Lucky Lady, Indeed!

Wow, you know, except for the fact that she slept in some sort of fur stole (yes, I know – it’s a bed jacket), I wouldn’t mind being this lucky lady! Red roses while you’re still in bed?! That’s gotta be awesome.

For some reason, I have been fixating on long-stemmed red roses a lot lately. I have no idea why.

I love flowers. Plenty of men have given me flowers over the years. And my 2nd husband was amazing about that – he brought me flowers all the time.  I’ve even received a lot of roses, but never long-stemmed red ones.

And I’ve gotten it in my head now that I really want these.  I really do. And I don’t want to buy them for myself, or anything. Sometimes even I get really tired of being so capable.  But apparently I don’t inspire this kind of idea in men.

I’m not sure what kinds of ideas I inspire in men. I’m not being coy there, either.  I mean, obviously, I know some of the ideas but except for that cute electrician back in the fall – the one who was 20 years younger than me and who was thoughtful enough to assure me that I didn’t look nearly as old as I was – men don’t follow up on what they’re clearly thinking about.

And as far as that electrician – if he hadn’t shown me photos on his phone of his infant daughter and her mom only moments before hitting on me, I might have been more inclined to pursue it.

But I still think it comes down to this overwhelming (and often annoying) sort of personality that I have, plus I don’t know how to be coy. I just don’t know how to do that. I’m usually very upfront. I say what I mean, or I don’t say anything at all. And I think it throws people.

A really nice man I know, that I know is very attracted to me – a lot older than me, very wealthy, his wife recently died after a very long illness. He asked me recently how I liked living out in the country and I told him that it was fantastic. So quiet. So peaceful. And he then said that maybe he should try it; that maybe he should move out to the country and live with me.

I told him, point blank: “You can move in with me. I’ve got plenty of room. You want to?”

And I was totally serious. I don’t believe he would want to live with me, or want to stay if he did move in. I’m unbelievably intensely intense. Not many people in their right minds have pursued that idea of living with me. Nevertheless,  I was serious.

And the look on his face. It was like deep in the recesses of his brain, the gates of heaven swung open. Clearly, he couldn’t believe his ears. I know he was thinking that he really, really wanted to do that. To live with me.

And I waited for his answer, but I’m not gonna ask twice, you know? It would look like I’m begging and I just don’t do that.

Well, I’ve got a list of men that I’m willing to beg, but it’s a really short list.

Anyway. The man  was just tongue-tied.  And I know he thought I was teasing him, but I actually wasn’t. I was deadly serious, but he was completely thrown by it and wouldn’t answer so I sort of said, “Okay. See ya.”

I think I have a sort of weird approach to relationships that, for some reason, confuses people when I think I’m being totally upfront.  Or it makes them see me in that self-sufficient way that plagues me – a way that doesn’t inspire a dozen long-stemmed red roses, that’s for sure.

Even though the years are rapidly gaining on me – they are barreling at me now at quite a clip – I’m not officially dead yet, so I’m hopeful that there’s still some sort of amazing future ahead of me where some sort of amazing guy finally decides to buy me long-stemmed red roses. We’ll find out.

On a thoroughly unrelated note…

I awoke at 4:06am today because Peitor texted me from England. My ringer was off, but I think I awoke because I felt him psychically or something. (I had texted him last night, knowing full well it was the middle of the night in London, so then he texted me back, knowing full well it was the  middle of the night in Crazeysburg.)

Anyway, I was awake then. And the very first bird of the morning began to sing. It was another one of those amazing mornings, where all the windows were open and this light breeze was filling the whole house. The only sound in the world was that one bird singing.  One of the cats was sitting in one of the windows, listening to it.  I think it was Doris, but it was too dark to really see her.

And once again, I was absolutely filled with Eros, you know? It was incredible. It’s happening every morning now. I laid there and tried to sort of study that feeling, because, for the most part, my body and my mind were really quiet. I had just woken up. It was like my body wasn’t even really there yet; it was as if I consisted of this wave of Eros and nothing else.

