After I made dinner last night, Rocco and I drove by Susette Kelo's pink house to see if anything was popping around Fort Trumbull but other than some hot bikers parked at the rec area the peninsula was not buzzing nearly as much as downtown. We walked by the Hygenic Art Park and hung out with Tambria, a sister poet to Rocco and a huge help managing the book sales at last year's New London Voices.
It was funny because she was helping watch the gate for a benefit event for a local alcoholic-recovery agency, so Rocco and I sorta giggled and declined to enter the park with her, although the food and music were both excellent. We walked around a bit and landed at the O'Neill Brass Rail, where I put down about four pints, and a shot bought from a partnered cub named Bruce proceeded to chat us up, telling us of his fist fights with all the local personalities. He also was sure to mention that Rocco is just his type and that his lips afre the kind that are made to suck dick. I thought that was great. I think we both would have liked to invite him back except for his smoking and awful teeth. This morning I suggested to Roc we could have had Bruce over if he'd gargle. He replied, “With what? Turpentine?” An interesting side note is that he and his partner are engaged and have the same ring design, except they wear theirs on the right hand – they're waiting until Connecticut offers full marriage.
After our rocking time out and about downtown New London, Rocco's car wouldn't start up so we cabbed home. I could hardly sleep, pissing out all that Guinness. When we returned this morning in my car, it still wouldn't start. We knew this was coming, and I convinced Roc to take my car to work for. the interim while we ordered whatever car we ultimately wanted but knew we'd have to wait several months to get. So Roc had his car towed to the Saab service and when I picked him up we drove to test drive a Prius and a Honda. Rocco picked out a Midnight Pearl Blue Honda Civic Hybrid, and after he dropped me off to try to get some work done, he returned to the Honda dealer to order it. We both liked the salesman at Girard, name's Richard, used to be a Norwich town councilman, he said while we did a test drive. He said of course the Hybrid will be much quieter.
We are temporarily a one-car family. Rocco didn't want to take my car, saying he thought I was too attached to it, but I convinced him that it's fine for me do without a car during the week, at least until the new car comes in. But it's exactly the car we both want, and I'm glad we got there without too much pain.
I'm feeling like this should be a belt-tightening time, so I'm glad to let Roc use my car. The economy is hitting the skids and there doesn't seem to be an immediate end to the free-fall. As I pointed out to R, we have four bikes in the garage and not one of them has been used so far this summer. (Rocco sputtered and soured, saying how he planned to use the bike this summer blah blah and I told him to save the excuses for not exercising for someone else, please.)
But I'm trying to manage the household as well as stay above water with my workload. Not that Rocco and I can't make do on his undervalued salary and my meager earning as a freelancer. But I for sure at least want to eat out a whole lot less, and pay down our credit card debt. I'm thankful there seems to be a lot of short projects coming up from Shambhala.
So the next months will be all about digging in to house projects and yard projects and Web projects and Bear Soup projects and proofreading projects and office proejcts. But all right here in sunny foggy old New London town.
