I should be glad but I'm scratching and skimping for every penny. I just want ONE media outlet--a biggie like The New York Times or the Wall Street Journal--to write a story about how we're in the bottom of the real estate market and that I could forward said fantasy article to all my clients and they would jump up with glee and call me to go look at new apartments. This is not happening. Instead, I'm busy working on rentals, which might as well be the shit end of the real estate world stick, because renters have nearly no loyalty, are picky and after you've spent days and weeks working with them, they find something offered as 'no fee' from Craigslist and sign on for that one. My attitude is reprehensible, but the truth is that I curse renters under my breath.
As for my personal life, things are slow there--and sort of sad. Fritz is very flighty and clearly has no care for my libido which he often leaves running like a car engine when you run inside the house to get whatever item you've forgotten--only, he's lingering in the house and isn't really worried about overheating the engine, ruining the battery, or wasting gas. He's just lollygagging around, taking his sweet time and figuring that the car will be there when he gets back. And while it's a slap in the face to my gender to say so, he's right. The libido will stay running until he gets back into the car.
It's gotten to the point where I'm going to have to actually say something to him. It occurs to me that despite his excellent education at Michigan and Columbia, he might be clueless when it comes to matters of the heart (as, I can be too, though I hate to admit it) and not get that the little things that I do for him are actually romantic gestures. Of course, the fact that I looked him in the face a few months ago and told him that I was interested in someone else and that I didn't want anything but a sexual relationship with him may have done little to insert clues of my interest in him. My friend Martin, and most people think that when you are interested in someone, it's apparent, almost intuitive, but I have to admit that even for me, I don't readily get it unless it's painfully obvious. Another friend said to me last night, "It's obvious that Fritz likes you." Really? Not fucking obvious to me. So, maybe he and I are a good clueless pair.
Only now, (scary drum roll), do I have to face it--and tell him that I actually do find him interesting, smart, passionate, sexy, appealing. I texted him this morning and told him that I wanted to talk to him--surely, if history of us proves anything, he'll expect me to be pulling up roots, bidding him Ciao and moving onto my next sexual conquest, but alas, I am doing the opposite, of sorts. I dreaded this until I called a tele-psychic this morning so she could forecast my future.
Mayaan, a psychic who charges a bargain rate of $1.00 a minute, is originally from New York, so we communicated in short hand--having lived here for 15 years, I totally understood her ghetto-speak and could quickly translate it into more educated English. For many years, doing exactly this has been a hobby of mine. Taking a perfectly wretched ghetto sentence and making it into fancier language. I wish I could think of an example to illustrate this point, but I'm sure you can imagine. Anyway, she told me much of what I knew--that Fritz is insecure, that the self-confident approach that he takes is largely crap, which I can easily say about myself too. That he likes me, rather, that he loves me. I feel sure that he doesn't quite love me, but I'll settle for like at this point.
Anyway, I cross referenced this with another psychic who was more steeply priced, at $3.99 a minute and talked to her for a total of 5 minutes. I could hear alternating sounds of her birds chirping and her dog barking. Her name was Evelyn and I immediately pictured her sitting in a small house with a patio, cigarette burning quickly in a dirty ashtray as she was shuffling her worn tarot cards. She later revealed that she had a pendulum as well and asked if I wanted to double check her answer on the pendulum, assuring me that it was the 'cheapest way' to check her answer. All three answers--between the 2 psychics and the pendulum all revealed the same answers, but of course, I'm a skeptic about it and can't quite figure out how it works.
Most people don't give much thought to the psychology behind such things, but having had my own past as a phone sex operator, I do have some curiosity about how to satisfy people's urges on the phone and get them to call back for more. I guess it must be obvious what sort of answer I'm looking for once they ask what area of my life I want them to look at, but since all those answers were, in fact, exactly what I wanted to hear, I'm prepared to congratulate these people about their magical powers.
So, I'm at the second open house and ready to shoot myself in the head and cursing myself for even agreeing to do this, when I could be home in the fetal position with my dog, hiding from the world and avoiding working on my tax audit preparation. But, instead, I'm in a stinky apartment, listening to Fleetwood Mac, fantasizing about what I'm going to eat for a very belated lunch and reading and rereading the email that I just sent to Fritz where I barely, gently, nearly suggest that I could perhaps have feelings for him. Fucking shit.
Yes, it's a beautiful day. Yes, I have a job that I love. Yes, I have a great dog and I'm alive and well and having a wonderful hair day. And yes, I'm cranky and curmudgeonly as usual. Why? Because I'm me.
No comments:
Post a Comment