October 28, 2008

California Schemin’

My fella and I promised to each other that we would both keep living in Chicago as long as we escaped for part of the winter. Living here 9 months out of the year is pretty darned alright. Summers included. Personally, after living for 19 years (ok- take away the time I spent at Boarding School and College) in a city whose weather fluctuations are five degrees on either side of 68°, a 98° summer is luxurious in the way I have to sleep with just a sheet, constantly crave water-ice and work all day with all the windows open.

So now, after having survived three winters in Chicago, (well, almost; I escaped to England for 10 weeks last year), 68° sounds really luxurious compared to the 34° degree morning I just had. First we talked about going to Brazil. Brazil would be awesome. I’d study up on my Portugese. We’d pack a tiny bag and head to Brazil, to do what? I don’t know what they do there, besides Samba. Then we looked at tickets. $800 for the cheap ones! Shacking up in my friend’s basement for practically nothing and visiting my favorite cafés and dance hang-outs seems like a pretty good deal.

So… while I try to figure out who’s going to pay my rent while I’m gone, I’ve started doing things that are reminiscent of San Francisco.

1. I stayed up late last night downloading the entire discography of Sade. I know, I’m supposed to have more sophisticated musical standards. I shouldn’t like something that even I can readily classify as “smooth jazz.” But it’s nostalgic! I spent my 26th birthday driving up the California Coast, renting myself a room at a romantic little inn and taking myself out to dinner. I listened to Sade for the entire trip, so now when I hear her, I think of that beautiful coastal drive and the subsequent days of romantic longing for some beau that didn’t last very long.
2. I started hunting down blogs of people I knew in San Francisco to see what they’re up to and just to get that little taste of California. This resulted in the following chain of discoveries: One of my friends’ exes has a new apartment and job. A friend of hers just got proposed to, and the blog entry was so touching, it brought me to tears, and I don’t even know this woman! Said couple also recently had their apartment featured in Apartment Therapy, a website I visited while remodeling my current attic in the sky. I popped over and clicked around half-heartedly, wishing I too could have a fashionable cramped Victorian and promising myself to get back to work. Then I saw a name I recognized. I clicked.

And then, there he was. The most attractive client who has ever walked through my door, his apartment and all its glorious nooks and crannies spread wide for my inspection, there on the internet.

I felt like some sort of perverse apartment peeper. I mean, I hadn’t googled his name to see what he was up to or find out where he worked. He was just there, lurking around an internet corner and now I’m in his living room, wandering through his office and inspecting his garden-art. Apparently he too has an apartment worthy of Apartment Therapy’s photographers.

He only came to see me once, probably because I was out of his way, (I tell myself), as he lived on the other side of town. When he walked in my door, I probably did what most men do when they see Angelina Jolie up close. I stammered and tried to maintain my composure while I stared at his lips. Only, unlike those stammering drooling masses, I was about to put my hands on his body and see what the rest of it looked like. I’ve worked on a lot of bodies in my time… athletes, dancers, gymnasts. They all had an appreciable human form. But for some reason, this man’s individual combination of hands, arms, legs, feet, lips, torso and glutes (oh those glutes) combined to create the most disconcertingly handsome form I have ever laid hands on.

I took a deep breath, thanked the massage gods for allowing me to see such perfection and then I sculpted him. Oh how I worked those muscles! How I made sure he was properly draped, just so as to avoid being accused of therapy perversion! How I barely let my eyes crawl over him while my hands did the seeing. But, oh the things I saw!

It was a truly sublime experience. An entirely appropriate, but sublime experience, I assure you.

And then he paid and walked out the door, and that was that. I sighed, collapsed into a kitchen chair, relieved that I had survived the hour without doing something stupid, like commenting on his remarkable femur to tibia ratio or observing that he must consume the perfect amount of minerals and water.

So… yes. I’m going to spend the winter in San Francisco, hopefully starting in December. I’ve got a car to sell, a subletter to find and tickets to buy. Not to mention a suitcase to pack! All dance shoes! All dance shoes!