Being Left Behind

Once again, I have been left behind.

This is just like after Byzantium with Athena and them and like after Oslo (when I went through that "ice queen" phase).

I'm not saying I would have gone with her if she'd asked -- all the way to Seattle then all the way to Tartarus in a car? Sheer insanity -- but it would have been nice if Athena'd asked me. I mean, I would have said no. But still.

It's like, the others, they'll never really accept me as one of their own. One of the family. I'm pretty, I'm lovely, I'm funny, I'm charming and I'm a fabulous lover. I'm also a great friend. But it's like they think that after all this time, being related means more than everything we've gone through. After all this time!

I don't know. Maybe I'm jealous. I mean, I AM unique, right? I can look at it like that. I'm different. That makes me special. I'm not Zeus or Hera or any of the others' child. Or sister.

They really don't treat each other like sibs or relatives, but I think deep down it still matters to them. I know I still love each of my children like the day they were born, even though I hardly see them.

I just wish I had an uncle step-mother or niece or half-sib or something. Sometimes being part of the group just because of our long history together doesn't seem to be enough.

*sigh*

I went to the Delphi today and Dio filled me in on Thena and Hera's discovery. Showed me the blog, too -- creepy picture.

Oh, well. If they think I'm just gonna jump at the chance to help them all out with this, boy are they unaware!

Love in the ‘70s

Love in the ‘70s

I saw a woman on the street today on my lunch break that reminded me of myself in the ‘70s. Pretty, stoned, with a look of desperate need for love in her eyes.

It wasn’t hard to get into the psychedelic “drug culture” as they call it now of the 1970s. What would have been hard was avoiding it.

Having become too famous for the passing laws on the West Coast in the 1960s (you know, free-love, Haight-Ashbury, communes, love-ins and the like) I was ordered by the bully among us (*cough*Athena*cough*) to relocate in 1969. I’d been adored very much like I used to be by the stoners, acidheads and other drug-using hippies in the ‘60s. I never encouraged it, but they simply saw something in me and loved me, each and every one of them. I’ll admit, I got drunk on the attention, but never partook of any drugs. Knowing it would take me ten times the amount it would take a mortal to get high, I simply said no or pretended to join in.

But when I was forced to move, I chose NYC and fell for the disco lifestyle. Beautiful women, confident men, all looking for love, even if just for a few minutes.

It only took a few weeks of clubbing for me to accept a line in the lady’s room. I saw the self-love in cocaine users’ eyes and wanted to feel that too. I wanted to love myself like no one else could – and I did. And I wanted to share that love – and I did that too, a lot.

That’s what I saw in this strung-out woman’s face – the desperation to fit in and the sad knowledge that whatever drug she’s hooked on is the very thing that keeps her from fitting in. Which depresses her and makes her want to do more.

Thank god I got out when I did.

The Battle of the Atlantic Yards

As David Krumholtz said in my favorite movie, "The Shit hath Hitteth the Faneth," folks.

I SO don't miss this type of excitement. Just as we were discussing how to figure out who's been leaving the cryptic messages on Dio's blog -- and whether the writer is the new priestess of the Oracle -- Xipe ran in to tell us that the woman had come in and then been kidnapped by Epimetheus!

He'd tracked them to the Atlantic Yards and Epi was holding the girl hostage until Thena came to talk to him.

Thena dragged me and Heph -- Xipe was eager to go, hoping for a rumble, shall we say -- to what turned out to be the dirtiest place above ground in Brooklyn -- the Atlantic Yards. Half construction site, half railroad, nothing for as far as the eye can see but dirt and rails and scaffolding. Yucht.

Poor Epi -- he never learned to think ahead, did he? After another rousing chorus of Thena-knows-best speeches, Epi gave up the poor girl -- it's hard enough to be the Oracle's priestess when you know what's coming, let alone when you're taken over without warning.

Cybil is her name and she seems nice enough, but she'll have hard times ahead -- once the Oracle chooses you, there's no saying "No thanks."

Back to Epi.

