Back in Canada, in my adulthood hometown, I thought for sure I would need to turn to mind-altering-slash-life-numbing substances. Maybe not right away—summers are lovely here—but perhaps by autumn and definitely by winter when day”light” (daygray) hours are from 8:00am to 4:30pm.
But a funny thing happened.
I drove home from Los Angeles, made record time, enjoyed clear freeways, experienced no border-crossing wait and no ferry-boat wait. And all with perfect weather.
But that’s not the funny thing. (Funny as in funny-peculiar.)
The odd thing is—(pause, breath)—when I drove off that old, familiar ferry-boat arriving on Vancouver Island, I felt happy to be home.
Home.
This is the first time in four years of returning to Canada after traveling that, one, I felt good about being back, and two, it felt like home.
What have I learned? Sometimes, you have to keep running away from your old Realty Lady self to find your new (and improved) Just Me Self.
So, next time I have the urge to dart, before I depart I’ll put on my red satin Salvatore Ferragamo pumps (with bow and silver buckle), click my heels three times and call my chanterelle supplier. (See The Mid-Life Weary-Go-Round blog.)
Which brings me to …
Best Roommate Everrr
I met Best Roommate Everrr several years ago when we were both selling real estate. That was before Best Roommate Everrr decided such a career was for the dogs—it is a dog-eat-dog career, I admit—and left the business to do other things. We’d run into each other occasionally at social events, not so much by the hand of serendipity, but because this is a small town where people go by the one-degree-of-separation rule—part of the reason I ran away.
So, when I returned from Cali, Best Roommate Everrr had a house and a spare room and agreed to a summer guest—me!
Fast forward to approximately three days after I move in, and we are like an long-married couple, not having sex and covering topics such as what makes us gassy—
Raw garlic. Stay clear away if you feed me raw garlic. Chef beware!
Rumbly or smelly?
SBD.
SBD?
Silent but deadly. Even I can’t stand myself. Nasty, rancid-ass.
Good to know … Everything makes me gassy.
Good to know.
We’ve discussed cleaning duties and expectations. (We are both OCD clean/tidy, thank you baby Jesus!)—
I’ll do dusting.
I’ll vacuum.
We can take turns.
I’d rather vacuum than mop.
I’ll mop.
I’ll do my bathroom, you’ll do yours?
Sounds good.
In unison, clapping: Best roommate everrr!
However, I may have exaggerated about helping in the vegetable garden … as in you will never find me with dirty finger nails (or near bugs), unless I’m dead and rotting worm-bait.
Which is kind of interesting because I thought I might try my supple-skinned hands (with polished nails) at farming. Organic, of course. But that’s another story.
Best Roommate Everrr and I discuss our spiritual path—
So if we’re ever-living spiritual beings that keep getting sent back to live a specific life—we’re discussing a book written about reincarnation and the after/in-between life—then how does divine destiny play in?
Well, maybe Free Will means God—Source, as you call it—has a plan for us, but there are seemingly a multitude of options. Or maybe we just think there are options and even though we think we’re making our own decisions, it’s all planned out anyway and we’re just following that path.
We carry on like this until our brains are tired, and we’re yawning on couches facing each other with towels or T-shirts wrapped around our heads while we soak our feet in buckets of boiling (detoxifying!) ginger-water.
Then we watch a spiritual video by a guru of the moment—Wayne Dyer, Abraham Hicks, Matt Kahn—and a few episodes of Game of Thrones (love!). After that, I go to my room and take a flying leap into bed (to avoid the gap under the bed) and pray: God, if there are spirits—or dragons—I’d rather not have any interactions, thank you so much, in Jesus’s name, amen. Then I fall asleep and have weird dreams.
Best Roommate Everrr and I talk about “our type”—
I have a hairy-chest fetish. Honestly, I’ve neverrrrr been attracted to a guy without a hairy chest. Neverrr.
I prefer a smooth chest.
We both laugh.
Tall, dark and handsome. Though, I’ve gone out with a guy who was relatively short. And I’d make an exception for The Gerry (Gerard Butler) on the chest hair thing. He’s only got a sprout of hair in the middle of his chest, but I could Rogaine it or something. But it doesn’t matter because right now I’m not interested in dating.
I like a natural chest—(we laugh)—but I’m open. I’m more interested in someone’s energy and spiritual beliefs.
This might be a good place to mention that Best Roommate Everrr is a guy. A handsome, super-fit, body-of-Adonis, wood-chopping, truck-driving dude. A dude who I constantly assess as being gay. As in happy, which he totally is, but also as in Which way do you swing, bud?
Though he is uber masculine in physique with muscles and tattoos and well, more muscles, he also has some feminine mannerisms and is “very in touch with [his] feminine energy.” He tells me that he was likely a woman in his last 40 lives. I believe him. And if there is such a thing, I must have been a man in my last 40 because I’ve got masculine energy up the ying-yang, which is a vagina, I assure you. Not that it matters.
Just because I look like a girly-girl and act like a girly-girl does not mean I have the energy of a girly-girl. Anyone who’s ever experienced me in business or intimate relationships knows this.
