A Lusty Lady

Before divulging too deeply in to the matter to which I plan to speak, I think it's prudent to clear the smoke filled LA air, and establish that while recent blogging posts have settled on a more paramour nature, my life I'd hope is grounded on various spokes and pinnacles of eccentricity, adventure, love, and a community of fabulousness. You write about those things, things which represent a swirling energy which raptures rapidly around you. My dad always described these things in colors, energy which he claimed he saw, despite my mother's insistence on his color blindness. There is a blinding energy around us all, and whether it's seen at all, or it's felt, it's the nature and tone of what I chose to write. So if my writing is of a paramour nature of late, we can seek answer in the energy that capsulates my life in recent times. What does this all mean? It means that my life in the last six years has been nothing short of an endless amount of material I can use for a lifetime. Where just yesterday I was recalling with a friend a perfectly chilled morning in Seattle Washington. Where our travels led us past the Lusty Lady. An ancient ruin of seediness, where the dim lights only do so to hide the caliber of clientele. And on that day, I was such customer. I had four quarters, and because I know a lot of things of relative none importance, I knew the author of the Juno screenplay had danced briefly at the Lusty Lady. And so I sought a tour. Long about 75 cents worth I looked on a floor, unsuited for even walking, and realized my last quarter lay stuck there. I received direct, if not mandated instructions, to not think of picking it up. So I did. And gave it to a panhandler who I'm certain took no time to take a tour himself.

A year, a good hand cleanser, and a bottle of Burt Bees sanitizer later, I come to my macbook to laugh and type and write and remember some marvelous adventures my 20s have given me. But long before I felt free to explore, to act on my sense of adventure, I was young once. As us all. In that youth, I lusted for first love. And found it.

On Saturday that first love marries. Marries a girl whom couldn't be more perfect for him, if I had picked her myself. It is probably more innate to sour and scorn, and swallow the bitter pill of lost first love, by loathing the one who takes your place. But you watch the sun come up enough times after a night of hard partying, you know it will come up again. And so it will for me.

I intended on writing him a letter. A letter of congratulation, for taking this important step, having watched a decade pass since we first met, and watched each other grow up, grow apart, and towards things more suited for each other. Until I discovered the exercise was more therapy for me, so on blondememoirs it shall live, and in the universe this piece, and my peace, shall be.

The following is in letter format.

To My First Love, On The Day Before You Wed,

In my life I've had two parents and a sister, an aunt and uncle and two cousins, a dog, two cats, three fish, five frogs, and two turtles. I've had childhood friends and adult friends and sorority sisters. But you, you were my first love. And that's gotta mean something. It means you were the first boyfriend any of those people and fish met. If means you told me you loved me first. It means when I look over a huge chunk of my life, this chunk of meaningful life changing cliche happening stuff, there you were. And even when we discovered we were not for each other, that decision was just as important as had we were.

I have met your fiance and I fancy her, for reasons that have nothing to do with the fact she likes me. But it helps. She suits you. She let's you be the ham in the room, and is your partner, and adores you. And I think you're lucky to have found that. You will be great to one another and funloving parents to the many baseball playing children running around a little league field.

In a generation when many men fear and loathe the end of their single days, you never have, and for that I admire. As long as I've known you, you've idolized the institution of marriage and parenthood, and that's rare, and extraordinary.

While there is a natural tendency towards sadness, I do as my friends have taught me. A shot of whisky, for something hard to swallow, but done in celebration. So on the day you marry I do the same for you.

As you travel the coastal route of your life, I congratulate you on this mile marker.

Of the things you can never have enough of, love is one. So do that for one another. A lot.

With All My Love,
Rebecca