Thena loves having an excuse to chop off heads (not of mortals, of course) -- and hates having to put them back on. Luckily, she did long enough for Epi to reveals that...the shit hath hitteth the faneth. Apparently EVERYONE is out of Tartarus! EVERYONE.

Let's get one thing straight. I love a good battle as much as the next gal. But it was just more fun when we were minor participants butting in every now and then to give humes advice. I may complain, but I like my life right now. Boring but easy job. Small but cozy apartment. Pixie, who thinks she's a giant and still piddles on the floor but whom I love with all my heart. Men who want to love me. And a family I can always turn to, even if I'm not BFF with them.

Now that everyone's out, something else is sure to go wrong.

And we still haven't figured out that future news story Cybil blogged, with the town that's paralyzed? Thena's gonna look into it, stop in on the Seattle crew and see what their take is on everything.

But, basically, I fear there're more rumbles to come. Sigh.

Di and dice

Tonight -- a Sunday of all nights -- I gave in to the peer pressure from the old gang and left my warm, comfy Park Slope studio to travel 20 blocks (by BUS, can you imagine? Next relocation I must find myself a better-paid persona!) for board game night at Dio's dive (now THAT's a great name for a cheesy pub, don't you think?), The Delphi Bar.

A hume hosts it, one of Dio's regulars and unconscious victim of his charm. I think he likes the attention but -- now that he's forsworn his frat-boy ways of yore -- he's trying to keep her at bay without losing her business.

Xipe has been grumbling to me for awhile about the influx of "young blood" as he calls it -- mortals -- and seems to blame them for the lack of godly clientele recently. Personally, I think he's just annoyed that Dio finally made him cave and add the vegetarian nachos -- just as cheesy but much more work-intnesive than the ground-chuck variety -- to the menu that his regulars have been begging for.

Game night itself was not as boring as I thought it would be. My favorite was Trivial Pursuit -- the men on the opposing teams (and a few of the women -- that's the neighborhood for ya, 'natch) were so eager to declare each of my answers correct -- and my opponets unwilling to argue -- that Thena had to throw a fit (okay, not really a FIT) and insist that she ask all questions (and check the veracity of all answers). I know I'm not the smartest of my peers, but I seem to have a little more power over others (it's called a smile, ladies, among other assets) than the more surly among us.

Yay me!

Proud Mary Keeps On Burning

Proud Mary Keeps On Burning

To Night Was Awesome. Caps well-deserved.

I went to Dio’s pretty early, around 8. I found myself a mark, a young man with unkempt hair, baggy jeans and a flannel shirt. He was cute, and I immediately sent the vibes out to him. He was shy at first, but once I laughed at a few of his jokes, smiles my smile, looked into his eyes and casually touched his forearm, he was sold.

When he came back from the boys’ room, I had already broken down in tears. He asked what was wrong, what he could do, and – almost too obviously I think – I told him how Mitch, my cousin, came in here almost every night. I told him Mitch had killer glaucoma, and had run out of weed. The kid immediately volunteered to go buy some. When he got back I explained that Mitch would never smoke in front of me, but maybe a stranger… Of, and he’s very ashamed of his condition, so don’t mention it.

I hung out in the office and watched through the peephole while Mitch came in, had a few beers, then “casually” ran into the kid in the bathroom. When they came out, they headed outside. When they came back they both looked like they had lost 20 IQ points and I could smell them through the walls.

Just as Mitch was starting to confess his life sins to Dio (again), I waltzed in. I looked good. Cute and hot and innocent. Mitch immediately turned towards me, at first scared I’d confront him and then – when I ignored him, sat down with the kid and started having a gay old time (so to speak) – a look of panic swept over him. Two shots of Jaegermeister and he was stumbling over to me, ranting about how I broke his heart. I was composed and mature and statuesque while he, in front of the whole (very packed by now) bar made a crying fool of himself.

The night ended with me giving the whole bar an innocent “What’s wrong with that guy” shrug as we all laughed at him while Xipe hailed a car for him.

Sometimes, it IS better to have loved and lost – when that loss is avenged.

