It was not quite the heathy hippie day I had wanted, but it was much better than the previous two nights. My blowing and sniffling had ceased by the time I got to my beautician's, but my head was still muzzy. I sat in her chair for three hours mostly listening to the troubles of our times. She is a social gal, and I'm guessing that she is missing being in the salon and kibitzing with clients. I didn't need to say much. I mostly sat trying not to look in the mirror, though I must say, I looked better than I could have guessed. I think it was the tan. Don't think George Hamilton. It is nothing like that. I spent twenty minutes a day poolside after working out, ten on my front, ten on my back, for two days. It's just color, really, not tan. But with the blonde hair and blue eyes and a very white shirt, if I squinted and looked sideways, I was almost acceptable.
For awhile we talked about my breakthrough trip to Miami. She knows Miami.
"You should stay with Gary's friend in South Beach," she said. "You'd like him. You guys are similar. He's laid back and mellow. He bought an old hotel on 9th and Collins many, many years ago. He built a penthouse on the top floor where he lives. He's constantly renovating the place. Gary can set you up. We always stay there."
This was intriguing. Gary and I have known one another for decades. He owns a couple hippie shops in town and a small organic wine place in Gotham. I think Gary has been to every Burning Man since its inception. He travels the world and goes to the most amazing places through India, Thailand, Bali, the Seychelles, and even in the mountains of Afghanistan, a lone Jews among Moslems. I would feel strange, though, asking him to set me up with his friend. The fellow doesn't run the hotel as a business, my beautician said, but he lets friends stay there when they come. He is wealthy and is on the city council, but he is a hippie, too. At night he goes to the beach near the inlet where locals gather for sunset and plays his saxophone. It is quite chill, she said.
"You could get some great photos."
With only the two of us there, a lot of conversation passed between us in three hours. For a semi-recluse like myself, that is a lot. By two-thirty, however, I was looking like a beach god once again, or so I say. Her baby is scheduled for delivery a month from now. She will see me in two.
"God willing."
I hadn't eaten. I'd had the morning coffee and nothing else. We had talked about food, particularly about a sushi place we both like. She said she has been longing for an oyster tequila shot they make her there. She can't wait to have one, she said. And now that is all I could think of. Oh, my. . . that sounded delicious to me now.
"He Siri. . . what time does Seito open?"
"Seito is open from five p.m. until ten p.m. Monday through Friday. . . ."
I passed a Popeye's chicken joint. I was tempted.
I got to my mother's house around three. Some of her friends were sitting in the garage "porch" with her. They ooed and ahhed over my fresh blonde locks. The woman from across the street with whom we had Christmas dinner came over and began stroking my head.
"I need to get my hair this color," she said.
As always, I entertained the girls. Then I sat back and listened to them talk about doctors and appointments. For awhile. But I was weary and wanted to get something to eat, so in a little while, I was on my way home.
I don't buy many groceries at a time. I go to the grocers almost every day. Consequently, I don't often have food I can just pick up and eat. I was tired, though, and didn't want to go to the store. I opened a bottle of wine. I had some hummus and some corn chips for dipping. I took it all to the deck. The air was nice. The cats came. I fed the feral and gave a few kibble bits to the neighbor's cat. "I shouldn't be drinking wine," I thought. "I was going to stick with tea." God, I was hungry. I had the remains of my steak dinner in the fridge. It was four o'clock. Too early for dinner, I thought, so I made a salad. A little more wine. It was good, but it was salad, and when it was done, I no longer cared about the time. I heated my leftovers. More wine. There was not as much food as I thought, most of the leftover Porterhouse being bone, and it was gone in a flash. I poured a scotch and turned on the television. It was barely five. The sushi place was open now. I could go and have that oyster tequila shot, but I wasn't moving.
"It's a shame," I thought. "People should see me. . . freshly blonde and all."
But I was pooped. My eyes began to close as I lay back on the big leather couch. I drifted and then dozed. But I fought it. I couldn't fall asleep yet. The sun was still up. I turned on the television and watched some camera porn. I thought about another drink. No, I decided. Make the tea.
I have been buying loose leaf Oolong Milk Tea and little cotton pouches to brew it in. I have it down now, the amount of tea and water, and it is delicious. I looked at the clock. The sun was beginning to set. Maybe I would watch a movie. I could go to bed at nine. That would be fine.
I surfed Amazon Prime and Netflix looking for something to watch. "Apocolypto." I had never watched that. I put it on.
That film is not one to watch before going to bed. It is all brutal, anxiety inducing stuff. Still, I watched. And then, come bedtime, my dreams were disturbing. I don't remember them, but I woke many times, and finally, before sunrise, I put on the coffee.
I had a text last night from Tennessee. He and the car guy are going to a bare knuckle fighting thing on Saturday. They bought me a ticket. I am going with them, he said.
"I'll pay for my ticket in case I decide to bail," I replied. I'm not sure about that one.
I need to get back to my domestic duties. The pre-emergent is down. Now I need to fertilize the palms and other shrubs and bushes. I have seen some carpenter ants, so I need to spray the yard and around the house with pesticide. The flowers in the overgrown and weedy garden are already growing and beginning to bloom. I need to make it fresh and new. I need to trim the crepe myrtle. I'll need to pressure wash and paint the deck soon. Mulching. Then there is the repairs that need to be made to the house. I will begin buying bags of granite to replenish the drives at the house and the apartment. Spring is always a busy time.
I mentioned my old surfer series of photos, "A Few Days One Summer," to a biology prof whose brother was in town from Wisconsin. They were going surfing at the place I shot all the photos. He asked me to show him some. I went digging and found them (link). I, for the thousandth time, have decided I need to make a website of my stuff. I'll set it up in categories--out of country, city, Lonesomeville, Liberator, and this Gothic thing I am doing now. I'm still feeling pretty crazy about the way the photos look. I want to print them up 8"x10" and frame them and hang them somewhere all together just to see. I would if I had a printer. I need a printer. Desperately.
Water. Protein. Fruits and vegetables. Fiber, vitamins, and minerals. Fill my body up with healthy things. I'll be natural. . . once again.
But maybe one oyster and tequila shot with hot sauce. . . just to see.
No comments:
Post a Comment