Michelle's House of Horrors

An imaginary conversation about Stevie Wonder

And so you wait to see what he’ll do
Is it sun or snow for you?
But it breaks your heart in two

‘Cause you’ve been fooled by April
And he’s gone, and he’s gone
–Stevie Wonder/Summer Soft

God, I hate Stevie Wonder. Please put on something else.

How can you hate Stevie Wonder? He’s amazing!

Amazingly dull.

What is wrong with you?

Yeah, yeah. Child prodigy. Blind kid. I acknowledge the talent. I just don’t want to hear Songs in the Key of Life again.

You have such terrible taste.

I picked you, didn’t I?

Did you? Last I heard you were keeping your options open.

What? Don’t look at me that way.

What way?

Like you’re going to say something that will kill me.

Don’t worry, I’m not.

I would pick you, if I picked anyone, you know.

No, I don’t know. I’m taking it on faith.

Well, I would.

OK.

Just OK?

I’ll turn it off.

Thanks.

You’re welcome.

What is going on??

You can call me when you decide. If you do. I’d like to know. I’m going to go home.

You can’t just leave…

Can’t I?

What do you want me to say?

Nothing. Something. Everything. Not much.

Talk to me.

Talk to you? About what?

What’s going on?

You tell me. I’m always telling you what I feel. It’s your turn now.

I’m not the one leaving…

No. But you won’t say if you really want me to be here, either. I’m just giving you the space to decide.

I don’t need space!

What do you need?

I need…I don’t know what I need.

You know what I need?

No, what?

I need you to be able to tell me what you need. Or what you want. I need you to be able to tell me something. Anything at all. I need you to stop saying nothing.

But I don’t know if I can.

And that is why I am leaving. As long as you have something, you won’t care about having everything.

I’m not sure I understand.

I’m pretty sure you do. Call me when you want to talk about it. I’ll listen.

You know I will always love you.

Of course you love me. I rock.

You do.

Thanks, Tyler

I will talk to you soon, I think, Marla.

You met me at a very strange time in my life…

Come back and make me some soap.

Let me know when you’re ready.

Love.

Always.

More friends..more wine…more chicken

He drinks a whiskey drink
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink
He sings the songs that remind him
Of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him
Of the better times
–Chumbawamba/Tubthumping

When did I turn into a person who is around people more often than I am not? Not that I am complaining, especially now, but I think it’s interesting that I suddenly have friends.

Or I suppose it’s more accurate to say that I am suddenly agreeing to be a participant in what bears a very close resemblance to a social life. More specifically, a social life that isn’t based on what I will euphemistically refer to as dating.

So after seeing friends Friday night and Saturday, then my folks on Sunday, I’m waiting for a couple of girlfriends to come over for dinner.

So what?

Well.

For one thing, I sure know a lot of people who like wine. And beer. And tequila. And hard cider. And whiskey. OK, that was uncomfortably like a Chumbawamba song. Not that there’s anything wrong with enjoying the boozes, but I like all of those things too. If I have multiple social outings in a week, that is likely to mean an enlarged liver and a trip to rehab before too much longer. Being alone is easier on my liver. I don’t like to drink alone.

And now I have Tubthumping stuck in my head.

Shit.

Several hours later…

The lovely Jan and Jane have departed. There were dahlias, the first of the season I’m told…a bottle of something red…olives and cheese…fried chicken…a discussion of what Brie tastes like (sex) and life and kids and troubles and laughing and how life is short so we should enjoy as much of it as we can.

As always when I’ve spent time with my friends, I’m struck with how wonderful, beautiful and wise they are. And how lucky I am to have them.

Not a great day at work, but it is ending in smiles. All is well.

Yes, I really think Brie tastes like sex. More specifically, like semen. That’s why people either love it or hate it.

Bend, part deux

Pictures.

Crappy ones! Because…well…there is a lot of beer in Bend. And wine. And, uh, whiskey. Like Rick, Kelly is a glass filler. When your glass is never empty it is really hard to know how many pints down you are. Since my liver punched me in the eye and told me to knock it off, I am guessing it was a lot.

There were about 40 empty growlers by the fridge at the end of the night, but I am pretty sure we didn’t drink beer from all of them!

Also, I have a dangerous habit of taking pictures out of the car window while I am driving.

Kelly and Diane, you are wonderful. Thank you for the mood brightening.

Thanks also to Ma and Little L for the lunch–sorry I wasn’t better company. It was good to see you both, too.