Taylor the Teacher

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I Can Already Tell It’s Going to Be a Great Weekend.

It’s Friday, and I am thinking I have it made to have some wine in me, a man that loves me, some friends over, a cool evening, a screened-in porch, and a chance to be semi-alone and write. Yes. We have friends over, and I’m semi-alone. They’re really my husband’s friends and, at the moment, none of them have girlfriends. So I’m free to “be with” but come and go as I please. It’s nice.

They’ll each come out on the porch for a while to talk to me about cool, interesting stuff and then, as if real conversation has caused system failure, they drift back inside for more guy talk like they’re recovering from a bad drunk. So far I’ve overheard fart noises, more than one mention of testicles (”nuts,” “nut sack,” “balls deep,” “bust a nut”) and a conversation about one of them flying downtown for a drink like Superman so he wouldn’t have to walk down there and another of them hanging onto the Man of Steel’s balls so he didn’t have to walk either.

All of this cracks me up on several levels. When they say something really juvenile, one of two things will happen: I will either laugh to myself (secretly or out loud), and envy their ability to live in the moment and not care what anyone else thinks, or I’ll think they’re really simian and stupid and bask in my own complexity. Either is satisfying. And it’s meta-satisfying to notice this further complexity in myself and write it down.

The only asinine thing they do that really bothers me is this loud, grunting-like noise they like to make randomly, as if – as if they’re straining to take a shit? I really don’t know, and I’ve asked more than once. There’s nothing remotely funny about it. But apparently these noises are hilarious to them. As soon as someone makes that noise all the other males in the room laugh until they’re red in the face. [Insert clever multi-media here, which I have no idea how to do, that re-works Elaine Benes’ face and voice saying, instead of “Not a fan of the yelling,” “Not a fan of the grunting noise.” With the same Julia Louis-Dreyfus facial expressions, which are brilliant, by the way.]

But other than that, I love having them over. This “being with” and “being alone” is like being in a family, and these guys would make a cool family. If only families were so comfortable.

But I really would rather be here than anywhere: nut sacks and all. The odd thing is that I’m so glad to be writing.

I’m probably two steps from some kind of Alex Trebek complex.