Anyway, one evening I come home after having been out for a couple glasses of wine with my gal pals, and with liquid courage, I straight up ask him, Have you ever thought you might be gay?
I’m hoping he says yes so I can fulfill my fantasy of having a gay-man bitchy bestie like David Sedaris (my favourite sardonic gay-man/author). Or like you see in the movies, or at least in the TV show, Sex and the City. Best Roommate Everrr’s not bitchy or an interior designer, but he so could be!
He’s got great decorating taste, his favourite word is “Devine!”, he’s usually the first to notice and mention a “good looking man,” and he makes a mean coconut-oil/eucalyptus salt scrub. (Raised eyebrow.) He’d never fit into my shoes, so I wouldn’t have to worry about that.
He’s not offended but says, Nope. Not gay.
Really? Not even a little bit? I’m disappointed. I thought you said you were “open.”
Well, I’d be open if there were at least a couple girls there, too—
Aha! You said “too”! So, are you a giver or a taker? (Giggle)
Listen, you dirty rotten interrupter—
Sorry! Oops, sorry, again. Carry on—
If you let me finish … Anyway, I wouldn’t want to suck dick or [do] anything in the ‘exit only’ area—
I can’t help but interrupt again: What’s left? Sorry.
Apparently, it might be okay if Best Roommate Everr was in a situation with a man present. But only if there were a bunch of girls.
Um, that’s called an orgy, my friend.
Two girls and two guys?
Yes. So, really you’re just horny … with a side of gay!
I’m not sure if this makes me feel more relaxed with him or not, and I’m totally unconvinced of anything, anyway. To be on the safe side, I tell him to stay out of my dresses.
Even the stretchy ones!
*
It’s June but feels like July. It’s a Monday but, because we’re both jobless, we go to the beach.
The clouds are perfect. Every type of wispy, billowy, columnous cloud decorates the otherwise clear, azure sky. The day is warm and we have shelter under a make-shift palapa. We are sunscreened and relaxed.
We chat about the time we did “schrooms.” Actually, we drank them, a nothing fancy fungi tea. I was a rookie, having never tried them before.
Anticipation was high, and we’d soon hoped to be, too.
Nothing happened.
An hour later, we experienced a bellowing laughter session that lasted three hours.
Him: Nothing. You?
Me: Nada.
Bad batch.
Maybe they were cut with something.
Walmart mushrooms.
(Interject gut-wrenching, gasping, squeaky laughter throughout all.)
Walmart button mushrooms!
Wally button mushhhh …mushhh …shhh shh sh …
Ahahahahaha …
I think they were cut with belly button lint!
Dryer lint!
Dryer lint!!
Button mushrooms!
Back on the beach, we reminisce, laughing at our folly. He’s eating a bag of candied nuts and offers me a cashew.
Me: Your nut has spit on it.
Him: Bahahahahaha …
Me: Bahahahahaha …
I eat it, anyway. We laugh hysterically.
Shiny, spittled nuts!
Hahahahaha …
And so on. And I realize that we giggle, chortle and chuckle often because I’m a silly goose and he’s a goofy gander, and we actually don’t even need fungal assistance at all.
Later, he goes for a walk on the beach while I flick bugs off my towel. I look over to see that he’s changed his swim trunks to ones with a lighter shade—flesh. Fortunately, I glance over just before his fine white ass dives into the water. I blink a few times then look away—I totally swear this is truth, why would I lie???—and don’t look again until he is re-robed and back on his Mexican blanket.
The only reason I can think of as to why I wouldn’t be the least bit curious to check out his dingle-dangle-dong is not because I’m a lesbo (I’m not), but maybe I really am a dude, but not a gay dude because what guy checks out another man’s dingle-dangle unless he is a total ‘mo? Just sayin’.
Plus, I like rugged, hairy men and Best Roommate Everrr shaves his chest. In my limited imagination and closed-mindedness, a man that shaves his chest is either unawares (closet) gay or vain1.
Plus plus, even though I’m still vain, I’m also an unapologetic hypocrite and find the vanity quality in men a turn-off. (See memoir.)
Plus plus plus, I’m actually enjoying my frigidity!
That evening:
Him: Ginger foot-bath! Who’s with me!
Me: Me!
In unison, (clapping at chin level): Best rroommate eeeverrr.
What have I (re)learned?
As long as you’re not doing harm, especially to the vulnerable (children, animals, invalids), I’m okay with whatever brand of spirituality and sexuality you’re into. Live and let live.
God’s bounty includes naturally foraged fungi, but it also includes experiencing beauty in nature—the images found in a cloud, the smell after a summer rain, the taste of a fresh, ripe raspberry, the feel of cool grass under bare feet—which can be appreciated stone-cold sober, if we care to pay attention, especially when the mushrooms are cut with navel debris, people!
We are all naked under our clothes. Au natural? No big deal. Get over it.
Homework: Skip the ‘schrooms and enjoy home and all its natural wonders. Well …ehem, not all of them …
Eu …ca …lyp …tus!
