6/7/96 - Friends and ex-lovers

6/7/96 - 1810 Chapala

Things are still unsettled, but some of the reasons are becoming clearer. I spent a wonderful evening with Robbie last night, seeing "Welcome To The Dollhouse" and having a drink at Jimmy's. I knew there was no chance of us sleeping together, so I felt free just to enjoy talking.

I hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks, since he gave me herpes as a matter of fact, so we had a lot to catch up on. Turns out he has had a bad sinus infection; he says he hasn't gone out for weeks (except for going out to Chameleon with his ex last Saturday, where I saw him), hasn't felt well at all, physically or emotionally. As sometimes happens with him, I began to feel like he was articulating thoughts that have been bouncing around in my own head for weeks: his sense of dissatisfaction, of being in transition, sounded familiar.

My transition is beginning to look like this: my life in Santa Barbara has always revolved around a circle of friends, and I think I'm needing to find a new way to live.

Ever since Pacific Oaks [Goleta apartment complex where I lived with many revolving roommates between 1989 and 1993], or even the dorms, I've lived in a social vortex, with a group of people which, while it shifted, remained surprisingly constant in its membership. All activities (well, most) began with a "Hey, why don't we..." or "let's plan to do..." The most typical examples of this pattern were the barbecues at Pacific Oaks, Valerio, and Alan Road, and dancing at Safari and Revival.

The axis of this has been Jessica's and my friendship. It's no coincidence that, as as soon as she and I began to grow more distant, my whole...what? Social life? Way of seeing how I live and relate to others? Whatever, it began to change.

Rafe's theory is that Jessica and I haven't been the same since the whole Bill Gill-apartment fiasco. What that really means is Michelle replaced me in Jessica's life after they moved in together. This is true, but because they, and Vince, and I, created a new social vortex at Valerio, Jess and I could pretend it wasn't happening. Having a circle around us (Geoff, Sean, Doug, Pete, Dave & Blythe, Karen, Moira, are just off the top of my head. Oh yeah, David Kissinger, Max of course later, there are more) was always a big part of our friendship.

But there were the alone times, and they've occurred less and less the last few years. Whenever she and I go out to lunch these days, it almost feels like an obligation, like paying dutiful respect to the past. Strangely, I've almost stopped missing what she and I once had.

Jessica's only one (major) piece of the puzzle. Sean moving away, then Pete (actually, Pete moved first, but when he was still in California, we visited a lot), then, well, everyone in the above parentheses (except Doug, big deal, and Max, my roommate, who presents his own special set of problems)is gone, and so is Michelle, and so is Vince.

Instead of trying to recreate the synergy I felt with this chaotic bunch, maybe I need to try something new. Maybe their absence from my life means I need to start spending more time alone, or in one-on-one friendships. If I ever want to be a writer, I have to WRITE, and always planning for or doing the next event certainly takes time away.

And some of the one-on-one friendships I've been pursuing lately have been intriguing and rewarding. Robbie, Serena, and the Return of Susanna have provided me with some more deeply felt interludes than I remember having in years. Of course, I also have one of least deep people to compare them to: Ben.

I guess I'm going to spend a paragraph or two on him after all. We had a nice visit all those weeks ago, when I got a couple of Annie's things. I thought a lot got resolved, and I barely gave him a thought in the ensuing weeks.

He called me in the last few days of May, saying he wanted to take me out to dinner for my birthday. We decided on Chameleon, on Saturday the 1st. The food was good enough, the conversation the usual 90% him-10% me. Even when he tried to draw me out of listening mode, the best I could do was talk about other people (Grandma, Jessica, Max, etc.). What was I supposed to say? I didn't want to give him another excuse to think of me as a faithless slut by telling him about the herpes, and I had no news about Robbie and me.

So, he proceeded to get really drunk. I felt less and less comfortable as he chatted up the waitress, Craig, Ron, Fred, and the caged chameleons for all I knew. He exhibited shamelessly his profound ignorance and white-trash lack of culture.

