Sunday, March 6, 2011
Has been my refrain since Wednesday.
Thursday I met up with Haley and drank so much coffee, I was almost incoherent with the jitterbugs by the end of the night. Started at Sahara, then went to the Prosperity, where I realized the best way to get to know someone is to start off somewhere not quite familiar, and then end up at their favorite bar. This is a true thing, that people open up immensely with that combination, like their bar is a hothouse and they are Easter lilies. Thought about the Happy Dog a lot, about my aversion to it, and it's place in this city, and everyone says the same thing, "oh I like it when it's not so loud" because it's always loud, but that's the thing with hipster centers right, there has to be a reason you don't like it even though you go there. It's a requirement. My reason is avoidance. But I'm stopping that this Spring. This Spring has become the Social Season, and I can't hang out with a lot of people I know and NOT go to the Happy Dog sometimes. It's that place. I vowed so long ago that I would not grow up into one of those older people who has places they don't go because of people they don't like, one of those entrenched denizens of the scene who has old scars they protect. I want all the scars ripped open and healed the way they should be.
Friday, desperately wanted a burrito. Really what I wanted was to be back in Phoenix at a taco truck, but did not have the gas money. Picked up with Chris and went to Mi Pueblo, where the burrito I got had chunks of stewed meat fat in it, and I ended up having to pull that trick where you spit into your napkin because I just couldn't get the gristle down. I cannot play tricks with my mouth, if I don't like it, I can't swallow it. I wanted absolutely everything in that burrito except the gristle, and performed surgery on it later at home. Went to bed early like a good girl, to get up in time for work the next morning.
Saturday, Laura had a haggis night, also Robbie Burns night? You can read about it at her blog, we'll do that. There was this turnip cheese soup that made the table go silent for a few minutes. Which in that group is a minor miracle, to stop the dirty innuendos. The haggis itself was like barley sausage filling, and not scary at all. We all toasted to poems and ate a lot of bread, cookies, beer, meat, ect. It was a thing. Almost everyone there also went out to smoke, which never happens anymore at parties, and we decided it was because the call to try haggis had separated the real people, the ones who are willing to take anything into their body at least once. Andrew made Jenga bread.
Left the dinner party, and it was raining hard. Rte 2 was glass as I drove to the East Side, the highway signs reflecting on the road as perfect as mirrors. Went to Kat's birthday party. She was wearing feathers, Jimi was wearing an ascot, and I felt bad that I didn't recognize Lauren from twitter, but that's a thing, see? I will never recognize you from your icon folks, it won't happen. I don't think of you as real people at all that way, you are all just numbers and pixels and imaginary friends till we talk about mascara and living situations. There were chocolate covered guiness marshmallows, and gift bags with skull candies and mix cds. Sipped champagne and then tried to leave at a reasonable time to drive home, but we went outside it and the rain had turned to snow, a lot of snow. There were icicles on the step railings. Jimi walked us back to our cars like a gentleman. Gentlemen! Always walk the girls back to their cars! I walked in tiny little steps, like I have all winter, as if my feet were bound, because I cannot walk in the snow and ice. I have lost my way for it. I am ridiculous, like a fucking baby bird.
Driving home, I took the long way. The main city streets were empty, and the highway an undisturbed snow field, as if I was the very first person in the world discovering it. Got home safely. Falls happened the next morning.
Slept until 2pm Sunday. Woke up at 10am actually, but then lay there and made the decision that I was for sure not getting out of this bed for at least an hour, then promptly fell asleep again for hours. When I finally got up, there was falling, and then broken-ness, and then picked through the clothes I had left (laundry day some time this week). Could not get the falsie eyelashes off, and looked a little bit like a wanton rag, but that's a Sunday look of a specific ilk. Speaking of ilks, discovered I cannot text "ill" on my phone, it will always correct it to "I'll". Technology has killed the word ill. Met up with Jason at Sullivans, and chatted ourselves through whiskey flights. The bartender told us about his skill at finding hetero-flexibility. They closed early, and we went to Parkview, the place of so many sledding meetups I had yet to go to, and it was adorable. Once again, people just, you know, become something else when they get in their favorite bar. I wonder if I have a bar like that myself. The place where I become a little less diluted.
My car lock was frozen when we left, had to wrangle it for a minute. Finally got in, got home, couldn't go to sleep till 4am. I have no idea why, it just happened. Woke up today though at ten, not hungover at all. Whiskey loves me more than champagne. Which makes me feel like champagne just doesn't appreciate me the way it should. But all the best lovers are the ones who don't need you at all.
Now today, I have laundry, I need a haircut. I'm going to do nothing of any of that, despite once again having plans every day this week and therefore needing to not shirk, and instead I'm taking off for a point on a map, because I just can't stay here anymore. "Here" meaning something larger, as in here this season here this house here this city here this head space here this point of time I've been stuck in since February reared it's ugly head. I went through the urbex boards looking for something new, and it's all the same old buildings I've already conquered, so this year is the year of the Fucking-A Somewhere Else Day Trip. Declared.
Posted by Bridget Callahan at 5:35 PM