Thursday, 08.31.2017 - 3:22 pm.
Andrew and I are off to Barcelona tomorrow for the weekend. We're going to the David Bowie is exhibition, I'm looking forward to it and strangely nervous. I don't want to go underdressed, for starters. I know it will hit me hard, for many reasons.
Besides that, though, I haven't even done one search about what to do or see in Barcelona. This trip has caught me off guard, even though we've had it planned for over a month.
Last night, it was the birthday party of a very important someone from the Chilean community, the matriarch of the community, really. I realized I hadn't seen that bunch of people pretty much since before summer, at least. A good portion of the group is made up of postgraduate students, and some of them are starting to leave to their home country after finishing their programs. At least one is coming back for a PhD, though: my friend Virginia's doppelgänger. I am thrilled to have her back next spring.
What I want to say, though, is that at the party last night there was M. This woman drives me mad and soon it will be a year since my feelings for her made me realize I was bisexual. I went straight to her, we chatted a bit. She offered me something to drink. It must be noted that she is a fantastic person to anyone, and she will always make sure that everyone has a drink in their hand. I was slightly jealous when I learned she is like that with everyone, but you know, that's very sweet.
Nevertheless. She noticed my charity shop-bought button bracelet, grabbed the arm on which I was wearing it and caressed it. She kept my plastic cup filled with white wine all night. She put her arm around me when I was sitting down and she was standing up talking to someone else. Again, she is like this with anybody; she is lovely to her husband (her husband rocks, too), and she is all about sorority. But I got drunk thanks to her, and I was certain she had a thing for me, too.
NARRATOR VOICEOVER: She didn't.
I resented that she left me to go talk to other people at the party, even though she kept coming back to me with a full plastic cup. I invited her to go for coffee "one of these days", I have to write her to set a date. I actually don't want to go to Barcelona just to stay here and talk to her, which I never do when I'm here anyway.
Right. I'm married, you know. Seeing her and drinking all that wine left me in a state I very rarely would describe myself in: on fire. On fucking fire, feverish, trembling, starving, crushing. Andrew was the big winner in this mess of a situation. I had two orgasms and I went to bed fucking exhausted. He was so happy. I mean, I was happy, too, I love him. But I really need a girlfriend, sorry to be that stereotype of the horny, greedy bi.