Ghosts of boyfriends past…

I dated a guy I met at Panama Joe’s in Long Beach when I was 26 years old. How we met:

He walked in with his uncle and walked past my brother G and myself. He was 6’4″, wearing a fantastic shirt, and beautiful. I slowly looked down, checking him out, as I sat down next to my brother who looks so different from me that people always assumed we were a “couple.” I laughed out loud to see this gorgeous man with this beautiful shirt wearing old, ragged, torn, paint-spattered pants.

He turned around and saw me smiling at him after my guffaw. Immediately, he stepped toward me and said, nodding at G, “are you with this guy?” “No, I replied, he’s my brother.” “Let’s dance,” he said grabbing me, and we started dancing to the ripping good live band.  A bouncer, not quite as “big” as T, instructed us we had to leave or quit dancing as “there is no dancing permitted at Panama Joes.”

Well that was the beginning of a summer romance. We would get together, I would cook two hour meals for him as he played my lp’s. We had lots of sex, and he drank a lot of beer. But he was a “jolly” drunk, so somehow it never bugged me. It just seemed he was so big he could absorb the alcohol because his body mass was so great. He was born in West Berlin, and his mother hated my guts. I always thought it was because of our age difference, me being five years older, but later I found out it was because (mostly) that I told the story of Tugboat Steve one night at dinner, of his cocaine habit and how, since I didn’t do cocaine, he felt safe leaving his stash in my Roswell, LB apartment. Boy, talk about ‘young and dumb’! It turns out he hasn’t spoken with his mother for six years, and she’s “just a mean person, period.” a/c T. Nobody would have been good enough for her son, no doubt.

M remembers T as having treated me very badly. I know he did at the end, where he did not return my phone call for over two weeks, and I felt heartbroken. I had begun a portrait of him, a large one, my first portrait of a person that I remember attempting. It was rather two-dimensional, the one I did of Susan next was much richer in detail and more 3-D. But I poured blood sweat and tears in that drawing of T, of him playing his guitar. I left it on his porch, hoping it would make him want to be with me again. It didn’t work.

I thought of him on and off for years afterward, wanting to get in touch with him. I had discovered, I forget how, that he was married, and still living in Long Beach. I knew he probably had kids and a good job, that was the kind of guy he was. Have so many memories of those years in Long Beach, living on Roswell Street (had three different apartments there).

Well, then the FB phenomena happened. I’ve been busy making art-world connections ever since Shana suggested it in a talk Cindy and I attended. It occurred to me one day T might be on there, sure enough, he was, with black hair which “threw me,” so I emailed him and asked him if this was indeed “the” T that I had dated in our youth. He answered and we became friends. He was doing an Elvis impersonation, as it turned out, being the extrovert that he is. He still looked very handsome and trim, which of course is highly unusual in this society of fast food and factory farm steroid-filled meat.

Hmmm….typed a lot in this that somehow got ‘lost.’ T came by and I warned him ‘I don’t do other women’s husbands.’ Not that he was going to go there, but I needed to make sure he knew up front that I couldn’t do that to myself, the other woman, OR the guy. I couldn’t sleep at night if I did that sort of thing. But it would be fun to catch up, to share memories, and sure enough, we had fun with certain memories he remembered and I didn’t, and visa versa.

Well he was very courteous and did not say anything negative about his wife, but told me how they met, similar story to how we met, at a bar. He showed me her picture and I started to laugh, he asked why. I told him “sorry, but this reminds me of a song Moorcheeba did (hence the song I posted at the beginning of this post). It’s so common in this society, esp. with middle age and children, to gain weight. It’s so funny, I’m the opposite, the older I get the more I need to eat not to LOSE weight!

Now ANOTHER old bf of mine is calling me, CS! We’re trading phone calls. I guess people like to play catch up and reminisce about the “old days”!

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Been thinking more about why I felt the need to reach out to T. I think it has to do with the healing of old childhood wounds, as I was talking with both M and C about. T was like my dad, withdrawn and not emotionally available. AND…let’s face it…he was only 21 years old. When I told C that she said “say no more.” I doubt, somehow, that he’s matured in the sense of being more empathic, emotionally available, or available for deep intimacy. He probably did me a “favor” by breaking up with me. And let’s face it, I only knew him for three months, not enough time to really know ANYBODY. But I sure was surprised by how gregarious and outgoing he is. He lives life “out loud,” for sure. He goes hiking, biking, climbing mountains, he’s just a very fun guy to be around, and he’s the kind of guy who is brave about approaching women, and we women love that! So for all you guys out there, if you go out on a limb and ask a woman out, we are very impressed, partially because it’s so rare!

Here T is dressed as the nihilist for a “The Big Lebowski” festival.

Now for a video…working on a new art piece that’s very involved and need a laugh break!