A Tickle

The definition of love sick :: to be made physically ill by love.

And I am. Or have been.

It is hard not to kiss a cute boy. Or a person you love. Cute or otherwise. 

And so I did. And now I am sick. 

But. I'd rather be sick from love than just sick.

Because then I'd have no one to make me soup. 

Or to make soup for. Which really. Is my favorite part. 

Transcending Lava Surpasses Minefield.

When you wake up it is good to remember you are not dead so you do not forget to open your eyes.

I am currently being cuddled by 20lbs of black lab puppy love. She is my baby for the week. She peed in my kitchen. Twice. But she's made up for it in kisses.

Adventure with a boy today. I will call him Jem. We shared coffee of the iced variety. He took his black. I'm not sure how he felt about the guava cake. But he knew how to handle my puppy. If you know what I mean. And you should. It means he knew how to walk my dog. It was really cute.

Went to an acting workshop tonight. It was good. But not the same. I miss my summer company. My summer loves. I do hope we all (well, almost all. nothing is ever 100%. until it is. and then its perfect and according to the hindus you become a cow.) transcend the evanescence of summer romance and continue to grow together as real live people. I think we will. And those who don't clearly were never meant to be cows in the first place.

I wish i had a Pensieve. A la Harry Potter. There are moments I wish I knew the details to. The slightest touch. Which way a crooked smile leaned. What exact words were said. The missed beat of a heart. How many pieces of pie were eaten. Finding the balance between past & present is hard. To be in the present you are a compilation of your past. But you can't waste too much time remembering who you were then because you'd lose the chance to create the future you now. Life is very complicated. Not life. Time. No life.

Both probably.

Tactile Kaleidoscopes

JANUARY 23, 2009

I met a boy.

Wednesday I went to Liquor Lyles. Alone. I went to a bar alone. Here is the question. Am I awesome because I was able to go sit alone and have a good time. Or am I an alcoholic? For now I'm going to believe I'm just awesome.

Sitting at the bar drinking my 2 for 1 alcoholic cider a guy starts talking to me from a few seats away. The problem is, I couldn't hear him. I think he may have actually started talking to me much earlier but his voice hadn't quite dropped yet. Finally I respond with a high volumed 'What'? After which he finally raises his voice high enough to hear. Ugh. I make friendly conversation until another guy sits down next to me. A much needed distraction from trying my best to hear what guy #1 has to say about making clothes in his friend's garage, I'm already a little deaf people come on. Ever wondered why I talk so loud, I blame it on theatre & projection, nope. Just a little bit hard of hearing. I'm going to be a great old person.

#2 Sits down & orders up "the cheapest beer" which I mock inside my head. But apparently louder than normal because he turns to me & says what. Then I think, maybe guy #1 hadn't been trying to talk to me, maybe he was mocking me under his breath. Hmmmm.

#1 Attempts to not so nonchalantly gets annoyed at the beginnings of my convo with #2. I pretend to not notice. He begins to talk louder. Finally. I see what it takes. It doesn't take me, it takes a sword fight.

Out of no where #1 has a friend appear. His friend, #3, who belongs to the garage in which he makes clothes! He is what some people refer to as a wingman. He was a little late. If they had been flying the nazis definitely would have shot them down. Although, in this scenario I'd gage them more on the nazi side of the situation. Snoopy would have got them for sure.

Here is where the game begins. The game. As in that which boys play with girls & against each other. Someone wrote about it in a book. It's called the Game. Inventive. Thank you male species for all you do.

#1 continues to talk to me. I continue to nod because I can't understand the words coming out of his mouth. Occasionally I say. OMG. It adds a certain, i care what you're saying quality that nodding alone doesn't. #2 continues to talk to me. My mind does not function on this many levels. Especially having only had 1 round of 2:4:1s. Then it gets complicated, because #1 begins to talk to #2.

