Tag Archives: city life

Love in the Time of Amenorrhea

We all know how much I despise discussing my menstrual cycle, but it is necessary to preface this entry with stating that I have not had my period in eight months.  This disorder is called, “Amenorrhea” and is common in girls my age.  It can be caused by many things, stress being one of them, which is the cause in my case.  I have not been taking care of myself, so my body is pissed off at me, and lashing out by not allowing me my period.  This may sound like a gift, but I promise it’s not, it’s really unhealthy.  Keeping all of that in mind, now let me move on to the story which correlates with this information.

My best friend Lance is in town visiting.  Since I left Florida over a year ago, I have only seen him one other time, when I went home for a wedding.  This has been hard on me because Lance is my better half.  I’m going to full on embrace the cheesiness and go as far as saying that he completes me.  I like myself when we’re together, we can talk about everything, and we always have so much fun.

He’s staying with some other friends of ours, but I decided to kidnap him for the night, bring him out with me and then have him crash at my place.  Best idea I’ve ever had.  We knock on the door of the wannabe speakeasy that I discussed in Confessions Vol. 8, and Adam, the door guy who I befriended during my last visit, opens the peek hole.  “I smell hair,” I say reluctantly, rolling my eyes at the ridiculous password.  “Do you?”  he says back, granting us access, and so the night begins.

Inside, there were two other patrons, a karaoke host, the door guy and the bartender.  That’s it.  So of course, because I’m with Lance, the two of us make it a great time. We kick off with our awful rendition of “Lola” by the Kinks.  One thing leads to another, and we’re pretty much best friends with the three staff members.  We were all buying each other shots, dancing, hooting and hollering and just having what was essentially our own private party.  Right about now, is when I don’t remember a good two hours of the night.  Lance filled me in a bit, and from the sounds of it, I was having a grand ole’ time.  We decided that the party was not over when the bar closed, so myself, Lance and the bartender, whose name I believe is Brian, decided to walk to a 24 hour Korean BBQ restaurant.

I proceeded to throw-up in the bathroom, which just needed to happen, and then continued with my evening.  Lance and Brian were making fun of me the whole night for it, but it didn’t bother me.  It was funny, and I owned it.

Caitlin Rule:  If you throw-up, own up.  It’s way more embarrassing to try to deny it when everyone knows it happened.

Lance and I began rapping a song that our friend made-up, with lyrics that say, “Bitch you better suck my dick / Now put your pussy in the air and get fucked.”  I think it’s hilarious, and hopefully everyone else in the restaurant did too… because we were loud.  I remember there being a whole fish, eyeball and all in front of me, so being the mature adult that I am, I plucked the eyeball out and put it in Lance’s soup.  Throughout all of this, Brian and I are exchanging physical flirtation.  Gently holding hands under the table… touching my leg… and so on, but thinking back, I have NO idea why, because I was a HOT MESS.  I’m pretty sure my hair looked like I had just been skydiving, and there may or may not have been a piece of vomit on my face… and I’m also pretty sure that Brian was sober.  Why in God’s name a very cool, sober guy with no agenda would want to be within ten feet of me that night, let alone hold my hand, is beyond me, but I’m not going to complain.

From there, we drove up to the Griffith Observatory, which is on top of Mount Hollywood, and has one of the best views of the city.  I flung my heels off and ran to the ledge, where I was met with a view that never gets old.  The city lights against the night sky.

Me and my heels at 4:00 in the morning, against the back drop of Los Angeles.

Sorry the picture is dark, but that’s why it’s the best look-out point, because it’s the Observatory, so there are no lights.

The three of us sat up there and talked, and this is when I finally started sobering up.  Lance disappeared to the other side for a while, so Brian and I had some one-on-one time, during such, I realized that he’s probably the most genuine guy I’ve met in Los Angeles.  He radiated this humbleness that is so rare out here because everyone has an agenda.  I can’t hate, because I’m the same way, we’re all out here for something.  Everything in LA is so fast-paced, that even human interactions are rushed.  But not this night… this night felt real.

The industrial sized sprinklers came on, and after our pretty bonding session, I grabbed Brian’s hand and we ran together through the sprinklers.  Surprisingly, he didn’t object or hesitate at all, and completely went with it.  Without even thinking, I turned around, dripping in reclaimed water, and kissed him.  Again, he went with it.  It only lasted for a second, but became one of my favorite kisses ever because of the innocence behind it.

Lance and I then ran through the sprinklers together, as Brian sat on the sidewalk, waiting with my heels and anklet ready for me.  Perfect way to end the night, running through sprinklers with your best friend just before the dawn.  We drove Brian home, and part of me wants to seek him out again, but the other part of me wants never to see him again, because I don’t know if it will ever be as perfect.

Lance and I passed out on my bed, and the next day, I got my period.  I don’t think this can be brushed off as a coincidence.  Being with Lance again made me remember who I am.  Being with him and a stranger, letting the night take us all for a ride made me feel alive and all of my stress was alleviated, even if only for a short time.  So maybe the cure for Amenorrhea is simply a single dose of love.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Bearded Musicians,

Please do not get married.  I ask this of you because inevitably you and I will meet, have an annoyingly profound connection, and we’ll both be sorry about that wedding band around your finger that is now suffocating the both of us.  Thanks!

Love,

Caitlin

Epilogue:  I am cursed with falling in love with every guy I come across with an acoustic guitar, tattoos, a beard and a raspy voice.  That may sound incredibly specific, but I would say at least one out of every four musician’s fall into that category.  Fuck my life.

Like many of my tales, this one starts at a bar.  I wasn’t there for five minutes before I made “The Iron Man Eye-Contact.”  This type of eye-contact is very different from typical flirty, eye-fucking exchanges that are made between you and a hot stranger.  Iron Man Eye-Contact only comes around a handful of times in life, and it’s like when Iron Man is in his helmet, and he targets someone and the red lights start flashing, the two of you are locked in… there’s no going back and all of this information appears about the target.

His name was Pete, and I can’t stop thinking about him.  Jesus Christ.  When I looked at him, it was just like Iron Man’s instant information stream.  I felt like I already knew so much about him and knew we would instantly vibe.  He walked past me, and did one of those unnecessary touching your back things while saying excuse me, even though there is plenty of room to pass without the physical contact.  Okay, done.  I was wet just from that, so I knew I was saying hi to him on his way back over.

Just as expected, we immediately hit it off in a way that made it feel like it was scripted dialogue.  Three minutes into the conversation I find out he’s in a band.  Of course.  Fifteen minutes in I find out he plays guitar in the band.  Of course.  Beard, of course.  Tattoos, of course.  Raspy voice… considering my curse, I would say it’s safe to assume that is another, of course.

Eighteen minutes in and he grabs me by the hand, leading me to a quieter area of the bar.  Wet.  Twenty-five minutes into the conversation, my friends that I drove with are ready to leave, so I’m about to mention that we should meet again, and I see the wedding ring glaring at me, radiating energy as if it’s the friggen ring from Lord of the Rings.  It was a stab to the stomach.  First of all, you’re a touring musician and you’re married?!  What is wrong with you?  Secondly, fuck you and me!  We’re both screwed now because I know you felt it too.  So I said bye and just left.  I’m sure I’ll never see that Pete again, but I know that I’ll forever think that we both probably missed out on something really good.

So, my bearded tattooed guitar playing friends, the moral of the story is:

Do not get married, because with my curse, there is a strong possibility that the two of us will meet and both want to rip out our eyeballs if you are.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,