Midnight Boxer
01.12.2008
arrived for our writer's date incredibly sweaty & odds in favor of smelly as well. As I stripped out of my sweatshirt and headed to the bathroom (that I realized was a spa ), Elizabeth knew exactly the comment that would make me feel invincible: "You look so Everlast with that tank top". Everlast being a word that I associate with a midnight boxer-with-ripped-arms champion over pale, body much neglected midwesterner. After tonight's work out, I certainly had my rose colored glasses on: I am a midnight boxer. Whatever that is.
Claude, Elizabeth's boyfriend, was out on the town so we used his super chic apartment for our own little meeting space. This place has original abstract art with deep meanings but Elizabeth and I could only see polar bears, century old violins, original letters writter by famous celloists, retro couches, etc. And as I quickly jumped in the shower, I marveled at Claude's excellent choice of dried lavender sitting next to an odd shaped candle in the tub with me. I felt ashamed thinking of my own bathroom whose style was influenced by your Grandma. By the time I was done, there were two lovelies (other than Elizabeth) that waited for me: a gin martini in a retro fish doodled martini glass and the new Bruce Springsteen cd blaring on the stereo.
We drank, Elizabeth succeeding in getting me way, way, way tipsy (an event that has only happened one other time with Melissa), and danced to/ analyzed the words of Bruce while reading each other's poetry/ prose. With Elizabeth's head resting on my shoulder and our eyes gazing upon her glowing mac book, we re-invented our sexy song list, philosophical stand on sexology (hi Lindsey!), Hillary Clinton, and re-lived the most embarassing moments of our lives which luckily we endured together. I will end this post with a few Elizabeth VB poetrysnips that melted me last night (and three winters ago).