#1 has on a hat. It says Sabor. The name of his clothing line he makes in his friend, #3's, garage. #2 says, "cool. i love his work." #1 says, "thanks. made it myself." #2 says "ummm. I meant Sabor. The artist." #1 says "who?" #2 says "the famous graffiti artist. he has world records and shit." (#2 was a little ghetto. but in a white community college way.). #3 jumps in - "no man that's our clothing line." #2 "well you better get on google because that name is taken, yo." Swords collide!

A VISUAL:

The set up is like so:

#2 ME #1 #3

Like Jeff Goldbloom* in Jurassic Park, i stay perfectly still. And when they are distracted by each others pheromones i slowly back away. Literally. I leave. I go to the bathroom. I slowly reapproach because despite the idea of having to face #1, #3 I did enjoy the company & mildly witty banter of #2. I arrive and find my seat next to #2 occupied by #3. They are talking business. Garage clothing copywrite name stealing business. They welcome me back. Well #3 doesn't. #1 does. I think. I couldn't hear him. And #2 thanks me with his eyes. I lean into the bartender and request my check because even for a swf on a Wednesday night alone at a bar this has become a little too much. I peace/'SC fight sign #1, #3 who may have said goodbye but A. Only dogs could hear it and B. I was walking away. #2 follows me out and walks me to my door. Which is next door. It was a short walk. We hug. I get his phone number. That order may have been reversed. And as I go to save his number I realize something. I realize I have no idea what his name is. And let me tell you. It is way too late to ask. There's a time period during which it is ok to reask someone's name, but after all he & I had been through tonight sword fighting #1 & #3, the proverbial parrying we had each performed for the other. It was too late. Thus he became known & will henceforth be referred to as Graffiti. No Last Name.

Conclusion:

Drinking alone at a bar. Ok. As long as you know how to sword fight. And mock people silently in your head. Not silently in the way that you think you aren't saying it out loud but you actually are. Unless of course you're mocking someone cute. Who can graffiti your name on a cocktail napkin.

AN UPDATE:

Graffiti and I met up the next day for coffee. I went in nameless & used every tactic I could to get him to say his name. Including talking about myself in the third person so he'd know it was ok to do the same.

About 45 minutes he became known as SBrandt. Last name: Graffiti.

*(ok. fine. it was Sam Neill. Jeff Goldbloom wasn't even in the scene. But his name has greater dramatic effect.)

Peanut Butter Pitas Can Be Tamed.

The saddest part of theatre for a young single girl in a new city is when you go see a show starring 5 cute boys statistics show that over half of them will be gay. This show wasn't any different. At least it blasphemed the Catholic Church so, being raised Catholic, I got all the inside jokes. The inside jokes with Catholic God.

       

He's a funny one.

Some Mushrooms are Carnivorous. Probably.

I met a boy. A real boy. Not a 40:60 boy. Although by the end of the conversation I was thinking 60:40. But that's besides the point.

Saturday night was very much like Friday night. In the beginning. I was alone. In my sweats. But then Lacey came home and put on her sweats and I was not alone. So here we are together, not alone on a Saturday night, in our sweats, in our apartment, in the big city, in the COOL part of the big city, sitting on the couch watching Season 1 of the Office. Now, you may be thinking, why Season 1? Isn't it the worst of all the seasons? And yes, would be the answer to that question. But, in our attempts to bond after an 11 year separation forced upon us by unforeseen circumstances like all the states between california and minnesota, we decided to throw a party. A "the Office" themed party. I called Dwight. So, to answer my original question, we are watching Season 1 of the Office for Research. Obviously. And Necessary. 

However, we reach a point between Diversity & Basketball that we decide, perhaps, on my first Saturday in the big city we should at least go out. Simply to say we moved outside of the apartment on this fine subzero degreed night. So. We change out of our comfortable warm sweats put on some leg warmers & multi-colored sequenced shoes (that was actually just me) and we journey outside, down Bryant, take the first left, pass the Coffee shop that is the best one I've been to thus far but not what I'm looking for in a hangout, take a left on Lyndale and we arrive. At the RED DRAGON. Famous for its "Wonderous Punch" a fishbowl drink that is 95% alcohol. Possibly 97%.

