From the Mouths of Mates

One of my favorite people in Australia said this on the phone a couple days ago, and I've been dying to share. I think this may be not only the quote of the week, but the quote of MY LIFE:

"I'm just figuring out what I'm going to do as an ex-lesbian single mother of a half-Indian child fathered by a sugar daddy."

Fair enough, Meg. Fair enough. I think we've all been there.

I am really going to miss my Australian friends.

We All Live in a Yellow Submarine

As I traverse the world of random dates and half-assed "relationships," I've been remembering the wise words of a man I met on the train to New Haven last year. His name was Rick. He was a fifty-something musician with scraggly teeth, leathery skin, and a pocket full of promotional stickers (and probably broken dreams). He and his lover Rose were on their way to Connecticut to spend time with Rick’s family.

I do not normally talk to strangers on the Metro North railroad. I prefer to use this time to read, listen to music, or write. However, the train was particularly crowded that day, and Rick and Rose had graciously moved their bags off the seat across from them as they saw me wandering aimlessly in search of a quiet corner. And, after asking me what I did for a living and where I was from, Rick imparted words of wisdom I will never forget.

“Well, good luck in life. This is a big time for you. You just go out there like a baby in a submarine—openin’ doors and pushin’ buttons. You’re an attractive girl, it’ll all work out.”

With that, he and Rose grabbed their bags, their empty bottles of hard lemonade, and got off at Bridgeport. As the doors dinged shut, I thought he was crazy, and promptly wrote down the misguided ravings of a lunatic. What would a baby be doing in a submarine? If said baby was in this submarine, wouldn’t opening doors cause water to rush in and kill the baby? Was that old guy hitting on me?

But now, his words ring true. He is clear as Swarovski crystal. I am indeed a baby—only 23 years young. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m crawling around this big, wide, ocean-like world, but I’m still protected—in a submarine, if you will. And if I’m going to navigate my way around, I better take some chances, push some buttons, and get this sub a-moving!

I’d like to think Rick was my guardian angel, sent down for an hour and fifteen minutes to show me the way.*

And I carry his words around in my back pocket along with his promotional sticker-- and a safety condom.

*He also told me to be careful if I was in Jamaica, cause those boys would "sweet talk me more than a sugar-covered doughnut." How could one man know so much?