they say it's spring

as i stood at the bus stop in the late afternoon spring sunshine, listening to coltrane, i thought about how, when i was younger and more optimistic (i.e. much more stupid), i'd imagine this ridiculous scenario of perfection.

a scenario where i would be with a man who adored me, and share my love of jazz. and we would have a lovely place where the afternoon sun would stream in through large french windows as we sat on lovely plush couches, or beanbags, or at the bay window, with my legs across his lap and our cat snuggled near us. we'd play coltrane on some awesome sound system (because all boys like that), read the new yorker and do the times crossword, drink tea or an afternoon martini.

none of the men i've dated like jazz, nor do they have apartments which enjoy the afternoon sunshine. so i don't think this idealistic scenario is going to turn into reality anytime soon.

on my way home from dinner tonight my cab happened to turn down spy guy's street. i couldn't resist looking towards his apartment, and happened to see spy guy walking across his bedroom. it was unmistakably him, his walk - though i'm not sure if there was someone else in his apartment too. the thing is, i felt this slight buzz from just a glimpse of him. no wonder michaela called to make sure i was ok and detached. the thing is, spy guy must have been a bit of a nerd or an outsider in school. from what he's told me, i can't imagine him as the most popular guy the way the one who got away was. but there's still something appealing about him, which i suppose means that it doesn't matter how popular you were in school, once you get out there, and cross the atlantic, your street cred doesn't travel far...