Cinde came over last night with Wayne, who just got back in town from five months in Europe and Morocco. We watched the 9-11 doc and did a really good job of not getting too upset. I think the bodies falling out of the window was what got me, but Cinde had already seen that, she was down there when it happened, so that didn't get her so much as when they showed people holding up posters of the missing people and talking about their loved ones. The whole thing was pretty awful, so I was glad I made someone come over and watch it with me.
Later Wayne shared with us how much Europeans hated George Bush (which isn't any different than how it was last summer when I was there), and told us stories about whores in Morocco.
During his visit there, he stayed with a man he had befriended in Amsterdam. The son had taken him to a club, and Wayne had found the local girls more than friendly, until he realized they wanted money for their time. Wayne is a sensitive young hippie type, interested in learning about "alternative lifestyles" and isn't the type to frequent strip clubs or anything like that. But he found himself drawn to this woman, and considered going with her, until his friends stopped him.
"I felt like I had made a connection with her. I was yelling at them. It was a bad night. I was really wasted and didn't have my head together."
"It's good that you didn't go. Who knows what kind of diseases she might have had?" I said. I'm all for experimentation, but whores in Morocco is probably not the place to start.
"Right, or she could have had someone waiting for me to beat me up or whatever. I felt really bad though. I called her later and apologized for not showing up."
He calls whores to apologize for missing their dates. Nice kid.
Then he went out to carouse because he is young and has spiky hair, and is unemployed and vibrant, and that's what boys like him do.
Cinde and I moved out to the terrace, and she told me all about her Friday night, out on the town, socializing, running around with the gang. Her gang, anyway. She makes me laugh a lot with her tales, but not enough to make me want to go with her.
And here we were, on a Sunday night, on a holiday weekend, just sitting and doing nothing. A year ago I would have fully used this opportunity, and had the party and the outfit and the drug selected. Tonight I was looking forward to a good solid night's sleep alone, where I could toss and turn as I pleased. I think for a second we thought about going out too, but where would we go? For a drink that neither of us wanted? To look at boys like the one who had just left?
There is no great mystery left in the social scene of New York City. It is more just comforting to know that it is there, and that if I ever want to partake of it, it is just a phone call or cab ride away. The club life I once led is over. Unless there's a good band playing, I don't want to be there, and even then, it better be a smaller venue, preferably one with a good ventilation system, and the band should go on by 10, if possible.
I just hit high maintenance. I think we all get there eventually, right?