Losing My Love

The realization began early one morning last week when I walked out the front door of my apartment building and smelled the offensive odor coming from the trash cans. Although the City Sanitation Department emptied the cans the day before, the building manager had not returned the eight oversized plastic cans to their proper places. In one of my pseudo-Tourette's moments, the words poured from my mouth. "Damn, Shug! It smells like everybody walking down the street took a shit here this morning! Nasty ass people!" Shug pretended not to notice and quickly ran and squatted next to one of the cans. "Oh God," I said to myself, "if she craps there, then I'll just have to get a ticket for not picking up the poop." Well, as fate would have it, she only had to pee, and while it seemed like she was squatting for an eternity, I'm certain that it was no more than 30 minutes. Yet, in those disgusting but glorious moments, I saw how quickly it is for me to lose my love. However, I also saw how quickly it is for me to find it again.

Having my friend Julie in town was a needed treat. I enjoyed sharing my new world with her, and I savored sharing our familiar stories, too. From the beach trips to the hiking venture, we laughed and talked from the heart. Sometimes, though, we spoke from the perverted, gutter part of us. Why not? Anyway, after a sunny and relaxing afternoon at the beach, we strolled down the street to a vegetarian Thai restaurant for dinner. The fake chicken and mixed vegetables made both of us quite happy. And happy I stayed until I heard the dishes hit the floor and felt the wet sensation on my back. Turning to my left, I saw the waiter scurrying around, dropping to the floor, attempting to clean up the broken glass. I then turned and saw the yellow liquid dripping down the back of my chair. I raised my hand to my lower back, and I felt the grossly saturated area, and I knew that the yellow liquid was the culprit. Julie asked, "Did that get you?" I couldn't speak, except to say "Massaman curry." Julie jumped from her chair and came to my rescue. She used her napkin and others brought by the apologetic staff to clean me up. The waiter was oblivious to the fact that he had mistaken me for the InSinkErator disposal, that is, until Julie sternly said, "You got it all over him!" He bowed a few times and said, "I'm sorry. You need more napkins?" "Yes we do," Julie answered for me. Not really angry at all but shocked and irritated, I nevertheless had once again lost my love. However, I found it when Julie sat down and looked at me. She said, "Massaman curry." We both began laughing so hard. In between the laughter, I was able to mimic Julie's statement to the waiter. "You got it all over him!" We laughed even harder.

Tori Amos at the Greek Theatre, an exquisite outdoor venue with trees of many varities all around and massive rocks in the distance, Julie by my side, and I was feeling the love. Of course as luck would have it, Tori's number one annoying fan was sitting behind us. The first twelve times he screamed or squealed, I was a bit amused. I'm not sure how to accurately describe the sound other than to say it conjured up an image of a crazed, bellowing goat with its butt against a blazing brush fire. At times I couldn't control the laughter, but when he let loose with a set of three back to back and extremely loud whoops during Tori's performance of "China," a favorite song of mine, I lost my love. I was nearing the tipping point, preparing to turn around and let the guy know how rude, annoying, and disrespectful he was when Tori began singing a new song. Playing her Steinway with one hand, Tori then turned her body toward the audience. Slightly standing, she began playing the organ with her other hand. The beautiful and ethereal music mixed with the Christ-like image of Tori in her long white dress, her arms stretched and angled, soothed my heart and lifted my soul. At peace, I managed to tolerate the guy and his next 24 bellows.

Maybe someday when I'm operating on a higher vibration and have transcended my ego and all of its offspring of stories and tapes, I'll be able to never lose my love. In the meantime, I am happy just to get it back so quickly after losing it.