Skittles and white wine are really good together. Nate and discovered this, and we’re really excited about it. Tell your friends. *
Skittles and white wine are really good together. Nate and discovered this, and we’re really excited about it. Tell your friends. *
He’s in his mid-40′s, drinks Dos Equis at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday and wears shades that kind of look like the dead guy from “Weekend At Bernie’s” and Tom Cruises’ character from “Top Gun.” He tells me he’s single and sometimes it gets lonely and sometimes it’s fun (but mostly it’s lonely). He regrets his divorce on bad days, but he’s mostly OK with his decision — he thinks. He doesn’t like ball point pens to do Sudoku puzzles. He doesn’t like candles. He really likes women that enjoy his same TV shows, but he’d be OK if she didn’t like his same TV shows because that would be a way for him to find new “programs to watch.” He has a good tan and can’t wait to retire. He used to be a smoker (you can tell by his laugh), but he doesn’t like the taste anymore. He doesn’t bat an eye at saying “Fuck” every other word and when sees my engagement ring he asks if I’m married and I say “Not yet.” He asks, “Does she make you happy?” I say, “He makes me very happy.” He says, “I knew you were gay, I like you. You seem like you really like life.” I say, “I really do.” He says, “Good, ’cause it’s short.”
Three weeks later I see him in the elevator struggling with a black grocery bag. I ask if he needs help. He tells me no and that having a stroke is “fucked up.” He can’t smile and barely speaks. When the elevator opens to his floor, he exits and growls “take care”– he’s entirely different man based on his uncontrollable circumstances.
Life really is short and you better fucking like it. If you don’t like your life, you really need to fucking figure it out before it figures itself out for you.
“What’s something you’re afraid about when you become a father?”
My response:
“Trying to answer weird questions like: ‘Why does my pee smell really bad after eating asparagus.”
His response:
“Really. Not sex, drugs, curfews, why he/she has two dads, bullies, homework…”
My response:
“I just want to make sure I give the best answers to weird questions so my kids are the best conversationalists at parties.”
And then I get emails from strangers that say this:
“So I just wanted to say thank you so much, for doing the work that you do… keep up the amazing work! You are a hero!“
And then everything makes sense again.
1. Get a super strong espresso that matches the color of tar.
2. Purchase 3 biscotti and shove them in your mouth because you’d never, ever do that in the states without feeling slightly guilty.
3.) Write.
when this really beautiful woman on her cell phone turns a corner and almost gets hit by a Vespa. She then runs up to me and starts ranting for, like, five minutes in Italian — “frustrated at the crazy drivers in this city” ranting not “I’m mad at particularly YOU” ranting. I listen and nod like I know what in hell she’s saying when of course I don’t know what in hell she’s saying because the only Italian I speak is “vino” (oh, and gelato!). Anyway, she settles down, tilts her head, slides her Chanel sunglasses off, smiles and says something then gestures as if she’s waiting for me to return an answer. I respond: English, per favore? She looks at me, her mouth drops open, snarls, screams something else in Italian and storms away while her giant Gucci shopping bag slaps her in the leg.
This is why Italy is super fun.
If you do the math, it equals an infinite amount of fun. (I never was good at math.)