We walk in, grab a booth and we each order one. Obvi. Then what happened that isn't so obvi, a boy sits down. At a table diagonal from me. Well, a few do, but really only the one matters. I smile. He smiles. Lacey laughs at me mockingly. We move on, because, well, only in someone else's life do I have the balls to do anything about the cute guy in the booth diagonal from me (perhaps a future new years resolution possibility). And only in some 5'10", 112lb blonde's life is he motivated enough to move from the comfort of his booth. So, Lacey whips out her new planner (see, we're the same, I'm telling you) and we begin planning our The Office party. Official Facebook invite pending.

Halfway thru my WP I inevitably have to go to the bathroom. Because I have a bladder smaller than an 87 year old cancer patient. Upon my return Lacey winks, gets up and with a smirk says "good luck."

Uh. Ok. She got drunk & crazy faster than usual. Except. Before she rounds the corner, he stands, and before I can tell it not to, my face turns a deep shade of red  and he sits. In my booth. WITH ME. Well, across from me. But WITH ME. In accordance with Tid Bit #1, I stop drinking. Total usage of remaining brain cells is absolutely necessary. He introduces himself, we'll call him, Spatrick, I return the introduction. My face starts to return to a slightly normal, though still noticeably rosey complexion. I've always hated my face. And it's tendency to blush. What a waste of blood supply. How will I ever make it in the CIA if I can't stop myself from blushing when a cute boy talks to me, that's all Jennifer Gardner ever did in ALIAS. 

Long story longer than the short story - We talk. He has his own business doing something. We both love TV on DVD. I do theatre. He does not read. And the fun surprise weekend job, he works at a gay bar, named Tickles (hence the 60:40). So, ok, maybe the boy isn't going to a Mensa meeting anytime soon, maybe he couldn't beat out a 6th grader in a spelling bee, but the boy is c-u-t-e. Possibly even hot depending what his tattoos actually look like. He has 3. He & his friends are moving on to a different bar that I don't know & that is not within walking distance at midnight. Being absolutely awesome Lacey says she'll go with me if I want, but me, being me doesn't really want to put that much effort into a first meeting (no matter how c-u-t-e he is) preferring of course to convince myself this lack of effort is actually beneficial because it helps in creating an allure of mystery & desire...having already inputted his name & number into my phone we depart saying we'll call them in a bit letting them know our plan after meeting up with John. Having no actual intention of doing this Lacey walks to John's and I walk home. After the perfectly allotted 37 minutes has passed between then & our departure from the RED DRAGON I look up his number to give him a call letting him know our decision not to come back out but to console him with the fact that the future holds a plethora of opportunities. I go to contacts, I find Spatrick's name and click the green phone. Nothing happens. I try again. Nothing. Ok... I think to myself, knowing my phone is generally temperamental & perhaps it's just that time of the month, I go check out his contact information and what do I discover? There is no phone number.

...

Spatrick put in his full name but somehow did not manage to put in his number. Now, you may be thinking, Rachel, honey, perhaps this was his way of blowing you off without totally embarrassing you. But this is what I say to each and everyone of you. NO. And you'll just have to trust me and/or Lacey of this fact. 

Shortest story - Spatrick had managed to not save his number in my phone. And what do I do after discovering this fact? Laugh. Duh. Because my life is a sitcom. Some of you understand this better than others, because often times you are there. Laughing. Now I just need a coffee shop here where I can go and mock my daily life. And also friends here to do this with. Instead, I ended up alone, in my sweats, Saturday night, watching the Office Season 3. 

Well. I wasn't totally alone.

Harlequin was there. 

Fire is Cold.

