Sep. 6th, 2018 02:03 pm
Buy the book
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muckefuckOutside right now it is 20°C and raining and I am not joking when I say I couldn't be happier. This is the weather I've been waiting months for. This is reading weather. I'm in the middle of three books in three different languages right now but that's not going to stop me from heading out shortly and buying a fourth one in a fourth language--and one I already own to boot.
The book is Rayuela by Julio Cortázar and I came across it yesterday while sheltering from 32°C heat at lunchtime. I thought I'd bought it before but wasn't sure, so I made a footnote to check for it when I got home. I have it, but I don't like the edition as much as the one for sale so I'm going back today to pick it up anyway.
Funny story: While I was rolling around on the bed last night with Pasillero, the terrific little chubby I met last Saturday, his leg went swinging over the side of the bed and I heard something fall. Only after he'd left and was riding the bus home did I investigate and found that--out of everything piled on that side of the bed--he'd managed to hit upon my copy of Rayuela.
Since I promised salacious details, here's how that came to pass: A couple pals were coming to the monthly cocktail party direct from a theatre date with their friends, so I said, "Bring them along!" At the time it was only me and BD, my journalist friend, so I joked that we'd each get one. After they'd been there a short while and were in the kitchen refiling their glass, I went up to one of the pals who'd brought them and said, "I dib Pasillero."
I told Pasillero this last night and it cracked him up. We'd all ended up at Touché after cocktails and I hung around him hoping to spark something but he told me he wanted "just a hug". So even though he'd told me to get his number from our mutual, I didn't hold out much hope of any follow-through. In fact, this goes down in the annals as one of the very few times someone at that bar has told me we'd get together later and it's actually happened.
I think what I'm most chuffed about is being dead on about how much fun he'd be to play with. If anything, it went even better than hoped. He's got mad skills, he really enjoyed making me squirm, and he wanted to cuddle afterwards. We felt really in synch about everything. And when it came out in the pillow talk that he majored in Spanish and only fell into business by accident, I was ready to cry shenanigans. As I told a friend, if he weren't coupled, I would totally date the shit out of him.
It also came out that he's a year younger than me. "The white hair confused you," he said, and I had to admit it was true. I told him I should've known better since my late husband had gone white in his 30s, but of course I didn't meet him until he was over 50 so it wasn't as striking. Also that he's Hispanic on his mother's side. I would say I'm in a rut in that respect except, if so, it's one delicious and rewarding rut!
The book is Rayuela by Julio Cortázar and I came across it yesterday while sheltering from 32°C heat at lunchtime. I thought I'd bought it before but wasn't sure, so I made a footnote to check for it when I got home. I have it, but I don't like the edition as much as the one for sale so I'm going back today to pick it up anyway.
Funny story: While I was rolling around on the bed last night with Pasillero, the terrific little chubby I met last Saturday, his leg went swinging over the side of the bed and I heard something fall. Only after he'd left and was riding the bus home did I investigate and found that--out of everything piled on that side of the bed--he'd managed to hit upon my copy of Rayuela.
Since I promised salacious details, here's how that came to pass: A couple pals were coming to the monthly cocktail party direct from a theatre date with their friends, so I said, "Bring them along!" At the time it was only me and BD, my journalist friend, so I joked that we'd each get one. After they'd been there a short while and were in the kitchen refiling their glass, I went up to one of the pals who'd brought them and said, "I dib Pasillero."
I told Pasillero this last night and it cracked him up. We'd all ended up at Touché after cocktails and I hung around him hoping to spark something but he told me he wanted "just a hug". So even though he'd told me to get his number from our mutual, I didn't hold out much hope of any follow-through. In fact, this goes down in the annals as one of the very few times someone at that bar has told me we'd get together later and it's actually happened.
I think what I'm most chuffed about is being dead on about how much fun he'd be to play with. If anything, it went even better than hoped. He's got mad skills, he really enjoyed making me squirm, and he wanted to cuddle afterwards. We felt really in synch about everything. And when it came out in the pillow talk that he majored in Spanish and only fell into business by accident, I was ready to cry shenanigans. As I told a friend, if he weren't coupled, I would totally date the shit out of him.
It also came out that he's a year younger than me. "The white hair confused you," he said, and I had to admit it was true. I told him I should've known better since my late husband had gone white in his 30s, but of course I didn't meet him until he was over 50 so it wasn't as striking. Also that he's Hispanic on his mother's side. I would say I'm in a rut in that respect except, if so, it's one delicious and rewarding rut!