Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Go to Hell. Go Directly to Hell.

That’s a text I just sent Slim. Here is what happened:

When Slim returned from the west coast, he brought with him the little white cashmere sweater that his father, Dr. M., had very kindly bought me for Christmas with the nice note, “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Sadie.” I was very touched, and after dinner (a semi-foolhardly exploration of southwestern flavors) I called him to say thank you.

He was extremely charming and said, ‘you should know that your boyfriend is smitten like he’s never been smitten before! His mother and I can’t believe it.”

(They also liked my marmalade, which, it seems, was not tainted by the circumstance of having been made during our last big fight, Like Water for Chocolate-style.)

Well, I was very delighted, and immediately and slyly relayed the conversation to Slim (who, to his credit, was doing dishes.)

“I was just lonely, so he got the wrong impression,” he said cavalierly. Then went on to say that his dad had said something very similar to all his girlfriends, being a southern charmer.

I was furious and said coolly that he needn’t go to any special pains to keep me on my toes, as he leaves me in constant assurance of his general inconstancy and immaturity, and that quite frankl he needn’t do me any favors as the door was open etc. etc. and lord knows I am not so desperate to have him around…etc.

Then he was very contrite and made many attempts to make it up to me, but this morning I found myself still coolly furious and I sent the above text.

Await further developments.

As re: Christmas, well, I received a fine chef’s knife (the kind that uses Samurai technology) plus some warm boots, plus copies of Crumb and Spellbound. (Although I coveted my brother’s Sorrow and the Pity.) As re: Charlie, he gifted me with a flowered housecoat from Marietta Fashions.

GK4 was doing a lot of talking about shooting himself while he was home (he has a whole batterie of firearms) so I took the precaution of calling his shrink (again.)

GK4 says he received: “2 books of doggerel, 3 bottles of booze, a belt embroidered with pheasants, and 2 cat toys.” (Makes my rather pointed gift. C.S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain, look pretty fun.) His grandparents assured him that these belts are all the rage in New York.

He asked what Slim had given me, and when I told him the boxed “Girl Group Sounds” 4-CD set (cunningly packaged in a striped hatbox) and a pocket knife inscribed with my name, GK4 said, “are you tempted to open that knife and plunge it into the soft tissue surrounding his heart?”

“Um, no,” I said cautiously. “I think I’m going to get off, now.”

(He also described my gift of The Power Broker as “a big kilo of coal in (Slim’s ) stocking.” )

Big hit: audiobook of The Fountainhead. Charlie and I listened to it on the way home and were absolutely gleeful. Never has a book been so well suited to the audio format.

(Just talked to Slim; everything seems to be okay. Although I haven’t made up my mind.)

Did not receive: Birthday Cakes cookbook. Slim did not receive requested cashmere bow tie, either. From me he did receive, in addition to Caro, hip flask and scarf knitted with my own two etc.


Think everything is okay. He is very tired and went to bed at six-thirty at his own place. I’ve taken the opportunity to watch Walking the Bible.

In other news, I met my dad at La Bonne Soupe for lunch, then saw Sweeney Todd at the Ziegfeld. Fed GK4’s cats, Owl and Abelard (were ours jointly). Fielded call from GK4 himself, who asked casually,

“So, have you had sex recently?”

I have read that allergies and sinus problems are an indication of psychic ability (general sensitivity, I suppose), but I can’t pretend that information is much of a comfort lately; that sharp, shifting ache has been with me constantly – and everyone else, I suppose. So excuse a somewhat fractured air. (Also, am watching Walking the Bible, as mentioned.)

(As re: psychic phenomena, am reading Hilary Mantel’s Beyond Black; also have decided to learn a little something about Joan Grant, although the fact that she had three marriages gives me pause.)

By the way, isn’t Penny Dreadful the most terrific name? If I were a Gotham Girl, or a drag queen, or even a DJ, I’d use it so fast…as it is, I’m wishing I could change my Gawker commenter handle, which is pretty weak. Maybe “Penny Dreadful” would be better than “The Petite Sophisticate?”

(Being a Bedouin looks complete crap. Still better than being an Inuit, though. Oh, wait, they just explained that they’re closer to God than people in cities. Fair enough.)

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