Loneliness at the Bottom of a Glass

I drowned my sorrows again tonight. God bless Dio – even when we’re annoying, drunk or just talking his ear off, he knows when to pour another super-drink and when to take a stand and pour us into a cab.

Love’s a Mitch

Why do I let men do this to me? I mean, I should have learned by now, right?

He didn’t call last night. He didn’t call today. So I called him. He answered, which is good, but blew me off! It makes me so MAD! Oh, how I wish for the old days when I could exact the sort of revenge those who scorn me deserve! Turning a man’s mother into his most ardent sexual predator (Hippolytus, anyone?) or starting a war (yeah, I know now I overreacted about Helen and Troy and all that) – those were the days! We were respected as we should be! Word would travel – don’t mess with Aphro, she’s as good as she can be bad!

Woman scorned, that’s all I’m saying.

That and watch out.

No Such Thing as Too Mitch Love

I’m in the clouds! Okay, not literally, but…wow!

I’ve had one real date and three “dates” with Mitch. The real date, he took me to a performance of Medea off-Broadway (ironic, yes?), then drinks at the Playwright Tavern followed by more sweet lovin’ at his place. The other “dates” started off as “let’s rent a movie” and turned into “let’s do it” – which is fine, sometimes.

He’s gonna call tonight to set up another “real” date – I can’t wait!

He’s a Mitch, He’s My Lover…

Last night I slept with Mitch. Well, this morning, I suppose, would be more accurate. It was amazing!

I LOVE making out with new people! It’s one of my favorite things!

This is how it happened:

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m much more out of place at a dive like The Delphi than, say, the bar at the Ritz Carlton or even a lounge on the LES. So, to the trained eye – that of Dio, Xipe and Thena, who hangs out there more and more – it’s very clear that I’m spending way more time than usual at The Delphi. But, damn it, when I see something (someone) I want, I get it!

I finally spoke to him, let him get me drunk (he was very impressed at my tolerance – immortal liver, don’t fail me now!). After awhile we moved from the bar to one of the booths. I have no idea what we talked about. All I remember is our legs bumping under the table, me laughing at his jokes and he, charmed as per usual by my wit and good looks.

Then our legs did more than bump, they were simply next to one another. Then pressed close together. We kept talking the whole time. I shifted a leg, he moved his towards mine, slightly rubbing against me. After awhile of knees pressing together, eventually he holding my knees between his, a hand grazing a thigh here and there under the table, we stepped outside.

By then it was super late. As soon as we were alone I let him kiss me. The excitement, the expectations, the fear that he won’t live up to expectations! But he did and it was wonderful.

We went back to his place and made sweet, hot, sweaty love to each other.

We did things that would have made Cupid blush.

The Wheels Keep On Turning

I’ve been feeling a whole lot better about the whole Mitch thing of late. I let Xipe make me a special dinner the other night – all the spiciest foods he doesn’t dare make for mortals but which he loves to cook. It was good, but what really cheered me up what the gossip!

Turns out Mitch is not only a macho womanizer – when he smokes weed he turns into a blubbering idiot!

I think a plan is in motion, folks.

Asc and You Shall Receive

Today I stopped by The Delphi again. Dio has set his new laptop up at the end of the bar – he’s actually encouraging patrons to use it! I’d never trust mortals with that snazzy a Mac, let alone drunken ones!

It was pretty dead in there – ie, no Mitch in sight – BUT I got a nice surprise when Asclepius showed up! He goes by Axl now – Dr. A. Lepio, healer of spoiled suburban children all across Myrtle Beach, SC.

I was really lucky to run into him , actually – it’s his last day in town for a medical convention and he didn’t think he’d have time to drop in on The Delphi (but they all say that, don’t they? Then they find time for at least ONE drink of special reserve mead).

He hasn’t seen Panacea (Penny now) or Telesforos (Telly – he always loved Kojak) lately, but the other two girls are doing well.

It’s so NICE to be somewhere I’m not always pretending, you know? Where we can just re-hash old stories, gossip, and, when all the humes are watching a band in the backroom, just be ourselves.