It felt like there was a sort of cord, or current of erotic energy running between my mind and, well, that whole area between my legs. It was quite pronounced, this current of energy.  And I thought it was so interesting, that it wasn’t just down there in that one place. It was definitely flowing between my mind and between my legs.

And the more I observed it, the more it sort of overtook me. It was so beautiful.  And I know for sure that I have never felt anything like it before.  And I do not know where this energy is coming from.  It just envelops me. I didn’t want to, you know, pursue it because I was still sleepy, plus I had all those cats in the room, looking at me. Even though it was still dark, they make me a little too paranoid for all-out erotic abandon. I’m not an exhibitionist, even when it’s just cats.

So I just laid there for close to an hour, in that swoon. And then it occurred to me that it’s almost time for all those Boys of Summer to return to the regional playhouse in town. Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that last summer, wow, it was overwhelming. Those guys were so young, so beautiful, and so talented. And of course, they stick around all summer and it was pretty darned intense. The sexual energy.

The young women were very talented, too.  Very pretty. Very sort of dynamic. But with women, even though I’m attracted to them, when they’re younger than me, I feel very maternal.  Very protective. And I thought to myself this morning, Isn’t that odd? I mean, with actual children, regardless of their gender, I feel maternal and protective. But with guys, the minute they’re not children, man. Everything shifts. And it never shifts back.

I wonder why that is? It was all very curious indeed. But by then every bird in Muskingum County was awake and singing, so I knew it was time to get out of bed and start this magnificent day.


Nick Cave will be conversing with the lucky people in Luxembourg tonight!  Of course, it is sold out.

And you know, it’s curious, that everyone without fail says how wonderful these Conversations are; how beautiful, and meaningful, and awe-inspiring they are; how their lives have changed or are finally complete now (I’m not overstating it, either). But nobody ever really talks about what it is he says.

The only thing anyone has posted so far about anything he’s said (and I’m including the tours he did of Australia and New Zealand back in the winter) is that he doesn’t really like cereal. Someone posted that recently.

I do find that sort of interesting, you know.  I guess. But aside from wondering how it might feel to ask him, “What would you like for breakfast?” but only because that would likely mean that, well, he was right there; but aside from that, I have never actually wondered what he eats for breakfast.

But it’s kind of curious that no one ever really says what he talks about. They are all kind of too breathless to speak.

I find that amazing. I really do.

All right. Let’s get Friday happening here, gang.  If you’re Stateside, I hope you have a wonderful holiday weekend!! I’ll be buying and planting my flowers this weekend and I can’t wait. As you now know, I love flowers! If you live everywhere else in the world, have a great weekend. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!

(Oops! Breakfast music today. I love this song!! Okay, see ya.)

You found me at some party
You thought I’d understand
You barreled over to me
With a drink in each hand
I respect your beliefs, girl,
And I consider you a friend,
But I’ve already been born once,
I don’t wanna to be born again.

Your knowledge is impressive
And your argument is good
But I am the resurrection, babe,
And you’re standing on my foot!

But my little boat is empty
It don’t go
And my oar is broken
It don’t row, row, row
But my little boat is empty
It don’t go
And my oar is broken
It don’t row, row, row

Your tiny little face
Keeps yapping in the gloom
Seven steps behind me
With your dustpan and broom.
I couldn’t help but imagine you
All postured and prone
But there’s a little guy on my shoulder
Says I should go home alone.
You keep leaning in on me
And you’re looking pretty pissed
That grave you’ve dug between your legs
Is hard to resist.

But my little boat is empty
It don’t go
And my oar is broken
It don’t row, row, row
But my little boat is empty
It don’t go
And my oar is broken
It don’t row, row, row

Give to God what belongs to God
And give the rest to me
Tell our gracious host to fuck himself
It’s time for us to leave.

But my little boat is empty
It don’t go
And my oar is broken
It don’t row, row, row
But my little boat is empty
It don’t go
And my oar is broken
It don’t row, row, row

c- 1997 Nick Cave

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