I’m just going to say it. The first five months of this year sucked ass. Eggs, maybe? Sugar-free hard candy? Something. From June onward it’s going to be awesome, though, I can feel it.
Something shifted on Saturday. That was the day I read Elizabeth Wurtzel’s “Vows” treatment and saw The Darling Buds play at Knitting Factor and both gave me a similar feeling and not a fully euphoric one. Maybe I’m just reacting to blonde women in their late 40s.
I also saw The Spook School, a Scottish indiepop band I knew little about, and ended up loving. The thing is at first glance I was like are these teenagers because everyone except the drummer seemed tiny and pubescent and then it was oh, is one a transman, are two, I don’t even know, they are cute and rocking pretty hard for such tweesters.
I saw a teenage Throwback Thursday photo of someone I barely know and never had feelings for that was so dreamy that now I have a passing crush on them. I had never considered how the present could be affected by the knowledge that someone was a hot teen.
That night I dreamed that I had been divorced and hadn’t seen my husband since he had transitioned into this small middle-aged Latina who was marrying another woman and I was really hurt and angry. And she was insulting and mocking and became sexually aggressive and I didn’t want her to think I was freaked out by her new body but I totally was.
Maybe it was Thursday that the shift started. I got called ma’am by a pregnant bartender and it didn’t even bother me because other things were brewing.
It’s also possible that things were set in motion last weekend when I kicked off Memorial Day weekend with some afternoon oysters and rose and was left alone, drunk before sundown on the Upper East Side. I may have had an epiphany while trying to photograph apartment lobbies and accidentally summoning doormen who just silently stood nearby until I felt sufficiently menaced into leaving out of my own volition.
So, I have to make the most of the remainder of the first half of 2015. These wet low 50s are helping. Maybe the unusually cool weather is just staving off the inevitable NYC swampiness that starts in June and doesn’t let up until October.
Not related to anything, but I’ve realized that my attraction to a certain type of blue-eyed, dirty blonde has reached almost fetish level. (And I certainly moved to the wrong neighborhood for such Aryan tastes.) Now that Bates Motel and Mad Men are gone I actually caught myself pausing on Madam Secretary last night in hopes of catching a peek at Kevin Rahm, something that happened a few Sunday nights ago while skimming channels and surprised me.