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September 22, 2003

Had my first bit of roommate drama this weekend. Spicegirl and I went to the New Words open mic on Friday night. I was so tired, I almost didn't go. But was really, really glad I did. Ended up reading, and felt well-received. As is usual when I go to New Words, I felt privileged to be able to read with so many talented women. It's amazing how many there are in the Boston area, and how many different kinds.

Afterwards, we ate at the S&S and came home. I was so exhausted, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, even with my luscious honey right there in the bed next to me. I slept like the dead.

Until about 3:00 AM, though, when one of my roommates decided that it would be a good idea to bring her newfound friends back to our house after the bars closed. I had to get up and lay the smackdown on that little impromptu party in no uncertain terms.

I think the message is clear, but this is probably something that we'll have to bring up in our next house meeting again, just to be absolutely sure.

Interesting what some people think qualifies as acceptable behavior.

Aside from that one indecent incident, though, I really have no complaints. We had a lovely housewarming open house on Saturday—the perfect excuse to clean and put the final finishing touches on the place. And this same roommate has a wonderful eye for interior design. I got to cook, to hang out, to schmooze, and my beau and belle got to meet one another. They hit it off.

Amazing, how things can work out, if you just let them evolve naturally.

Later, once Revenge of the Housewarming Party got started, and our kitchen started filling up with hip 20somethings and beer bottles, Badger and I headed out to see if we could find something to eat. It was almost midnight by then, and I felt exhilarated to be actually heading out somewhere at that hour. Quick and I were almost always in bed by 10PM, even on Saturday nights.

We ended up getting Chinese takeout, eating it in the parking lot of a gas station in Somerville, and then driving to Revere Beach to walk under a gorgeous low-hanging honey-colored sliver of a waning moon at 1:30 in the morning.

Badger teased me for what he called my "blue-collar" side, which slips out from time to time. Like when I bummed a Marlboro light from one of the women sitting on the steps of the boardwalk, only to toss it away after a few nasty, flavorless drags. Or the way I described laying the smackdown on that little impromptu 3:00 AM party the previous morning.

Sometimes he calls it my butch side too, or my boy side. It's true—I have one that slips out from time to time. I'll hold myself a certain way, with my elbows cocked out, usually after doing a lot of hauling or heaving lifting. I'll hawk and spit. Or I'll start talking about cars. He says he likes it. And I like that he likes it. Funny that, after all this time of letting butch women try to suppress that side of me, I'd finally realize that there are men out there—or there's one man, anyway—who appreciate it.