[Somewhere in the few weeks after March 20]
A few months back I had given up on Marta. I decided it was time to take the hint and leave her alone. She had stopped answering my e-mails. I figured she was too polite and dysfunctional to just tell me to get lost, so she was ignoring me in the hope that I would go away. So I went away. Actually, I sent her one last birthday card, telling myself it was my own personal good-bye. I did this without rancor or drama. And it was good. A few days later, before the card had time to travel to Washington, the phone rings and there she is on the other end of the line.
She just called to say hello, talk, catch up, and tell me she was moved into her new house (her own house, not a rental). It was a good conversation. I was wrong - she wasn't wanting me to go away. Funny thing is, in the weeks since then I haven't really felt like writing or calling. Perhaps my choice to let go of it took on its own life and was never reversed. Perhaps some day I'll pick up the phone and call her. Who knows.
She did give me a few ideas on dating and money. Basically tell the chicks that my wife told me about being lesbian years ago and let them make what assumptions they will. Then the truth can come out after a few conversations - build the rapport, then drag out the ugly truth. On money she suggested that I just ask She Who Spends With Wild Abandon point-blank what portion of the household budget she is responsible for, then hold her to it. Then set up my own checking account without her name attached to it.
There was much more discussed, but very little recalled.
In other news, I am eternally pissed off at Steamers for - once again - not being open on a Sunday (and this one being a Sunday where the coffee bitch swore in advance she would be there). I will not be returning for a while.
Around the Equinox was Gnostic Mass at Dave's place (actually it was in the clubhouse). It was good to do Mass again, and to have it done properly without savage country rules imposed. The turnout was excellent. Willow was there, and broke the news that she is preggers. This may be more than I can bear. If I run into her when she is about 5 months along, I may just drop to my knees and beg for sex. (Pregnant women do this too me...) Gretchen was also there, and dragging along a new companion.
Priest for this mass was Jeffrey. (whose last name escapes me), a man of accomplishment and talent who is about 10 years older than I am. I mentioned that I was the local Minerval, but managed to do it in a way that wasn't self deprecating. We got into a bit of a conversation about his early days in the O.T.O.. He took out his Minerval when I was a pimple faced kid at Dixon Jr. High. He also spent enough time hanging put at the Thelema Lodge to be able to tell some interesting stories - it seems the raid on the lodge that everyone in the O.T.O. wails and moans about was probably justified.
Somewhere in this time frame I asked Pam about getting my first degree initiation. I had been in waiting mode, figuring the urge would hit me at the right time. It sort of did, but not as I had imagined it. What hit me was the desire to act the role of deacon in the Mass. Things are open enough here that any competent person can act the role, but to be ordained to the office of deacon, you need to be second degree. You also need to be baptized and confirmed in the EGC. So I figured I needed to get the ball rolling by asking for the initiation, then memorizing the deacon role in the mass.