If you've read my previous post, then you'll know my state of mind recently was whacked! I had an emotionally charged realization that this guy I'd been interested in and thought was interested in me, has, perhaps, been seeing everything very differently. Lost in translation, Sophia might say. Anyway, in a fit of desperation (all mine) I called my friend Tamara for an emergency cocktail(s) and banter. Because it was all very last minute and she really didn't have the time, I made every concession to pull our meeting off. I drove the forty minutes to her neck of the woods and arranged to meet at this quaint little Mexican place we both liked. However, as is typical of our meetings, there's always an element of error involved. I told her I'd meet her at the place that we liked that also has an upscale location closer to me. It's called That Little Mexican Cafe. However, I didn't say the name. I assumed she knew what I was talking about since we had been to the other locale before. Anyway, in her neck of the woods (such fine and wealthy woods), where I was seated, waiting, in the window seats of our meeting place, sipping (okay, drinking) a maragrita on the rocks (light rocks, please), I realized something was amiss because she wasn't there. I, of course, tried her cell phone, which is almost always off or in the car. I also tried her home phone to no avail. I finished my margarita and glanced out the window, across the street, to another Mexican restaurant called Las Palmas and who should be standing out front. I went out front and told the hostess my party was at Las Palmas across the street. We waved, Tamara waved back. I pointed into the place I was at. She pointed into Las Palmas. I turned around and walked back into the place I was at and that was that. She would come.
We went on to have another mega margarita and down some quesadillas. Mmmmm! She also lent that objective ear that only a true friend can provide. She told me my misunderstanding was not entirely my fault (Good girl, I thought). She said that he, this bastard guy who claims to be so sensitive and caring, has not been living up to his own account of himself.
Oh, I suppose some back story is in order. Essentially, I spoke with shit face the previous Monday and specifically asked him when he was going to be off from work again. He works this very erratic schedule and is very difficult to track down. Anyway, he said he would be around on the weekend. The weekend! That has never happened since I met him. I was very excited. I told the bastard from hell that I wanted to see him and asked what he'd be up for. He said, and I quote "let's play it by ear." Okay. I translated that as I'm not sure what I want to do but we'll do something. However, what he was really saying was I'm going to invite another "friend" in for the weekend so I don't have to see you at all. I found this out late Saturday via a voice-mail message.
So back to margaritaville. Tamara lent me her perfect ear and consoled my wounded heart. We laughed, we ate, we stumbled around Borders. Later, on the way home, I thought I heard an escaping hubcap go spinning off my car into the night. However, when I got home I realized it was the grill of my car that was thrown like a projectile never to be seen again. My poor car. She runs great but is literally falling apart.
The following morning, nursing a slight hangover, I took myself to the movies for a little escapism. I saw A Home at the End of the World. It was charming and, of course, Colin Farrell and Sissy Spacek were the stand out actors. There's nothing like the fantasy of getting stoned with your mother (well, step-mother). For those of you who have lived this, kudos to you! Then, after the film, I made my way across town to Chicago's Market Days Fest. This is a fabulous annual event celebrating the merchants along Halsted Street and the LGBT community. While in that throng of scantilly clad boys, I caught a very cool musical trio called Ember Swift. Well, Ember Swift is actually the lead singer's name too. She and her bandmates performed such music as I have never heard before. It was a magical blend of folk, rock, and global rythmns. Then, right after, the Chicago ROTC twirled their guns and I had a front row seat. The event, for me, culminated with a kiss from one of the twirlers because I was so close during his performance and managed not to cringe once as his gun was swung right before my extra wide eyes. Truthfully, I was both enthralled and expecting incoming bruises. By the time I got to bed Sunday evening, I had fogotten all about what's his name and his dastardly deeds. That is until I woke up Monday morning and began thinking about him again. Bastard!
