and taking the bus over to the wesssside is like visiting your parents over the holidays: everything is clean, smells good, safe.
we laid in her bed holding hands looking at each others eyes and catching up. we love each other so much you’d think nothing has ever changed, but tons has, all in good ways, mostly on her side. she looks better than ever, she’s successful as hell, her place is gorgeous and can you believe its the first apartment that was hers, all hers?
far different than my hollywood bachelor pad where garbage tumbles down the alleyways and crows caw from the powerlines.
in santa monica theyve passed a law against the wind, it’s not allowed to howl after 10pm. so sweet.
we ordered chinese from our favorite place and i went back for thirds i was so happy.
chris always has some pajama bottoms for me and a tshirt and hugs and hugs and hugs and maybe a kiss on the cheek or on the lips when im not looking but we know whats up, we’re best friends forever, but im still a man so when i catch her in the mirror changing out of her sexy work clothes i cant help but say real loud, “looking real good over there. shake it!”
and of course she’ll shake it. why not?
while she watched the gilmore girls i checked my email and then took a hot shower. everything in her place is in place. nothing like when she had to live with me. she has such class, such style. you’d think after five years id pick some of it up, but no.
she beat my ass at scrabble even though i had the q z and x. fuck!
she taught me a few new cheater words that id never known about like zee and she laughed.
i jumped in her bed, which is the softest and most comfortable on planet earth filled with sleepable pillows and i said come in come in and she finished packing for the holidays and then the phone rang and then i passed out within seconds.
this morning we woke up at 6am, hit the road at 630 and now my sweet exgirlfriend is jetting across the clear skies to her storybook family on the river in oregon, which only means one thing.
party in santa monica.
sam adams keg, three bands.
my single mom life