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Stupid is as stupid does

September 4, 2008

My costar on board the 158 foot gaff topsail schooner, Andy the engineer, wins me over again as I am trapped on a tiny boat and fear not having a boyfriend more than wanting to cling to whatever self respect I have left so we get back together. I try to ignore him for a few weeks but it doesn’t really work. I don’t really even remember what brings us back together as my memory of the chronological events is fuzzy but the events themselves are technicolor.

We date and have sex and talk and work while Ginny glares at me disapprovingly even though she knows Andy better but she likes me more. She is a single gal who is also looking for love but she is in her 30’s and I am not quiet 20 so its not really the same. At the time, at 19, I see it as the same. We are in the same boat. Get it, boat? But now that I am her age I can only imagine what it must have felt like to be living that life, single and in charge of a bunch of asshole guys who know less than you do but like to pretend they are king turd of shit mountain. It must have sucked for her.

Gleefully I am stupid and choose to ignore the fact that my boyfriend just fucked someone else for a week or so and now, POOF! like jesus is magic, we are once again a couple. This glides along fairly swimmingly until one night we are visited by a group of sailors from another boat docking in our city, right next to us. We sit around playing blender sports. Blender sports is a fine game of utilizing stolen alcohol from the bar on board and mixing it with the fruit left over from catering events and putting it together to make a tasty cocktail. Some times Blender Sports leads to Splatlin Sports and sometimes, on the goodnights, to Jacuzzi Sports. Splatin Sports involves swinging really far out over the dirty harbor water on a rope with a giant knot in in and you try to not SPLAT yo’self on the side of the boat. Jacuzzi Sports I hope are self explanatory.

Its lovely outside, a perfect late summer night. Cool wind over the harbor,the twinkling lights of the shops and streetlights as well as a generous string of xmas lights under our canopy mid-deck. We sit around, Dan plays guitar, we smoke and drink and laugh. Andy sits next to me with his arm around me. Becomes more animated with this girl I am certain he use to fuck and scootches over and takes his arm off my shoulder leaning forward to talk to just her. A small while later he is sitting next to her and talking and laughing. A short time after that he is sitting with his arm around her.

Yes. I am still there although obviously not to him. I get more and more quiet. I am mad and sad and humiliated although no one seems to notice but me. Which is even worse. I get my bike and ride over to Fells Point to Bertha’s and Wee Petes and Fletchers when they were still a dive bar with those weird disposable metal ashtrays you see in a Moose Lodge. I drink and flirt with other boys and play pool and win some money. I pedal home at 2am and park my bike and see a sleeping bag on the deck near the captains cabin. I don’t take that in but sit down to smoke a cigarette and think about the night. I notice Andy’s really expensive prescription sunglasses, wallet, smokes and engraved Zippo on the cushions mid-deck. I stand up and toss my smoke into the water as I walk toward the sleeping bag.

I stand for a few minutes about 3 feet from it and its moaning. And wiggling around. I see his scruffy blond hair and literally the world stops.

My heart is pounding out of my chest and I have no air and feel like all the life in me is sucked out in some horrible vacuum. I literally go blind for a moment and see red. Like really see red and nothing else in front of me as my head swims and I fight to keep my balance.

I find my balance and my foot finds his ass as I furiously kick the sleeping bag and probably that girl whose fault its really not. I kick them and scream you stupid mother fucker or something I am sure unintelligible because in my state of shock and anger nothing I could have said should have been understandable by anyone other than Satan.

I think, maybe, I think he says to cut it out and go away. I think he says something. He must of, right? I mean if you were busy fucking someone on a beautiful summer night, outside in a sleeping bag and suddenly someone comes up and starts kicking you you would yell something out, right? Like, stop it or something. Probably.

At some point I walk away and over to his shit on the cushions and I take out his license and toss it into the water. I take his credit cards and toss them too. I empty his wallet, crush his glasses, rip his zippo apart and chuck them all into the water. I take the pack of smokes and hurl it at them as I walk downstairs to my rhombus bed where at that point I think I just pass out from exertion.

I wake up the next day to perfect clarity and understanding. I just will never speak to him or acknowledge his presence again. Ever. No matter what. For some weird reason this makes me feel much better and I am lightened and relieved to have let it all go. Let him go and let myself go free.

We live together on the boat for 3 more months and I never speak to him. He is polite, complements my meals, tells me I look nice, includes me in nights out with everyone, is the first one up every morning to ask if I need any help with the dishes or food. He brings me the part of the newspaper on sundays that I like. He is kind and courteous.

When he speaks to me I just look at him with no expression at first and then walk away. Then I stop even aknowledging his voice in any way at all. Then, soon, I just slightly smile when he speaks and walk away.

It drives him batshit.

I am not really a stick to kind of gal in general, hence the whole taking him back after fucking his former Annie Sprinkle but this, for some reason I stick to. For 3 months. The other guys start to tease him. I am fine with everyone else and just do my job and enjoy the outside. It gets colder and everyone is off to some other boat as am I.

Later in Key West he is on board again but we never see each other at all cause I am busy on my nanny gig. Then I hear he is in Boston and we arrange to meet one night while D is in school late painting or something. We have dinner and I tell him I pity him and ask if he is still an alcoholic? Is he seeing anyone? No, you’re not, I say. Hm. Well, its been so long ago now, that I am 21 and am living with D while he finishes art school. He tells me how great I look and do I want to go somewhere else, to you know, get a drink and talk some more, in a less formal atmosphere than this stuffy restaruant?

I tell him no, I have to get back to my boyfriend but good luck with everything. Really, it was nice to see you.

I am skiping a weird bit because there was this whole Chuck thing in the middle of before I met D and then seeing Dennis again but as I remember it, its all this fluid moment of loving him, wanting to kill him, pretending succesfully that he did not exist and then rubbing his face in my happiness 2 years later.

I love most of my ex’s but him, that Andy the Engineer I still hate and would have a hard time being pleasant to if I ever ran into him in the supermarket or anything. Thats the danger of moving back to your hometown as an adult when you have made some sort of other life for yourself.

The ghosts of your past are always just around the corner.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. September 5, 2008 10:53 am

    OMG! Now, obviously I am a huge fan of yours… (and no… I will not take it back… Just For Today, Cake is Stupid… ha ha I even said it on your blog… there, take that!) but girl, this is by far the best one I’ve read yet! Now I haven’t had time to go back through all of them, but this shit rocks! 1. jesus is magic (just ask Sara Silverman), 2. Love the description of the bar with disposable tin ashtrays 3. Back up, love the discription of sitting there as he slowly forgets you 4. Love how you went snakey on him, then left him hanging! Awesome stuff… he’s probably still wondering how that happened. Also, or finally, Ghosts of the past are never fun, I have a few of my own and can relate to that feeling! OH Man girl… you rock!

  2. September 5, 2008 1:33 pm

    “the ghosts of your past are always just around the corner”….I love that. Seriously love that….especially considering I’ve never moved away from where I was born and went to school. My ghosts are closer than I think.

    a

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