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thelasthundredmiles · 44 years

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January 24th, 1981

Weighing 150 pounds is tantamount to being happy. It is only when I am that weight that I feel really good about the way my body looks, and consequently how comfortable I feel about sex. After four days of strict observance, I went off my diet yesterday. My last day at work and Don had planned a lunch for me at McCann's across the street from Gimbel's and not having a couple of beers withe the boys and a hearty lunch just seemed inappropriate. I was flattered by this show of well-wishing on their part. That job has just left such a horrible taste in my mouth, I was so unhappy doing it that I'm surprised that I did it well. Everyone hated to see me go. Every job I've ever had has resulted in strong feelings for some of the people. Even my short term at JWT caused some tender feelings when I left. Yesterday as I walked down the hallway toward the elevator, I just breathed a sigh of relief and thought to myself "Whew, you barely survived that one." So, I drank and ate with the boys and later in the afternoon the office had a little wine and cheese party in Terry's office. I was up from all the excitement of leaving and Allan and I decided to go uptown for drinks after work. A real rarity. This winter has been so brutal that even going out for drinks in the neighborhood has seemed an effort. We met at Cahoots, a first visit for both of us. The bar is nearly empty. A pretty man plays the piano and several other pretty men stand around the piano and drink. Two business men sit at the bar and talk. A solitary bearded guy sits at the end. Allan and I stand against the wall and have a draft beer. For a change both of us are in office clothes. We leave after the drink and walk several blocks out of the way as I attempt to intuitively find the Wildwood, where I had gone several time last summer. Finally we stop at a phone booth and I called information. It turns out, it was close to Cahoots, which we had been walking away from. The bar is comfortable, we both like it. But it is also nearly empty and the crowd is huddled at the bar, neighbors. Allan and I stand against the wall and eat peanuts and drink beer and leave after the drink. We take the subway home, but I stop at Gimbel's where I have left a package. The package (coffee cup from the office, layouts on the Garfinckel's book, roses as a going away gift from Rosann and a banana and an orange leftover from lunch on Tuesday) was not where it was supposed to be and the guard and I had to look for it for 15 minutes. At home, my mother's Christmas package to me had arrived, a huge cardboard box that was battered and torn. I dragged it up to the apartment where Allan already was. I opened the box expecting just maybe the leather jacket that I had hinted I wanted. Inside, I found a horrible middle-aged man J.C. Penny coat of fake suede and polyester pile lining. Just dreadful. Also a really tacky bathroom ensemble made of lurid shiny black polyester velour. Imagine: a fuzzy seat for the toilet. Curiously, she had also included two worn bath towels, one green, one red (for padding perhaps?) and a Crisco can full of marvelous homemade fudge and divinity and some other kind of candy. Rene had sent me a bottle of really nasty cheap after shave called "Flag and Sails" which he had wrapped completely in heavy grey industrial tape.

There was an address book titled "Red Hot Numbers" for straight men with cute little pictures of girls dressed as angels and pictures of devils with pitchforks. It was for meant for rating their dates as saints or sinners. Some couple, friends of mom and Rene's. I can only imagine the scene when they joked to my mother about sending that bachelor son of hers an address book to keep score of all those women. And of my mother, and Rene, not saying anything. The box of presents depressed and saddened me. All this cheap merchandise. Makes me feel so sad for the awful world these people inhabit. These poor people are so dumb, and god dammit, they're my family. They're so ignorant and their lives are so hard and mean. They have no spark, no verve, no imagination, their joys are so simple-minded. These are working class people with no intellectual capacity. I love it when my family and I remain at a healthy distance. But boxes full of their sadness arrives at my door. Visits home make me face them directly. I like to pretend that they are just a normal middle American family living out of the heartland. But when I really have to deal with them I am appalled at their lack of intelligence. It scares the wits out of me to realize how stupid my family is. Although I admire in remote ways certain characteristics and values of these people, that doesn't cause me to want to have them in my life. I do not want to play a substantive role in their lives either. So play the role of son, grandson, and nephew from long distance and connect to their real life only under duress. So tonight my mother sits in her double-wide trailer in Mississippi and wonders if her faggot son got his Christmas. I would call her and thank her, but she's probably drunk by now.

So ate fudge and drank white wine and had Chinese carryout for dinner and watched television until both of us fell asleep. Then he left for Boots and Saddles and I pulled my Futon out and went to sleep watching television.

Today, I walked to Allan's apartment. His friend Joe was just getting there as I arrived. Beautiful day. Not too cold. Good to be out walking and New York shined like a jewel. Allan I bought an ounce of grass from Joe and split it. Joe and I sat at the table and had coffee (actually he had tea) and he told us all about his plan to go into business for himself. With friends, he is planning on opening a messenger service. Then Allan and I took the subway to Times Square and met Diane at Leowe's theater and saw Altered States. I loved the movie. Afterward, Times Square was grey and neon and rushed with crowds of people. New York, I love you. We had coffee at Howard's and then Diane went home and Allan and I came downtown and went to Boots. I had two sodas with a twist (my diet cocktail-- I chug them) and decided I couldn't stand just standing around the bar. So I left Allan there and went to Sloanes, my favorite grocery store. At home, I had my broiled chicken and salad and drank diet soda and smoked dope and tried not to think of the fudge in the refrigerator. John called late last night and made a date with me for tonight. By 8:30 I knew I had been stood up and was relieved to know it.

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