The name of my game is downplay, downplay, downplay. "Oh, I'm so bored with town...as I stay out until 6am all the time." Always remember: heavily edited for mass consumption. Besides that, if you couldn't tell, I was in a shitty ass mood last week -- coupled with work taking up way too much time. Fucking infringing on my blogging. We have to do something about that.
The theme of the long holiday weekend was: "great but could've been golden with a satisfying conclusion to the evening." I've been rolling with my trusty friend C and she's in the same boat I (and others) are looking to bail: the under lock and key so long we barely know which way is up. I don't know whether to be afraid or comforted that so many of my nights have fallen into the "oh please, I've been suffering so much longer. Get back to me in another month" and "yes, even bad shit counts. Subtract a month for you" conversations. Misery does love company after all. My status is pretty easy to explain actually: I did that on purpose to focus on the job search (then, the job) and since I've tentatively reemerged, all I ever seem to meet are guys with girlfriends and/or not enough oomph to make that jump out the friend zone or the late 20s/30s habitual druggies radiating the "more trouble than I'm worth" vibes loud and clear. I've stopped being a glutton for punishment in my old age.
Early Friday evening, loving the getting out at 2pm deal and playing with my new cell, I met up with Lina downtown to celebrate her new job with mojitos. She, like many I know, is nesting with a new guy and can't relate to my single struggles, so to counteract "my love life is so great," I've soften the bitterness parade with self-deprecating complaints and hopefulness in the small stuff. "He said 'I thought I was your bitch,' isn't that great?" I get encouraging murmurs in reply with a "poor you" headshake. Pity party, table for one, thanks. She and I went off to explore her Ft. Greene nabe to kill some time before my later engagements. She agrees with me that a person would be crazy to be anti-Brooklyn and encourages me to get a place by my damned self since the extra share would be worth the lack of aggravation. Isn't that the truth? We had a girl pow wow, doing the "man, I wish I could lose 5lbs!"/"you look great! i wish I had those curves!" This post might be complaint center as far as the private life goes, but dammit, I look good right now. I'm not afraid too modest admit it!
After that, I was off to meet my friend C and her friends for a truly cool experience. I'd heard about this bar for a minute but being not connected, I obviously had never been. It's this cool little place invoking the speakeasy from the decor to staff apparel and drink touches. No menus, just order based on their selection of juices and spirits (though I ordered a gimlet first because it seemed like the sort of place I could do it and not feel like a 60-year old man). The four of us drank ourselves relatively stupid and found that 3 girls plus one guy equals who's compatible with the boy. None of us apparently. I don't do dorky and neurotic because I've got enough of that to go around, thanks. Still, we were a good group and bounced around to Tribeca and this place I doubt I'll revisit. Hello, drug den! Not my scene. Plus there was a big and scary ass dog as big as horse. I hate it when people say, "she's a sweetheart, she loves people" about their frightening looks animals. Because when it takes a bite of my ass, it will be all "she's never done that before. I can't believe it!" Keep them all back from me. I've got the scars from "nice" dogs.
For the 4th of July, I wandered about a rooftop in Bushwick almost getting my hand amputated. "Wha?" you say. Well, I'm a brilliant individual who pulled my police bracelet like wristband too tight and just when my hand got numb and was starting to feel lightheaded was when the combo of scissors, kitchen knifes and keys were finally successful in freeing me. I vaguely watched the fireworks, but I was infinitely more concerned with not losing a hand. My wrist was all swollen and I got to walk around for a while with an ice pack. So attractive. I've still got the marks looking like a S&M session went a little awry. I settled down to lounging about for hours with C and her friends, including Mr. Man from back in the day. Still scorching, less skeezy. As my interest level rose and rose, I decided it was time to go. I got to run to the train station in the torrential downpour and find my interest in everything but my warm bed significantly...erm, dampened. Such are the breaks I suppose.
Posted by Candicissima at July 5, 2004 03:37 PM