If I Don't Love These Yeast Infections....then why do I feel married to them?

My Beloved and I had a beautiful
and harmonious week...capped with
the splendor of a charming Yeast

Ladies:  Boric Acid!
Get those capsules.
Insert in the VaaJay.

Of course, there is that little
unsettling bit about how Boric Acid
is also used to ward off roaches.

O the Roach takes me back to my LA days.

After escaping an ex who morphed
into a psycho (and I'm talking escape
in the middle of the night) my friend, and
roommate, D and I scouted out a cute
and cheap little bungalow just off of
Sunset by Gower Gulch (for those of
my peeps who live in LA).  It was
lovely and surrounded by plantage.
In my room, should one merely close
the door, one felt that one was perhaps
on a desert isle...fronds tapping at the
windows. Burdies tweet tweeting
their little burdy hearts about the joint.

We moved in at night, turned on the
lights......to AN ENORMOUS

3 bombs and camping later, the
roaches trooped back to the center
of the earth, leaving us in peace in
our attempts to read War and Peace,
avoid the carnivorous business of
parties in the "movie scene" and
work on our acting.  What?

A particular fond memory of D, who
was a fucking smart and uneducated 19
year old guy, was when I came home to
his announcement that he had a date
with some painter.....

did I know a guy named David Hockney?


Nothing was more fun then introducing
the "quick to learn" D to a pillow full
of Hockney's work...rushing about to
stores in LA that actually had art books...
(pre-internet time) and coaching him
through major dates, works, etc...

Or: when I would play Moonlight Sonata
on my rented piano and he would very
seriously perform an extensive piece
of interpretive dance around the living room.

D and I had a friendship based on mutual
admiration, trust, and an ass-full of disdain
for Hollywood and the newly blossoming
herds of fake breasted butt lickers.

D was in my bridal cadre, my bridesman.

I was robbed at gunpoint with D and have
held D in my arms while he wept...as he held me.
(And not for the reasons of robbery,
but for the reasons of sexual abuse, another
thing that we had in common).

So it was with great depression and dismay
that I hung up the phone after a pretty
awful conversation with him. 

D, it seems, has fallen completely into
the LA way of being.  The way of being that
mentions people in tandem with their career
positions.  The way of being that doesn't ask
you how you feel after your miscarriage.
The way of being that silently judges you
because you are not involved in what is
important: The Life Of Hollywood.

I am sad.
It seems I am going to lose my friend.

And it was not an "oh, just a weird kind
of conversation" that you know is a one off
thing.  It was an "I am 41 and I feel this to
be a turning point in my friendship with
this person.  A turning point that is leaving
a vile taste in my mouth and makes me
want to have a funeral for the love and
understanding that we shared" kind of thing.

He is still really smart.
But he is now a rock.

I mentioned that perhaps he needs to keep
his heart open and was met with teeth
and comments about how he could not
respect any woman who would want
to be with him (he is bi, by the by).

When we were getting off the phone, and
I was thinking that this might be the last,
he said that he loved me...as he always
does.  And I wanted to ask him
who he was and where was my D.

There are those among you who may say
that one can never give up on a friend.
And I do not give up on my friends.

But those of you in LA know of what
I speak.  You know that he is in the
Valley Of Death.  You know that reaching
him would mean major shaving of tendons,
bruising of hearts, and perhaps the loss
of an eye.  Perhaps his.

And I don't think he will call me again.

Another One Falls Prey To LA.
RIP my sweet sweet D.

In other news:  two of my pieces
got accepted to a great journal!!
and I am being paid!!!!
and I am not a total failure!!!!!


1 comment:

La Belette Rouge said...

Congratulations! And, my friend, even before the acceptance to a great journal you were not a total failure. And, yes, I do know what you speak of.