Naked Jakes

My husband has no idea at all how cool I am.

Well, he used to, sort of.

We met initially in film class, when he was like, all of 21, and I was, like, 29, and dating some 19 year old I had met at the coffee shop where I studied late at night and graded papers and stuff. I know... You don't have to say it... LUCKY! Hee. Well, ok, it was sort of lame. But also fun!

Anyway, husband was this shySHYshy Eddie-Vedder-looking long-haired hippy boy who always wore the same brown cords and forest green zip-up sweatshirt jacket, and had little round glasses. He and I and some crazy dude were the only 3 smokers, so we met on smoke breaks. And as it was an evening class, after a bit, he graciously offered to walk me to my car. Sheniqua, I called her. She was my giant, ghetto, white 1986 Mercury Grand Marquis with tan leather interior. Which used to belong to my grandma. Loved that car.

I could sort of tell he had kind of a crush on me. I was all busy being my flamboyantly-sexy-dressing, gothy self. All up in fishnets in the middle of summer. You know. Plus, he was just sooooooo shy, and cute, but in more of a awwww-little-puppy-can-I-pat-you-on-the-head sort of way.

So we went our separate ways.

A year or so later, I saw him again, working in the campus coffee shop, and he had cut his hair, and it was like when Jon BonJovi cut his mop off and suddenly he was cute! It was like that! Andy was rowr! Meow! CUTE! (Which is the total opposite of how it usually works with me, in that boys usually have to grow their hair OUT for me to find them cute. Hmmm.)

So I began flirting with him hardcore, and stopping in all the time, remembering how he had this little shyboy crush on me and thinking I could just snap my fingers and whisk him into my lair or something. But, curiously, he DID NOT FLIRT BACK WITH ME!!!

What is this?

Who is this boy who thinks he can resist me?

I was hooked.

Andy says now that he was totally doing that on purpose, that playing hard to get, but I don't know if I believe him. He might have been just too shy to flirt. Maybe. I still don't know...

See how he still keeps me on my toes? Smart, that.

Anyway, so here was this meek little shyhippyboy who wouldn't flirt back with me, and was now more irresistibly cute than ever, and so I began pulling out all the stops to try to attract his notice. One time, I was outside in the courtyard smoking, and I noticed him come out of the building and sit down right outside it, on the steps, and so I thought for sure he would notice me, as I WAS wearing my totally noticeable blue velvet ensemble, and so I affected a wan and sad pose, and stared sadly at my feet, and the sky, and sighed a lot -- clearly an open invitation for him to come over and ask what was wrong and attempt to comfort me -- but he TOTALLY IGNORED ME, finished smoking and went back in the building!

What EEEZ THEES?! Does. Not. Compute!

And he never gave me free coffee either. Which I found out later was standard practice, the free coffee, amongst the coffee shop employees, for their friends and acquaintances, and potential lovahs. But not me. Harumpf. I'll never let him forget that.

So then later I signed up for a Dickens and Eliot grad seminar, and lo and behold there he was in the class, and I had just broken up with cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater from my Grad School Grudge entry, and was smarting hard from that whole experience, and so I basically cornered him and forced him to go out with me. And he went home and changed into a big, creamy fair isle fisherman sweater, and was all creamy and chocolatey and delicious and the rest is history. Pretty soon we were rockin' Sheniqua and drinking bottles of wine on late night playgrounds and getting married, and stuff.

So he used to know I was cool.

He says that he signed up for that seminar in the first place because he knew I'd be in it. *blush* *grin* And he was right. The Victorians, they are my peeps.

He did this because I was interesting and attractive.

But lately I'm so freaking domestic and rushed and busy and mom that I don't seem so cool anymore. And most of those old sexy clothes don't fit any more. (For NOW! They WILL AGAIN!!)

So I'm only cool and fun when I go out with my theatre friends (because I met them at the dinner theatre where we all worked - Beef & Boards), Erin P., Ashley, and Philbug.

We are, respectively: Pregnor, Adultor, Lesbor, and the Sodomite. PALS. So christened by Andy, the ever-hilarious. I'm Pregnor. Those names reveal something about us. Can you guess? HEE!!

With these people I am still hilarious, and I feel great about myself. I bask in their good company. So last night, Andy and I went to the opera (Bizet's The Pearl Fishers), in which Phil (the Sodomite) was a chorus member, and then met Ashley (Lesbor) for after-show drinks at the Red Key Tavern. At like 11:30! At night! The Red Key is a delightful little old-skool imbibing establishment where the jukebox only plays 40s standards, and the cranky owner is this WWII buff, who has all these model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, and all these rules about proper behavior on the part of his patrons, and he WILL kick you out if you don't hang up your coat on the coat rack or say thank you to the waitress. He's sort of like the Soup Nazi, but more loveably curmudgonly, and has quite a cult following.

Anyway, sadly ErinP (Adultor) couldn't join us, but 2 out of 3 ain't bad. So I was determined to 1) prove to Andy how cool and funny I still am and 2) have a fantastic date night followed by some good good lovin'. I had gotten my 15 year old niece, who owed me babysitting time because I bought her a black arm band at the Green Day concert, to agree to stay pretty late, and we were set.

SO. MUCH. FUN! From the diva's boob almost popping out on stage; to the boy dancer almost dropping the girl dancer on her head; to Andy's hand on my thigh in the darkness during the performance; to the waitress making fun of me for ordering a slow gin fizz; to the 2 "Naked Jakes" I actually drank; to the happy buzz; to the 2 cigarettes Andy lit for me and I smoked (I KNOW! Shh! I'm not starting up again, I promise); to regaling everyone with stories about how back in the 90s when I was the most. affected. thing. ever. I used to totally and quite seriously use one of those telescoping cigarette holders to smoke, even in the CAR, and I used to use a MUFF instead of gloves or mittens in the winter; to laughing until I cried off half my eyeliner; to the *ahem* *wink,wink, nudge, nudge,* it was PERFECT! Yaaaaaaaaaaayyy!

My husband still loves me, and still sees me! Wahooooooo!!!!!

God I needed that.

Plus: I'm still cool. What a relief!