world's worst waitress

in 2006 or so, when cassedega came out,  my sister called me and i remember tho conversation better than i remember most things.  i was newly separated.  i was living, like magic, in a loft that i worshiped every barefoot step on the hardwoods from the giant windows to the door that led to the pub i had keys to.  life was surreal.  but she said how she hated the album at first but finally got it.  and now, 10 years later to the almost minute, this new record is defeated and a triumph at the same time.  how do you feel so fucking good about failing?  make a record about it.  get married, buy a house, make a life.  we never got beautiful we never hit big.  we wasted a decade on booze and blow. we were beautiful and talented and we burnt out but didnt fade.  instead we get a third act.  lucky us, chubby and wise, we roll into the next phase, our maestro in tow, its a more than adequate record.  slow, sad and aware.  we failed but we arent broken.  

we are..once awful people..turned nice and trying to put our pasts behind us.  when we met, we played at being a couple in rooms full of ghosts and played a game, “guess who...4 questions”  ... “holding a pbr”  “the bartender” .. but now there is a mid century table with one torn vinyl chair we keep meaning to get rehoplostered.. because rehopolster is a word, despite my inability to spell it, that is in our vocabulary now.  we drive past a shop regularly.. “we should have brought the chair”  like there is some normalcy to our life, even if in our urgency, we regularly forget to do the things that NEED DOING....but we truly and deeply found our own way.  his hours in the kitchen my hours behind the bar and we try on the one 24 hours in a row a week we are not giving something to all the othersr  grabbing at our tails to give to each other a life worth living.  for the first time, since maybe we were small and didnt know how to discern anything other...

i havent spent money on my wedding yet.  my mother has. but me, i dont like the anything except ideas i cant make happen because florida is far away.   all i have to do is press send .. its the prettiest dress.  and not vera wang.. like i told a friend today.. but a page from a magazine nonetheless, but not made there.. a knock off ill likely have to alter and sinch or pay someone to, still, hopefully if its half the dress i see will be twice the dress i can get in a warehouse made for brides to be. but pressing send is harder than saying yes.   

it shouldnt be this hard, but hard is too soft a word for an event so suddenly about me.  if this day of all days were up to me would be at sunrise in joshua tree.   or midnite at city hall.  one family hates the other ..  ttnd i are pracitcally aliens.  any sort of dissent is veiwed as a slight.  i just want the dress and the champagne and maybe a dance or two.. i dont event want gifts and im so fucking happy that i need none of this.  

i watch the weather regularly, aggressively.  i remember the perverse joy my grandfather would get when snow would ruin my return to my precious northern college or some other grand plan i had to escape.  now, the weather is a proper indicator of my day.  65 and rainy is perfect.  but 65 and sunny, worse than that 72, and all hell breaks loose at my job, tenuous and loved, still, something about the number 72 that brings out the number 12  or maybe 20 to sit together and dine separately.  people who have 12 friends who can more or less arrive at a noon time destination tend to not notice the same two people who greet you are the two making your drinks taking your orders and splitting your 20 checks.  i do fine when it rains.   

waking up is always a surprise.  the comfort of our well dressed bed.  you dont cling but you are close, always ready to be invited closer...but its almost summer and sleeping still i need my space.  i smile walking to our door in the always, in the manner you roll your eyes at, beautiful southern sunset to the door in a corner in a building that looks like a motel and smile, my simplest dreams came true.  

when one sets out to live a live without regret, its just a grand excuse to be an epic asshole.

sense came to me slow in the room covered in show flyers, guitar and amplifier, bong and loose beers.  the bed was lopsided from when we fell through and i remembered the night before.  turning around in the morning is not always easy.  holding in the urge to pee.  you can stay under those arms that collapsed on you after for only so long.  do i run and pretend hes still sleeping, hearing me put my shoes on or do i get back in bed.   we both learned these lessons late and when i came back in the room he lifted up the covers.  we didnt work till late so lets just stay in this time capsule of once cool, tell me that story again, touch my hair that way, kiss quiet and slow, hold on tight.  lets never do this again. 

social media reminded me of the fact that 4 years ago yesterday was the actual best day of my life.  i woke up next to someone who was nice but not quite right, i went to see a film about serge gainsbourg by  myself.  i walked through old city, with its brick sidewalks and treasured buildings, kicking leaves along the way, to my job.. and i stood in those windows and looked at the city streets, the theatre.  ... and i thought i might move home, to carolina.  but then, there he was watching me watch the world.  and later when he randomly sat next to me and played a song i played on a former favorite day... i fell in epic, hopeless, stupid love.  we both lied about our ages, he threw me in a cab. we ended things with others.  he moved back to philly from colorado.  i sat lap close and we drank good beer and listened to ugly cassanova and eventually kissed and i had to lie about where i was, but i got to have the thing, the  lightning bolt, the cliche you look at someone and know they are going to change your life. and im sorry for all the ways i fucked it up.  i know im lucky it happened.

the only regret in my life is losing you.  my favororite philly, my only londons,  my best californias, were when i was with you.  the best day was us on a corner, with cheez fries dripping on my leg and me promising you someone would call you dad one day.

“before we say goodnight”, your car played this record on repeat and i just cant listen anymore and you are happy somewhere and i am happy here, warden of an insane asylum full of beautiful children and past and future mistakes..and i laughed with a lover in the morning and a song played and i, with him, remembered you.  holding me, the closest after a warm day outside, a st pats day parade and the always after sexnap made us almost miss the show, you held me so tight, yelled the words to the song he forgot and never could i ever love anyone harder than i loved you that day.