I know I give him a hard time, but we’re all really grateful Dio has kept this bar alive over time. It’s home. It always looks the same, even when he has to move (damn passing law), whenever he finally opens again, the bar looks exactly the same.

I haven’t been able to get Mitch off my mind!

I haven’t been able to get Mitch off my mind! So, even though it was a Sunday (out of proper decorum, I usually try not to go to dive bars on Sunday – what would people think?) I stopped over at The Delphi.

I had a pretty good excuse all worked out – I went shoe shopping at the DSW in the Atlantic Center before, so, rather than drinking (or Mitch), it looked like I was just popping in for a quick chat after an afternoon of bargain hunting.

Mitch was there (yup, definitely hot!) and I set my things down a stool away from his. Just as I was about to order (never make the first move, that’s something I learned long ago) he turned to me, looked at my shopping bags and said, “Looks like you bought some shoes.”

Not a great opener, I thought. Then it got worse!

“Gives you a great excuse to be in the neighborhood and stop in, huh? Scope things out? See who’s at the bar today?”

And he turned back to his baseball game!

Oh, the nerve!

I was so flustered, but I couldn’t leave then, it would look like he was right, that I was looking for him! So, I stayed, made half-hearted chit-chat with Xipe (Dio was in the office doing the books) and tried his newest dish, Peruvian jambalaya. Interesting, but nowhere near as good as I told him it was.

Mitch left while I was in the goddesses’ room! The nerve on him!

I was so dejected that I let a weird mortal regular – super hyper, super annoying – buy me a shot of tequila (house brand, mind you – men don’t know how to charma woman anymore!). When he offered to buy me a Pabst, I knew I was done for the night.

But if Mitch thinks I’ll lose interest that easily, he’s clearly never had the goddess of love after him before.

Mitch Ado About Nothing?

What an evening! The butterflies are still fluttering in my stomach!

But let's start at the beginning. Not the beginnign of time, dear (we're not supposed to talk about THAT, dear) -- of my night!

Yesterday, I had the worst day at work. Ever. A whole slew of models got confused and showed up at Wilhelmina instead of Elite, where they had a Klein go-see. So then, my boss found out that Elite had already gotten the Klein contract she was still smooching Klein for! The poo-poo hit the fan and people were asking me to do all sort of things -- make calls, take messages, sit the models, pretend we WERE Elite even though they were sittin under a big Wilhelmina sign (THAT wasn't too hard -- those girls are vapid!), get associates in to view the girls, get Klein's VPs on the phone for my boss -- ugh!

When I was finally able to leave, it was almost 8! I needed a friendly ear and knew there's only one place I can really be myself. So, even though I loathe the dark-wood-stained-glass-kitchy-decor (all Dio needs to really keep me out is sawdust on the floor and a barrel of peanuts!), I got off a stop early and went to The Delphi.

Dio was just starting the night shift and I could smell Xipe's divine (ba-dum-pah!) spices heating up the kitchen. I plunked down on a stool and Dio set my grapefruit-cranberry-lime-Grey Goose in front of me before mywell-earned *sigh* was fully out my full lips.

As desired, my out-of-place beauty and mastered damsel-in-distress signals worked. Within minutes all the hume males suddenly needed refills and rushed to the bar. I was in the process of sussing out the potentials from the unfortunate no-thank-yous when I saw him.

Exiting the men's room, he looked up and I saw in his clear blue eyes...a connection. A soul.

And when he didn't even look at me but sat down one stool away, I knew he felt it too.

All night I made chit-chat with the floundering idolators hovering around me. I cracked jokes and laughed, batted my eyes lashes and let them buy me a few more drinks.

By the time I visited the little goddesses' room, checked myself (flawless) in the faltering yellow light of the poo-poo-colored one-stall closet and headed back to my seat, I was light headed. I just happened to stumble into this new knight's arms. He caught me by the elbow. My confidence was starting ot falter, though -- after I sat myself back down he didn't say a thing to me!

