- 10:41 a.m.
NOTE: This entry was started on WEDNESDAY NIGHT and completed on THURSDAY MORNING. I’m not sure why I needed to tell you this. Oh, yeah—because I reference WEDNESDAY… as if it were today… okay, WHATEVER. (pain in my own ass).
Lordy, lordy, lordy…..
It’s the end of a very loooooooooong day.
Wednesday, THERAPY(ISH) day always seems so much longer than the other days of the week… probably because we’re measuring in mental health hours and not regular civilian hours… and probably because ONE of those hours is spent “lancing emotional boils” and "putting ointment on psychological burns" and "removing spongebob squarepants band-aids from mental abrasions"… so, yeah… lots of ouching and the usual-sized servings of “oy” and “vey” were all had today.
My therapist(ish) rocks my crazy-in-the-head world… and after the weeping and the laughing and the wringing of the hands and the planning and the solving and the examining and the discussing… I still think it’s the best GAZILLION-JILLION dollars I’ve ever spent.
So, that having been SPILLED… I absolutely must interrupt my regularly scheduled update (yeah, right… like I have a regularly scheduled ANYTHING…) to tell all y’all about the latest BILL AND SUE UPDATE.
Forgive me for not getting it out to you yesterday when it came down, but this is the first chance I’ve had. It’s wacky(what isn't?), but in a way I feel GUILTY updating my IN-THE-FLESH-FRIENDS on any BILL AND SUE OCCURENCES before I tell YOU GUYS.
So. Yeah. There. You win.
Here’s what went down: Saturday Night, a gaggle of THE LADIES, including myself and My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/built-in date went out to dinner in West Hollywood to a cute Italian Restaurant (Don’t get me started—what am I supposed to eat at Italian? I’m not shoveling any pasta in this mouth, and don’t think I’m eating pizza… so… you know, I go with the fancy salad with 12 kinds of FREE-RANGE-LETTUCE grown in the wild, joined with some fancy-ass made-up-named cheese and topped with candied walnuts or toasted almonds or some other “why’d you have to do that to a nut?” nuts.
Alright, food was served, wine was flowing, glasses were clinking… nice. Good times. As we were leaving I saw a pile of the monthly LESBIAN MAGAZINE “LN”(Lesbian News). Note: It’s NOT a “Naked Lesbians” kind of magazine (Gasp! Eeek! Shock! that you might even think that) it’s INFORMATIONAL, with tons of stuff about ACTIVITIES and SUPPORT GROUPS, etc) Of course, I thought of SUE and knew she would love to have one to look at. So I grabbed it and brought it home.
Okay… soooo…busy week, busy week… and suddenly it’s TUESDAY and I had forgotten about SUE’S LESBIAN MAGAZINE. I saw it under a stack of mail on the coffee table and went to the phone to call SUE and tell her about it. I looked out our front window, and since it was 4:30, BILL wasn’t home from work yet. Remember, BILL AND SUE have settled into such a routine in their 35 years together, that you could seriously COUNT ON the fact that “BLAH” would happen at 12 O’clock and “BLAH BLAH” would happen at 5 O’clock. Well, since it was 4:30, “BLAH BLAH” (Bill coming home) wasn’t due for another 1/2 hour.
I called SUE and told her about the LESBIAN MAGAZINE and she was excited and asked me to bring it over, so I walked across the street and up their looooooong driveway and knocked on the front door that has a “miniature” of a front door on it. I didn’t know if I should push the teeeeeeny tiny “miniature” doorbell, or the normal-sized one, so I flipped a mental coin and went with the miniature. I was wrong. Sucker! So, I moved onto my second choice, the normal-sized bell and Sue was at the door in 2 seconds. It’s possible she watched me from behind the door as I pressed the miniatures bell… like maybe that’s something that they get a kick out of…. And, geeesh, if I can bring a little “miniature-related” happiness, I’ll participate.
ME (handing her the LESBIAN MAGAZINE): “Hi Sue, here’s the magazine I told you about.”
SUE: (taking the LESBIAN MAGAZINE) “Oh, I appreciate this so much… come on in for a minute…”
So… let me remind you that before this whole “SUE DISCOVERING SHE’S A LESBIAN” thing happened… we’d been in their house twice. Both times, not so comfortable, as we only had the CATS and THE MINIATURES to discuss, but I could tell SUE needed to talk, so I went inside.
