Saturday, December 15, 2007

Xmas Part-ay

25 years is a long time to run a business. He did it.  He founded it, he took it through IPO, and now he is going global.   Very impressive.  And he thanks us, he thanks the peeps. Very nice. A class act, this our boss.

The dance floor is heaving.  French interns everywhere.  Sexy boys.  Professional dancers try to keep the party going but they are fluff. We rock.  I am propositioned by a woman half my age. I fall off my shoes for the first time in 23 years.  A french intern saves me.  I dance more unabashed.  I'd like to bed him; note to self; His name is the same as famous restaurant. 

I'm alone again.  This time not just alone here on the dance floor, I'm alone when I come home.  Its ok.  Next year I will be with a man who can dance. Really dance.  I deserve it. I made the pros sweat, I made them wonder, I made them look like aerobics teachers.  I aint doin' routines.  This aint a gig for me. 

I can dance.  And when I dance, it looks like fun.



The midwest storm blew through and the white stuff is everywhere.  This morning the triangle park is graced with a snowman complete with carrot nose and twig arms. 

I wonder who built it and am surprised to find out - the young family two doors down from me.  He is a recovering drug addict/dealer who hasn't married the mother of his children yet.  She was 16 when the big one was born three years ago. His brother is 18 months old.

But they built the snowman. And he is  perfect in his imperfection.  I  want to give him a hat.

There is hope.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Snow storm

Walked a mile into Chelsea to eat Basque cheese, truffle cheese, and drink three different wines with the wild entrepeneur D, accompanied by a Fabulous friend.  She puts up with fits of adventurous trekking, not only in remarkable weather, but remarkably in adventurous weather.

The boy locked himself out, shoveled the walks and wrote LOG in script in the snow.

The Dog leapt like a deer, the lights shine so bright surrounded by the white and the sparkle and the quiet.

I realize my voice has been muted. Time to write.

I like vistors in my aloneness, lovers, friends, supporting cast but the essence needs be alone. The quiet of a city after a storm. The muted tones of chaos at rest for a moment, the waiting white. Potential.

Alone I can be visited, consoled, pinged, approached, consulted, seduced, invited.

 Potential is precious.