Man I couldn’t wake up this morning. Perhaps too many jazz cigarettes last night. There’s an unease between Bill and myself lately. I need to keep reminding him to communicate. And it’s an odd thing to say to someone who usually has a lot to say. He claims to be embarrassed by talking about some things, embarrassed in front of the one person on the planet whom he shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of.

Yesterday I was hoping that we could spend some nice quality time together, hell, I would’ve gone to Tekserve with him if he had asked. He was there most of the afternoon, in the audio department playing a piano. Nice. Would have liked to have seen that. Would’ve been nice to walk around the city, even Chelsea with him. But I wasn’t asked.

The summer has a lot of fun things happening this summer and I plan on going to these shows with various friends, or even going alone. Tomorrow night, there is a show at the World Financial Center featuring the Eels. I’ve heard some good things about them, and the singer E, smokes cigars onstage, which should give me liberty to smoke a cigar in the audience while watching the show. It’s something to do, its outdoors and it’s free. This weekend Teddy Thompson will be at Summerstage and he falls in with the Wainwright crowd, Rufus and Martha. Teddy is the child of Richard and Linda Thompson. He’s sung a duet with Rufus on the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack, King of the Road.

Talented children from broken homes. Oh why wasn’t my house broken? Why wasn’t I house broken?

Work was ok, walked down Hudson listening to selections from the Beatles Anthology discs. Songs that never made the cut, songs with one of the Fabs joking about before launching into a nearly adequate version of one of their hits. Some were understandably never released, only available to feverish collectors of all things Fab.

Got to the office, major big wigs in from the UK. Nice blokes they seem to be. Felicia returned from her four day weekend which didn’t seem to be much fun for her since she was the planner for a coworkers wedding. She’s not too keen on the coworker, and according to Felicia, this coworker has a habit of saying the wrong thing. Apparently the coworker made a comment about it being a good thing that Felicia had cancer since planning for the wedding would enable Felicia to devote her depleted energy to the event.

Felicia does seem to be rather cool and I found we both agree that some of the Brits that work in the office really have some snobbish aspects. It’s mainly two women, two slags as they’re called over there. It’s almost as if they have titanium rods up their arses, all the way to their stiff upper lips. We ran down mental lists of who in the office we like and who we don’t and our lists were almost identical. Granted, Felicia was on top of that list when I started, then she started falling lower on the list, eventually winding up off the list completely.

It’s a good thing I wrote the list with a mental pencil.

Felicia and I have made plans to check out Me’Shell Ndegeocello next week in Madison Square Park. You’re welcome to join us.

So many things lately, or for the past few years, have happened in Bryant Park. Right now, I’m listening to Rufus Wainwright singing ‘Peach Trees’ from Want Two and he mentions a long walk through Bryant Park. It’s a nice slice of green in midtown Manhattan, directly behind the Public Library on 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue. I used to meet Bill for lunch when he was steadily working for the Really Big Law Firm and I worked for Epoch Mark, a staffing agency diagonal from the Library.

Today I met up with Sarah, a dear friend I used to work with. She’s really smart and pretty and has a great sense of humor. We both worked together at Wanker Banker, though she left in February of 2005. We both started out working side by side underneath Robert McWacco, who was the office manager. We made a pretty good team the three of us, with Robert and I butting heads, and Sarah running interference for me at least.

She now lives in Hackensack around where I came from. She lives there with her husband Bob. I can never find the time or the mode of transportation to get me out to visit so meeting in Manhattan was ideal. A neutral territory with more options of things to do than Hoboken had to offer. And it was what should have been a 15 minutes bus ride into the city, turning into 45 minutes. But I had a good seat and plenty to read and an iPod so I was content to be occupied.

Before I left Bill and I had a good long talk. Nothing was settled of course but it seems to take a lot of effort to get Bill talking. And that is quite odd since Bill is known for all the talking he does. The man can talk your ear off, and not in a bad way. He’s just that animated when he’s telling you a story. There seems to have been a misunderstanding with Phillip and myself regarding Bill’s session on Friday night. I think I was supposed to have been there after all, and Phillip was supposed to have time to prepare for a solo session with Bill.

But apparently they made do. He came home, I was chillin’, and reading Mojo with the TV was on just for some colored lights. He came home, gave me some fantastic Godiva chocolates and we sat next to each other watching a movie on IFC. He told me the session went well and that was about it.

This morning he was sticking around, not driving anywhere, which was odd. I’m getting used to weekends alone since he’s off driving somewhere. It’s his passion to be a bus driver and he likes to drive long distances on weekends. I usually miss the bus. He’s hoping for a three day trip to Canada. If he wants to do that, fine. I’m not getting in his way. The majority of our time together is spent sleeping next to each other anyhow. With Bill’s driving passion for getting away, I have lots of free time and available for anyone or anything.

Bill said he would make plans to take some time off in July or August, but I reminded him that we tried that last year and wound up sitting on a cold gray rainy beach. It was nice to be with him but overall it was a drag. We also talked about sex. Though I had to explain that talking about sex doesn’t mean that I want to have sex with him right then and there. No, I wanted to talk about sex. And I don’t mean dirty sex stories like the pillow talk we used to have all those years ago. I meant talking about the issues of why we just stopped having sex. It seems to be true, familiarity breeds contempt. We both have lost sexual attraction for each other. It happens. He can drive a bus and I can drive someone else. I have to say it made things clearer about what happened when we saw Dave Chappelle’s Block Party.

It was in my final months at Wanker Banker and I was having a bad day and hadn’t eaten so I was king crab. I did meet a phoine man named Lawrence who was dressed to the nines, wearing a fedora and smoking a nice big cigar, not too ostentatious. Turns out he was doing work for Wanker Banker in some capacity. I ingratiated myself and gave him a bottle of water and laid a Padron 5000 on his fine ass. He was just so damn hot.

I had plans to see the Chappelle movie with Bill afterwork and hustled my way to Times Square to meet him. I was still on a high from meeting Lawrence and as I met up with Bill, we started crossing the street and I blurted out how horny I was. I was talking to Bill like he was my friend, and he assumed I was talking as a sexual predator, something a few years ago he enjoyed. He thought I was horny for him and wanted to have sex with him, right then and there if possible.

But I wasn’t horned up for Bill. I was thinking about Lawrence. So apparently anytime I talk about sex in Bill’s presence, he thinks I want to jump his bones. Nope, not the case. Not anymore. I don’t even think the lack of sexual relations is that big a deal after all. It would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath, or waiting to exhale. Zoom zoom zoom.

Here’s to nunchuckles. A great help. Origato.

And here are some pics!