Marrying George Clooney

something or someone triggers a memory. it could be perfume, the smell of bazooka gum, lavender oil, a scent, a pair of shoes…

okay, so here’s the deal: i walked 35 blocks, from west 66th to 101st. upper west side. west end avenue.
actually, truthfully, i walked a bit more – i cut over to go to broadway – so, 38 blocks.
all toll 38 blocks.
a long frickin’ walk.

every three or four blocks – i had a strange, unsettling, uncomfortable weird memory jag. a memory jag is when you remember shit you did from say twenty, thirty, thirty-five years earlier, if in fact you’re older than say 50.

let me share some of those memories, thoughts, jags with you as i walked those 38 blocks:

huh, i slept with so & so in this building.
shit, i did drugs, bad drugs, in that building.
oh my god, i threw up in that lobby.
holy shit, i gave a blow job to so & so in that brownstone.
oh my god, that’s where i got robbed with whatshisname.
wow, that was a bad, bad, bad sex night.
whoa, that’s the block i had a bad, miserable fuck you, no no no fuck you fight.
oh jesus, i don’t remember his name, but i remember the apartment.
oh my god i did that there?
holy crap, she & i are no longer speaking.
ugh, that was a horrible, horrible night.
oh no no no no no, that was me. oh god, no. ugh.
i did what where?
I WORE THAT THERE THEN.

and then, finally, i got to the restaurant, and felt so awful, and so tired. and so shameful. i could barely stand up.
and then – THEN – i noticed a woman (who was sitting in a small group at a round table with other lovely looking people) looking – staring – at me and i thought, oh sure, sure, sure… she probably knew me back when, when i did all those things and wore all those clothes with those big shoulder pads, and oh my god i felt more shame & disgust and wanted to crawl into a ball & hide in a hole, when she smiled and pointed to my necklace and gave me a thumbs up.

oh thank god(dess).

and as i sipped my wine, i wondered (to myself, not out loud to the friends i was with) if everyone at the restaurant had a secret or two or three or four, or a memory or two or three or four that was lodged in their soul. maybe. surely. i mean we all do. bad moments, bad memories, bad experiences … we were young, foolish, wanted to be loved, wanted to be noticed, wanted attention. praise. some of us did bad things. dated bad people. wrote bad checks. wore bad clothes. gave blow jobs to strangers who later became hedge fund managers.

shame shame shame shame.

i drank myself silly.
and that will become another memory.