I just started dating someone amazing. So I'm taking a few days to feel sorry for myself, feel happy that I no longer have to work crazy hours (at least, until I get that part-time job waiting tables), relax, watch tv, read, clean house, run errands, and figure out the depressing state of my finances. Also, get caught up on sleep. Also, tailgate Saturday. And then go to a party Saturday night. Watch the UGA game in between. Go watch the Falcons somewhere maybe. Mail all my equipment back to my employers.
Then it will be time to buckle down. Time to find a part-time job, time to contact contacts and pitch stories, time to write. This time, I will make unemployment work for me. And thank god, this time my rent is less than half of what it was in Atlanta!
(The post was to be titled, "I want all that stupid old shit.")
"Like letters and sonnets."
That was always what I thought the song said. For years. (Side note: most incongruous video ever?)
I want a boyfriend, I want letters and sonnets. I still kind of think it makes more sense than the actual lyrics, "Like letters and sodas." But what do I know - I'm neither a songwriter nor a poet.
However, I now have the option of both of the above. Which is to say, I have a boyfriend. And he could write me sonnets, seeing as he really is a professional poet.
And really, this is all I am going to say about things for now, but I thought you deserved to know:
He is a lot older.
He is really sweet.
He really does adore me.
He really is a poet - a good one.
As that tends to not pay so well, he is also a professor of such things.
There are no ex-wives or children.
HE LIVES IN THE SAME TOWN!
Last night, he introduced me to the husband of the niece of WILLIAM FAULKNER as his girlfriend. (But he had no idea he was talking to the husband of the niece of WF. Also, that husband kind of invited him over for dinner at some future point. And later I said, 'I don't care if you have dumped me by that point, but YOU ARE TAKING ME TO THAT DINNER!')
He introduced me to another famous writer on Friday, who told me that I was dating "a prince among men." Which made him embarrassed, but I thought was super-sweet.
Did I mention he is really sweet?
The conversation is incredible.
The non-conversation is also.
Did I mention that he introduced me as his GIRLFRIEND? Even though it's only been a few short weeks?
He listens to both sports talk and public radio.
I think that's probably all you need to know. Suffice it to say, given today, I could not be happier that at least one aspect of my life is going so miraculously well.
On another note, you should go read this column a different local author that I am not dating wrote. It is good.
And now I am going to go drown my other sorrows in unhealthy food and beverages and television. More about that tomorrow, perhaps.
So I go from getting laid at 6 a.m. to getting laid off at 10
a.m. Really don't know what to do with today.
New York was good. Coming home to someone picking me up at the airport and then taking me out to dinner was good too. Although lord knows I don't need to go out to dinner for a week of Sundays. Or drink ever again. I probably gained 20 pounds in a week - thank god for all the walking, at least.
And the kitchen was closed at the restaurant by the time we got there. But we went elsewhere and I had oysters and trout and Cava and Vouvray and we talked all night and half the morning and I am simply smitten. And so, it seems, is he.