SUE and I went into their family room, and I saw the “Ye Olde Inn” Miniature proudly displayed on the counter. I scanned the room and noticed that a few of the other “Miniatures” that had been scattered throughout were missing. I wondered what was up with that… but thought it might be a sore-spot, so I didn’t ask. I wondered if BILL, in a RAGE (hard to imagine) might have destroyed them, throwing them to the ground and stomping on them, in slow motion, like… well, say… THE GIANT, in some movie where there is a little village and then THE GIANT shows up and, in slow motion, stomps on the buildings. So….Yeah, I wondered if it was like that. I hoped not. Maybe it was too painful to have the miniatures all around, considering that these were things they’d worked on together…Maybe they’d put them away-- sort of like sending the children to stay with relatives while the parents go through tough times. Whatever… too much thought about the miniatures—it must have been the lack of air-circulation.
SUE began telling me about the rollercoaster she feels like she’s on- One minute she’s thrilled and excited about FINALLY BEING TRUTHFUL TO HERSELF, and the next minute she’s filled with depression about having spent her entire adult life in denial; As we sat there, she began flipping through the pages of the LESBIAN MAGAZINE and was tickled to see all the ACTIVITIES and SUPPORT GROUPS and PERSONAL ADS…
Uh oh… I have the feeling that “helping Sue write a personal ad” is in my futures.
I was just clearing my throat and stretching my arms in that “I’m trying to find a nice way to tie this whole thing up” way, when we hear a car. SUE says… “Oh, that’s BILL… he’s home early”.
THWAP! GLITCH! WHOOOOA!
Suddenly, I’m LUCY… and my ETHEL is across the street in our house, in her office, and she’s obviously just heard BILL’s Car pull up too… and surely she’s FREAKING OUT for me. I need to come up with an excuse, as BILL has NO IDEA that SUE has been confiding in me (he’d split into 25,000 miniature puzzle pieces if he did)…
ME: “Sue, quick—why am I here?”
SUE (calmly, she seems to be enjoying this): “To borrow a cup of sugar?”
(Note: For a quick second I wanted to grab the LESBIAN MAGAZINE and SMACK SUE upside the head for her ill-timed attempt at neighborhood comedy)
ME: (frantically looking around and thinking)
SUE: Maybe you came over to talk about cats?
ME: (frantic x 2): NO! He’ll never believe that! Okay, I’ve got it: I came over to ask you to maybe take our mail in because we might be going away this weekend.
With the “t” from her perfect still in the air, the doorknob turns and BILL opens the door. SUE OVERPLAYS her part to a fault…
SUE: “Alright then, yeah… just let me know if you need us to take in your mail while you go away this weekend. Bill, the girls might go away this weekend and they might need us to take their mail in.
ME: also OVERPLAYING IT, even more exaggeratedly than Sue.
ME: Yeah, we might go away this weekend and we might need to ask you guys to take in our mail. I’ll let you know.
BILL: Yeah, no problem. We’d be glad to
ME: That’d be great. If we do go. I’ll let you know.
I couldn’t really look Bill in the eye… I hate lying. I hate lying to a man whose life is in a “miniature” shambles… big time. I wasn’t doing anything wrong… it felt more like I was facilitating my own version of THE LESBIAN UNDERGROUND RAILROAD… getting information to SUE to help her in her journey… and yet I end up feeling like a safe-cracking jewel thief or someone who cheats on their taxes.
BLOOD ON MY HANDS, BLOOD ON MY HANDS.
I wiped the guilt-induced sweat from my brow, said goodbye to BILL and SUE (still living as friends, even though BILL has NO IDEA that we know that) and made my way back across the street to our house.
My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/ethel-to-my-lucy was waiting inside, on the edge of her seat (ish). Indeed, as I suspected, she’d heard BILL’s CAR and wondered how the hell I was going to get out of there. She knew me. She knew that I would have tunneled out using only a miniature spoon if I’d had to (no miniature spoons were in sight, or I would have done that). She listened to my story, my plight, as I described, in too many words (just like in here) about how it all WENT DOWN.
AND THEN… get this:
She, My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/ethel-to-my-lucy gave me this “I told you so” look… and warned me about getting too involved. She, My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/ethel-to-my-lucy, has very definitely taken herself out of the whole BILL AND SUE mix. She feels bad for BILL, and DOES have the concern that even though he’s one of those NICE GUYS… it could ALL end up as BREAKING NEWS… and she doesn’t want any bullets flying through our windows.
In my heart, I know My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/ethel-to-my-lucy could be right…. And I worry a bit.
I hope we’re wrong.