Infatuations, Hair Dye, Bicycles, Universities (A Hodge Podge)
The other day, Sita and my buddy Erica M and I went to the DRIVE-IN MOVIE THEATRE at Misquamicut Beach. We went to watch 16 Candles.
It was hilarious, the whole episode.
The movie was appalling and enjoyable, and it made me want to watch The Dead Zone again just to revel in Anthony Michael Hall, and every time the screen went black (it happened often, just for an instant, some technological problem), we started giggling, because it would have made a great drinking game.
But we weren't drinking, except for ICE CREAM FLOATS. That's right, FLOATS. At the DRIVE-IN MOVIE THEATRE! Can you think of anything more delicious? Sita had made popcorn, too, and Erica brought IPA, but we didn't even get to crack those. Actually, I don't care too much for IPAs, so that was okay.
But, so, on our way to get the ICE CREAM FLOATS (we didn't know that's what we'd be drinking, only that we wanted ice cream), we passed some pre-teens (also attending 16 Candles) walking around the beach in their pajamas. And we realized that THEY trumped US in the "How To Go to the Drive-In Movies" game.
Next time, pajamas!
As we were walking, we were speaking of the Male of the Species (as one does), and I mentioned, "Right now I'm more or less clean of all infatuations. My mind is my own again. I feel wholly myself for the first time in nearly a year. Here I am. I'm a little bit more boring, because I'm used to me. I'm not occupied by alien hormones. But I feel accomplished - I've been getting a lot done. And that makes me proud. And happy. And clean."
It's an interesting feeling. I'll relax into it for a while. It reminded me of hair dye. Why? Okay. I 'splain.
A few months ago, after being bright blonde last summer, blood-red last autumn, and stripped to dark roots/light tips for most of the winter, I dyed my hair a close approximation of my natural color. It's a dark honey blonde. When it's wet, it's brown with highlights. But in the sun it gleams. It's not startling and glorious and SUN-COLORED the way I like it, but you know what? It's RELAXING. I have about three or four inches or roots right now, and YOU CAN'T EVEN TELL. Because it's the SAME COLOR (which is really ALL KINDS OF COLORS) as the rest of my hair. That restlessness I sometimes get to change, to heighten, to highlight, to MAKE EXTREME is taking second place to the fact that I am really just enjoying... Not having to CARE.
That's what it feels like, to have released my desire. A friendly fellow-feeling for everyone. A peacefulness. Perhaps not the most INTERESTING or FABULOUS, but also not TORTUROUS or WORRISOME. I have withdrawn my desire. I have put my hair back to the place of rest.
Also, speaking of hair, Sita and I decided to give up buying conditioner. We're making this lovely concoction of water, apple cider vinegar, and honey. It works wonders! It makes my hair smell like honey.
Next stop, DIY deodorant. Kiri suggests coconut oil, a little scent, and some baking soda. Or was it powder? I don't know. I will look it up and find EZZACT PROPORTIONS. It's very exciting.
For shampoo (and soap, and laundry detergent, occasionally), we use Doctor Bronner's Castile Soap Peppermint, and I don't ever get tired of it.
But do you know who I AM in love with this summer? MY BICYCLE. Ms. Monkeyshine Brown, AKA "Golden Bicycle of Glory." She writes me love letters on Facebook, and I respond, because I love people who lavish me with attention and invite me places, and so she does, my best bicycle friend.
Dear Ms. Cooney, she writes,
Because I am DYING of love for you, I would love to take you on a beach picnic date tomorrow on your FABULOUS DAY OFF! Please do not reject me. Let me show you Watch Hill as you have NEVER seen it before.
Love, your very favoritest bicycle ever,
Ms. Monkeyshine Brown
And because I answer letters, especially love letters (these days, the only reason we write letters is because we love the people to whom we're writing enough to write to them letters in the first place. So they're all love letters, aren't they?), I said to her, sez I,
Dear Golden Bicycle of Glory,
Dost not know thou art a machine powered by mine own heart? And yet methinks thou sometimes runneth on HYPERBOLE. But the best ones always do. It is a DATE. Barring lightning, which too soon doth cease to be.
Your pal,
C.S.E. COONEY
It is good to be in love with things that love you back. Even if (especially if) you are the thing that loves you back. You can always be assured of the sort of invitation that thrills you to the bones. I shall have me a picnic on the beach tomorrow. And I shall be very happy. Perhaps I will even bring a book. A BOOK! On the beach! The RAPTURE! The ECSTASY!
But first I shall have a Skype Date with Mir. And also a Phone Date with Mrs. Q.
Oh. The thing about Universities. Right. (That reminds me. I had a creepy University dream the other night.)
Once upon a time in 2002, I auditioned for this school's theatre conservatory and didn't get in. Now, I got into this school ACADEMICALLY (which was rather flattering), but not into their theatre program. And I said to them (in my head), "SCREW YOU! You don't want the best of me, you ain't getting ANY of me!"
And then I ended up at Columbia College Chicago.
And I think that's how I talk to my infatuations in my mind, too. Only it's reversed. It's not a "Screw You." It's more of a, "I get it. You wanna be my friend. Well, I'm good at that. I make a good friend. You can have it. But you don't get the rest too. I withdraw my attention."
And I think that must be a relief to more than myself! Because so often, they never ASKED for my attention in the first place. It's just there, beaming like a great radioactive light. Writing poetry. Singing songs. If I could play the guitar, I'd be the doofus serenading beneath their moonlit window. It's the way I am. It's kind of creepy. ...
...So it's nice, for a while, not to have to be like that. To dwell in metaphorical ACADEMIA, instead of making it into the specialized ARTS.
It's surrender, sure. But not all surrenders are bad.
And I am quite digging my June.
Goodnight, Flist. Goodnight, Blog. Goodnight, Moon.
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