[Wow. Harsh. But that embarassment was something I felt most days while I was with Ben, for all his considerable good points. We didn't really belong together, a fact I was in denial about during our almost two years together. And, of course, I did the compensation bit by going out and partying and cattin' around behind his back, which is why he dumped me. Pretty simple.]

I caught a glimpse of Rob, a boy I'd taken home from Fathom a week before (the story's a bit more complicated than that, and he's my age (not a boy), but later...), and I just wanted to dump Ben and go hang out with him and his friend.

Things got worse at Fathom. The amount of rum Ben can put away is awe-inspiring and scary. We spent most of our time apart, but not until he embarrassed me further in front of Mike M. and Bill, who were probably too stoned to notice. Ben danced most of the night shirtless, and while there was a time when his body was a sexual totem for me, it's definitely not go-go boy material.

I didn't want to go into this much detail, because I don't really bear the guy any ill will. The only point I'm trying to make is that Ben was my major one-on-one person [in that he didn't fit in with my circle of friends] for almost two years (Rafe more? Hmm. But it's different), and I'm really enjoying having more intelligent, sophisticated people to talk to. [Snob.]

My problem (in this arena; see previous entries for my *real* problems) is, how to forge what I consider good friendships with this non-group-based focus? Even friendships with people already in my life (Max, Rafe, Sean) are going to have to grow or die. My dissatisfaction with Max's moodiness and standoffishness, and with Rafe's childishness are signs that the struggle is already going on. And, do I continue with Serena, Robbie, even Bernie, if I'm going to be moving?

Also, I have to be comfortable with spending more time alone. I've been doing this a lot lately, but I'd like to be doing something more constructive with all this time. Writing, of course, but every time I think I should put pen to paper (other than this journal), my mind goes blank. Or my laziness reflex fires.

Robbie suggested I go to England. Desire to do that has always been around, but it has always seemed such a hopeless dream compared to just getting thru day-to-day life. But he got me so excited, describing people as being just generally deeper, more philisophical/historical/ literary, willing to TALK, rather than the materialistic, shallow babble that passes for conversation here. And the surroundings: being bathed in that much history and culture *is* compelling. [My snobbishness at its worst. My connection with Old Blighty is not just the literary daydream of a prissy Niles Crane; I have family there, with whom our family here is in semi-regular contact, and my grandparents took me there when I was seven. I'm afraid I've never been the same. Convinced on some level that I belong living with some rich but disgraced younger son of an earl or something, I still melt if even a plain guy has a veddy English accent. Yes, Rupert Everett. Sue me.]

How could I ever swing it? I owe so much money, how can I go even a month without some sort of income? Not to mention financing the trip itself. It just seems so impossible, yet it might be just what I need to yank me into growing.

One final, prosaic note: Rob. Not to be confused with Robbie, Rob was a guy I met a couple of Thursdays ago on my first visit to Fathom. I had noticed him cruising me briefly early in the festivities, and kind of forgot about him. Late in the evening, and after many beers, I was sitting with Jody, Tom and others, ogling Mark the bartender, when a very drunk Rob came wandering thru. After socializing a bit (that slow bar whirl), we found ourselves standing next to one another.

There was that wonderful moment of looking into each other's eyes, clicking, and kissing. It's so much fun when that happens out of the blue. We eventually danced a bit, but he (rather incoherently) expressed a wish to leave, so I brought him here.

I've left a couple of messages on his machine, and ran into him at Chameleon, but so far, nothing. I certainly won't shun him if we run into each other again (I guess I mean "when." Small town.), but I doubt I'll call him again. Besides, Tom says he's "really into drugs" (which for Tom could mean he smokes pot. Horrors! But T. mentioned crystal, which is another story.), plus it sounds like he's got major ex-boyfriend drama. WHATEVER.

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