I introduced my father to a new concept today - Goodwill ... not as in felicity, but rather the secondhand store(s).
However, speaking of felicity, I met one of my co-workers (at Macy's) in a rather amusing fashion. I walked into a back-room to stow the book I had with me for the long bus-ride home, and came upon a tiny girl - 4'6", 90-something pounds - whose name I later learned is Felicity.
Felicity does blow.
I recognized the deep snorting inhale associated with a straw and a line of powder. I recognized the wide-eyed twitchiness. And then there was the running nose, the frequent sniffing, and her great willingness to go stock things I was folding in the back-room.
I digress; my father and I went to Goodwill. We went to Boysville Thrift Store, where I bought Kenneth Cole pants that put me in mind of Haight-Ashbury. And the Frenemy joined us there. the Frenemy, by way of my kindness - and owing to the desperation of retailers during the holiday season - got hired on at Macy's. The timing was fortuitous as he just lost his job - his primary job - as a mortgage consultant. It was contract work but lucrative ... and then it ended. So, the Frenemy is returning to retail ... and to women's shoes, at that.
[Pause for amusement] Anyone aware of the Frenemy's tendency to transform into Tori for a 'linebacker in high heels blow-job sex romp behind dumpsters in certain West side bar parking lots' will imagine - but not for too long - just how bah his proximity to Carlos Santana shoes will be for the world at-large. Or just for men. Drunk, non-English speaking men.
But we - my father and I and the Frenemy, went to Goodwill. I found dress shoes, the Frenemy
found a shirt (and some guy who worked there), and my father marveled that there were so many varied items - including Archie Bunker's couch, a Brady Bunch bunk bed, and a TV that had surely seen better days. And then Dad found me a suit - a very serviceable black wool suit in my size. I wore it to work this evening, with a black shirt and a pewter tie - feeling a bit like a guest at a fashionable funeral.
My father is in a generous state; I think it is out of appreciation for his only son no longer smoking crack ... or it was the French vanilla cake I prepared this morning. I bake rather than beg when I want something.
So magnanimous was my father's state, hw bought groceries (the 99 cents store), we discussed my next car (my license is no longer suspended after mid-December), the guy I'm seeing (now), his thoughts on my career prospects (actually positive), and - last but not least - on throwing a party.
A dinner party.
Ellen - my dear friend who had hoped to reconcile with her ex-husband but has since come to her senses (and moved on - fabulously) - is going t be alone for Thanksgiving. The aforementioned ex-husband is taking their daughters for the day. So, I proposed a dinner party. Though my septuagenarian cousin has been supportive and kind of late (she wrote me - often - while I was away at the photo shoot with Lindsay Lohan - I am not necessarily ready for football, soul food, and small talk with her and her kin (my kin).
And - I just love dinner parties.
I am inviting Dr. Bartender (the guy I'm seeing now), but I realize that the prospect of a first date at Thanksgiving dinner might be a bit much.
I am wistful, and grateful, this Thanksgiving. It's been one hell of a year.
MarkI introduced my father to a new concept today - Goodwill ... not as in felicity, but rather the secondhand store(s).
However, speaking of felicity, I met one of my co-workers (at Macy's) in a rather amusing fashion. I walked into a back-room to stow the book I had with me for the long bus-ride home, and came upon a tiny girl - 4'6", 90-something pounds - whose name I later learned is Felicity.
Felicity does blow.
I recognized the deep snorting inhale associated with a straw and a line of powder. I recognized the wide-eyed twitchiness. And then there was the running nose, the frequent sniffing, and her great willingness to go stock things I was folding in the back-room.
I digress; my father and I went to Goodwill. We went to Boysville Thrift Store, where I bought Kenneth Cole pants that put me in mind of Haight-Ashbury. And the Frenemy joined us there. the Frenemy, by way of my kindness - and owing to the desperation of retailers during the holiday season - got hired on at Macy's. The timing was fortuitous as he just lost his job - his primary job - as a mortgage consultant. It was contract work but lucrative ... and then it ended. So, the Frenemy is returning to retail ... and to women's shoes, at that.
[Pause for amusement] Anyone aware of the Frenemy's tendency to transform into Tori for a 'linebacker in high heels blow-job sex romp behind dumpsters in certain West side bar parking lots' will imagine - but not for too long - just how bah his proximity to Carlos Santana shoes will be for the world at-large. Or just for men. Drunk, non-English speaking men.
But we - my father and I and the Frenemy, went to Goodwill. I found dress shoes, the Frenemy
found a shirt (and some guy who worked there), and my father marveled that there were so many varied items - including Archie Bunker's couch, a Brady Bunch bunk bed, and a TV that had surely seen better days. And then Dad found me a suit - a very serviceable black wool suit in my size. I wore it to work this evening, with a black shirt and a pewter tie - feeling a bit like a guest at a fashionable funeral.
My father is in a generous state; I think it is out of appreciation for his only son no longer smoking crack ... or it was the French vanilla cake I prepared this morning. I bake rather than beg when I want something.
So magnanimous was my father's state, hw bought groceries (the 99 cents store), we discussed my next car (my license is no longer suspended after mid-December), the guy I'm seeing (now), his thoughts on my career prospects (actually positive), and - last but not least - on throwing a party.
A dinner party.
Ellen - my dear friend who had hoped to reconcile with her ex-husband but has since come to her senses (and moved on - fabulously) - is going t be alone for Thanksgiving. The aforementioned ex-husband is taking their daughters for the day. So, I proposed a dinner party. Though my septuagenarian cousin has been supportive and kind of late (she wrote me - often - while I was away at the photo shoot with Lindsay Lohan - I am not necessarily ready for football, soul food, and small talk with her and her kin (my kin).
And - I just love dinner parties.
I am inviting Dr. Bartender (the guy I'm seeing now), but I realize that the prospect of a first date at Thanksgiving dinner might be a bit much.
I am wistful, and grateful, this Thanksgiving. It's been one hell of a year.
Mark
No comments:
Post a Comment