unthematic french casino

things, places, times

Last week, I went to Barton Springs, something I have managed to successfully avoid for my entire Austin life (coming up on four years).  My usual approach to the absurd amount of heat that Texas can dole out has been to bear it with an aplomb that comes from growing up in a wet, hot farm in California (my mum recounted recently it would routinely climb to almost 110 in the summer).  I generally avoid swimming just because I am periodically consumed by a physical self-loathing.  It has definitely gotten better with time.  Also weight loss, people thinking i am purty and wanting to do it with me and an acceptance of the idea that I do not want to be a physically perfect gay-cookie-cutter Ken doll.  There is still a disconnect.  In trying to articulate it to myself and others, I think particularly with Barton it is a fatalistic certainty that I will run into one of my dreamweavers and they will see that I am totally not maybe secreting away a ripped form.

Needless to say, when a wonderful friend called to invite me to attend their free night swim, it seemed a little too good/relaxing to turn down.  And it felt good that I was chosing to do that instead of living under my self-imposed iron curtain.  But of course, I did see my #1 dreamweaver in a freak coincidence (I was in the water thank god) but managed to not talk to him but I could see that he was recognizing me?  Or I am combining my usual exciting melage of self-destruction and narcissism?  Whichevs.  But it could not stand in the way of the wonder of something huge that was an exciting struggle to swim-traverse..to quote The Boobs That Have Killerd from Swimming Pool…swimming pools are boring.  And tiny.  And depressing.

I may even end up going again tonight as it is aforementioned wonderful friend’s birthday.

I am trying, always trying, to live more in my body.  More activity, less self-conciousness.  Now I have come to a new and exciting head in which I am going on the long-promised diet in which I only eat chicken, sweet taters and apples, with the occasional hard-boiled egg and string cheese for a snack.  I was also trying to not have coffee or beer, but I think I still have to have beer if I go somewhere and there is a keg…anything less would be unAmerican.  This weekend proved to be one of last hurrahs in anticipation of these renunciations.  On Saturday night, I made gratin dauphinois and it was INSANE and should be renamed gratin cardiac delice.  Lots of drinking to sweet excess and then a little past, lots of yelling about things I can’t control and probably freaking out everyone around me and two, not one but TWO, nights of smoking probably 4 cigarettes.  On the first night, I got away with it via blaming it on the presence of my estranged bestie, but the second night was pretty much just talking to a really cute dude.  SIGH!!  Which is kind of a bitch to look back on / feel in your throat.  But.  There are so many ways to be pissed at yourself.  And I am not going to do this one.

Still need to attain the ultimate living-in-my-body-less-in-my-brain-watching-my-life-disappear BIKING.  Walking everywhere is cool but it takes my entire fucking life to get anywhere.  But having nothing going on and no money pretty much makes this okay.

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