A Blank Canvas

My nesting instincts are in full swing.

I went with JR to look at a house that he wants to rent with some friends that are moving to L.A. We staked out the neighborhood and waited for the landscapers to pack up for the day and leave, before we pulled into the driveway. From the outside, it was nothing special. It was just a simple brown house with a dug up yard. Sprinklers were being installed and the thought of having to pay the water bill made me nauseous. Then, the owner showed up without the key, showed us the backyard and left to retrieve what she had forgotten.

Just the sheer size of the yard was intoxicating. I started to imagine what I could do with a yard like that. Barbeques, cocktail parties, maybe even a dog? Before long, the owner appeared again and let us in. The house was old and empty. She was in the middle of remodeling the kitchen and master bedroom, but we got a pretty good idea of “what it could be”. JR discussed the details of who would be moving in, etc., while I reexamined the structure. I found myself opening closets, peeking out windows and generally being as nosy as possible. Something about a completely blank canvas really turns me on. My inner decorator began to emerge and suddenly I sensed the vast emptiness of my own life.

I turn 35 next week and I am single, living in a bachelor apartment that can barely contain my belongings. I realized how desperately I need to get a “real” place, a husband, a yard. In short, I need a life. The trouble is: I am not fond of dating and that makes it much harder to find a mate. But my biological clock is ticking! I want to argue about the thread count of potential new sheets for a marital bed that does not exist!

JR took an application and we left, but not before I convinced the owner to pay the water bill herself, if she insisted on sprinklers for the lawn. We drove back to the Valley through miles upon miles of traffic. JR had two calls from potential dates for himself and set himself up for later that night. He had borrowed my copy of The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things and said that he planned to watch it with his date. I told him that it was not a good date movie and recalled the story of how a movie can destroy a new relationship.

I used to “hookup” with men over the internet. I don’t do that anymore, because it’s just too awful. Barry was one of those guys. I agreed to meet him at his house and realized upon entering that I would have to go from zero to freak very quickly if this was gonna work. Barry led my to the bedroom, where he promptly tied me to the bed, blindfolded me and stripped off my clothes. We had fun and I ended up staying the night, which led to many reprisals of the first act. Since we had established sexual compatibility, we decided to explore getting to know each other on a more “normal” level: dinner and a movie. The next night, I returned to find Barry slaving away in the kitchen. He had decided to impress me with culinary skills. Dinner was delicious but awkward. I have trouble making small talk that doesn’t involve the words “Hurt me, Daddy!” After pasta and a gorgeous chocolate mousse, Barry popped in a DVD of The Women starring Joan Crawford. But I was young and horny and stupidly unappreciative of his choice. The pasta had done me in, and as we watched, I decided that it was not going to work out between us. Much to Barry’s dismay, I excused myself and never returned any of his calls. I regret this now, but I did once break up with a guy when he told me his favorite movie was The Wiz. I am an accomplished saboteur.

JR went on his date and I stayed home, alone with my thoughts of deal breakers, compromise and the promise of a new day. I think I might be ready for a relationship again, but who knows? What I really want is a blank canvas.