Sicky Mc Sick Sick. (Andre)

Ok, yes. Ryan got me started saying that. The Mc Sick thing.
Anyhoo- desperately sick for the last few days. Head on fire, throat feels like acid is being poured down it constantly...not fun. And the worst part is that I can't sleep. Horrible when your body needs to so badly.

What am I thinking about in this weakened condition? Well, love, naturally. Don't you always feel extra specially alone when you're weak and helpless and there's no -one to take care of you? No one even to do a load of dishes? I do. But then, again - it's been so long since I've had a REAL relationship that I also feel grateful that there's no-one in my life that has to see me this way. Eyes puffy,blowing my nose and coughing. Come to think about it, the last guy I screwed everything up with who was worth two bits went like this :

We went out on dates. I never let him pick me up at my house. I always met him wherever. He always asked me back to HIS house, made dinner for me, poured me excellent scotch - a new kind every time - DJ ed our whole night impeccibly from his excellent collection of jazz albums. He played me one song after another, as though he were offering up love poems. A night long seduction. He had this beautiful stereo where most people would have a TV. And his place was great. One of those 'Snow White' cottages that you hear about, sprinkled around in Hollywood and Los Feliz.

He was so handsome. Big and strong, with great big muscles and a big beautiful smile. Andre. he always wanted me to stay the night, and I would always slip out in the middle of the night. I loved sleeping with him - it was so cozy.He had a great big bed with million count white sheets and down everything, lots of pillows. And he was lovely to sleep with. Didn't suffocate me, or stay too far away. He snuggled for exactly the right amount of time before he rolled over and gave me a little bit of space - but still just touching me somewhere...like, maybe even just our feet were touching. Very reassuring. So why did I always feel the need to get up and sneak out at 3am? Not that it worked, anyway. He was such a gentleman. He ALWAYS woke up, and he ALWAYS insisted on walking me all the way to my car.I think that's REALLY what made me start staying over finally. The guilt of getting this poor man out of bed at that hour and having him walk down to the street in the cold.

I didn't want him to get too involved. Maybe I didn't want to get too involved.He was so neat and tidy. His world was so organized and perfect, and mine was such a mess. I figured the longer I could keep him at arms length - not seeing the reality of my crazy, messy life - the longer I'd get to hang out with him. For me, going over to his place was like going on a mini vacation. I was spoiled and romanced and pampered, and the only interruption to our perfect nights there were by his ridiculously odd and adorable cats. If he came over to MY house - it would be like sending him into a war zone! Max, his girlfriend, and the rock band, the other 3 kids, their friends...CHAOS! My house is clean and tidy approximately one fourth of the time these days. Gone are the days of Jennifer and her TV money ;therefor gone are the days of a full time housekeeper/nanny.

After months of going on like this, Andre finally talked me into staying over. But then I DASHED out in the morning, not wanting him to see me looking less than perfect.
"Jennifer...." he said very sweetly one night after we'd both had 3 glasses of scotch and another one of his perfect meals."Why don't you stay for breakfast tomorrow morning? I make a good breakfast, too."
"No. I don't think so." I said, coyly.
"Oh, but I just got the best coffee from that cheese shop next to Trader Joe's, and you don't have to get up early. You can just stay in bed until the smell of that good coffee and some applewood smoked bacon lure you down here.." He said this as he refilled my scotch and kissed me real softly on the neck, his lips just barely touching my skin. Oh! He was good. But I was not falling for it.
"Nope. I just don't think I can."
Now the funny side of Andre came out. He pulled back, crossed his arms over his chest (with scotch in hand) and gave me this pouty kind of look. He looked like he was about to stomp his foot.
"Well, that's not fair. Who's gonna read the New York Times with me?"

Tonight, I was out to dinner with my brother and Kristan and the kids and I saw this bumper-sticker that said "reading is sexy". I want one.

That was the line that finally made me cave. My perfect dream romance is one where we would read the New York Times together over good coffee and bacon. And with someone who has a body like Superman, AND he can cook, AND he has excellent taste in music and scotch!! WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH ME?????????

So, I started to stay for breakfast every once in a while. And I even allowed him to meet the kids - one at a time, in controlled settings. But I pretty much kept him AWAY from my house. I just wasn't perfect enough for this perfect guy, and I did NOT want it to end yet.He asked questions - specific questions - about my life. I'd say things like "You don't want to know..."
He told me he wanted to stay over at my place some time, that he wanted "in" to my life. I didn't let him in. I didn't want him to know how vulnerable and NOT together I really was.

And then, I got sick. I got the flue. Really, really, bad.
What did Andre want to do? Bring me chicken soup and flowers OF COURSE. He wanted to take care of me.
"DON'T come over." I said to him on the phone, in a super nasally voice."DO NOT come over. I MEAN IT! I do NOT want you to see me like this."
"I'm comin' over.." he said, relentless."I'm comin' over there with some soup, so too bad. You sound terrible."
"Oh NO!!! DO NOT come over here!" I demanded. "The house is a mess!"
"Of course it is." he said. "You're down with the flu, you can't be cleaning the house right now. Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up for you."

I pretty much want to kill myself right now as I'm writing this. This is how moronic I am.
Andre came over with chicken soup from Victor's (the best in town) and flowers and orange juice and vitamins - and I was HORRIBLE to him. Horrible and mean and ungrateful.

So that was pretty much the beginning of the end. The end came quickly after that. Andre had seen an opportunity to show me that he was open minded to my crazy, sometimes messy house, and the kids and he jumped on it. He wanted to be needed. Don't we all? I would have wanted to do something nice for HIM if he was sick....
And I ruined it.
So I deserve to be sick and alone.

I saw Andre a couple of months ago at the dresden, where we first met. I think he was on a date. I didn't think she was pretty enough for him. And he didn't seem to be as into her as he had been with me, but SHE was REALLY into him. She wouldn't kick him out if he brought HER chicken soup.

I called my one and only back-up man. Mark. My gay husband/girlfriend/traveling companion/creative partner/design and gardening consultant. I told him all about it.

There was a big sigh on the other side of the phone line before Mark answered, "Well of COURSE you screwed it up, honey - he has a JOB!"