I felt like I was losing it, like Paris was right, like I really did only deserve a man like Heph (no offense, hon)...when my new man, my new (future) lover, my savior from this life of boring redundancy, stood to leave.

He raised a hand to Dio ("Bye, Mitch", he called out), opened the door to leave, then turned to me and said with a sly grin and twinkle in those baby blues, "See you next time, babe." Then he was gone.

Knowing my penchant for falling hard -- even for humes nowadays -- Dio refused to answer questions about this mysterious Mitch. Clearly he was enough of a regular that Dio knew his name -- they must have exchanged otehr information over time! But he was mute, shaking his head in that I-know-what's-better attitude of his.

Under Dio's watchful gaze, all Xipe would tell me is that Mitch works on movie sets and comes in about once a week.

If I get a chance to have those penetrating blues penetrate mine again, I have a feeling I'll be spending a little more time with Dio and Xipe in the near future.

A slice of (diet) humble pie.

I know that since the passing law (oh how I miss the days of being revered) we're not supposed to attract attention. Yet we all know we each succumb at times (Nike more than anyone). And we play by the rule (or bend it) even when we act out: we don't win (Nike), we don't get rich (Midas), we don't win American Idol (Apollo), we don't zap people with lightning (Dad). But, on occasion, we test our skills.

Today I walked into Elite Modeling Agency. I couldn't help it. On my lunch break, I was sauntering along Fifth Avenue, enjoying the adoring gazes of businessmen in their sharp suits and the occasional tasty rickshaw runner covered in sweat (who couldn't take his eyes off me and ran into a cab -- luckily his carriage was empty) when I noticed a young woman almost as beautiful as I step out of a fancy office building.

Granted, I didn't actually notice her -- I noticed my admirers' attention turn (monetarily) away and followed their gazes.

That's when I saw where she had come out of.

Now, like I said, I really don't do this often. But, I walked in. I got past the receptionist, joined the bevy of semi-attarctive ladies in line for an open call, but never made it in to the go-see!

Can you imagine! Me, the most attractive female in history (screw Paris, screw Helen, screw that whole, rigged, competition!).

The past-her-prime junior agent opened the door for me, looked me up and down, and turned to her flouncy boss inside the showroom. He took in my golden hair, pouty lips, strong shoulders, toned-but-feminine-arms, supple breasts, cinched waist, curvy hips. I sensed his hesitation -- sensed, still don't comprehend! -- and pirouetted, showing off what most consider to be my best "ass"ests -- my tush and legs, thighs taught and calves in high relief above my gilded 3-inch (vintage) Monolos.

I posed, hand on hip, giving him my most popular winning smile.

and.

the boss.

shook his head.

"no."

I couldn't believe it!

Humble pie is fine, we've all come to accept a slice from time to time, but I'm on a diet!

No explanation was given and after a few minutes of (in retrospect, embarassing) pleading, I skulked out the door.

Let me tell you, Elite is lucky I'm bound to behave like a mortal. They. Are Lucky.

By then I was late for work -- as soon as I took my away message off, the phone started ringing off the hook.

"Good afternoon, Wilhelmina Modeling Agency, this is Ditty. How may I direct your call?"

Sigh.

Aprhodite's Diary, perhaps this should be called

I too have thrown myself upon the blogosphere bandwagon.

When my most recent diary was full (and oh, the salacious tales it holds - Bridget Jones got nothing on me!), I asked Heph to bind me a new one.

He's been making me diary after diary ever since...well, even since we made up, all those years after I broke his heart (how I regret that, that look of horror in his eyes when he pulled aside the canopy's crimson gauze, to find...that's a tale for anothe time). Perhaps because he knows I'm guilty, and feel guilty, he knows I'll forever come to him for my diaries (to record the affairs that are not with him and never shall be again).

But, he's used up all that gauze he uses as binding.

I almost cried -- I'm not a lover of change, we all know -- but he sat me down at this laptop (he'd bought it for me last year, but really, I hardly touch it) and set this up for me.

I hope I can get used to the difference between emotional, tense cursive longhand (I have excellent penwomanship, I do) and this typing. It's so impersonal.