My Dearest Friends & Family,

I have safely made it to my most current of desired destinations (despite the 16 hour bus ride from Detroit that, to use a non-derogative word was to say the least, 'colorful.' No wait, that was derogative, but only considering my bus ride). I am here. MINNEAPOLIS. Curled up in sweats and a blanket, my newest Ikea purchase, Harlequin, the giant rolley polley bug with zippable mouth, lies here next to me. New city, new friend. He was who I cuddled as I fell asleep last night, Friday night, after  watching several hours of Grey's Anatomy. Alone. For hours I debated changing into clothes, possibly even showering, and even doing the required multiple layers of bundling up to make the trek down the stairs to the bar next door, Liquor Lyles. But then I didn't. Because of all the effort that would have involved. Well, that, and the issue i have with drinking alone. If you must know, I say yes to it, but only in pajamas in the comfort of your own home where you only have jiminy cricket & your conscious to judge you for it. Hopefully not more than 4 times a week. I mean 2. I draw the line at being the girl from LA who drinks by herself at the bar on a Friday night. ...Or do I? Is what I asked myself multiple times. I guess we'll just have to wait until next week to see...

I hate not being busy. Every so often i pull out my new 2009 leather bound planner hoping I can think of a future event or even a previously forgotten birthday I can mark down. But as days go on I have run out of birthdays to write down. I have run out of stupid made up holidays to remember. I need to find somethings to do simply to write them down or i will begin this new year, this new adventure, by losing myself completely. Because who am I without my planner? I'm not asking you, I'm probably the only one who knows how truly crucial my planner is to my personal psychosis. I suppose I try not to announce my little slightly insane tendencies to the world. I just write about them. For the entirety of the internet. 

I met a boy. My second day here. Actually I met several. But only one followed up. I was 40:60 on his sexuality. I guess when you play gay in a play it tends to seep over into your actual persona. That seems to be the trend I've observed anyway. On my 4th day I was sitting with my cousin, Lacey, (who I am living with) and her sarcastic, wannabe jewish, slightly offensive, adorable boyfriend, John. We get along because I am sarcastic, overtly offensive & a wannabe (just in general, my wannabe goals change daily to match the shoes I'm wearing.). He receives a text message from the boy, lets call him... Sryan. Despite John's warnings of Syan's stalking potential, Lacey & I find it the perfect opportunity to overindulge next door & possibly make another human being extremely uncomfortable. John begrudgingly arranges our meeting for that evening. Sryan gets off to a bad start by arriving right as I reach the climax of the book I was reading. Typical. We meet up next door, sit in a slightly too cozy booth and start drinking. A picture next the booth reads "Jack & Tina met in this very booth in 1966 and are still happily married." I of course read this aloud, commenting on the obvious sweetness of this. There is silence. Uh oh, i think inside my head. I hope this boy with stalker potential doesn't get any ideas. We start to drink. Now, here's a little tid-bit about me. If I like someone I'm attempting to talk to I very rarely eat or drink anything because I'm easily distracted and need to focus on what they're saying and what I need to respond with in order to make me equally as awesome. And if the opposite, eating & drinking gives you something to do besides making conversation. And if you're drinking alcohol it makes everyone much more interesting & makes me much better at faking it. By the end of the first 10 minutes I had consumed half a pitcher of beer and ordered multiple appetizers. 

...

Then i ate them. All of them. I love mini-corndogs. 

...

We wrap it up at Liquor Lyles and we (Lacey, John & I) are drunk enough to suggest continuing the evening in our apartment. We do. Before everyone is even in the apartment I have gone to my room closed the door and changed into sweats. Tid Bit #2 about me. In terms of boys/dating/etc. there are two reasons I change into sweats. One, is that we've reached the point in our dating and/or relationship where I go, "I'm coming over in sweats. deal with it." And from there gage a guy's reaction to handling me in my most comfortable of states. OR. I change into them halfway through our first hangout because I'm absolutely not attracted to you and don't mind you judging me for my relaxed look. Uh oh.

The night proceeds thru a game of Cranium TURBO. Where Lacey & I realize we're basically the same person, but in a good way, not in the you hate the people who secretly remind you of yourself kind of way. And therefore we may or may not have destroyed John & Sryan at Cranium. I actually don't recall the specifics of the end of the game...but it's what I assume. Long story shorter than the long story... Sryan eventually leaves. Pogi, John's heterosexual life partner & roommate, comes over. John takes his shirt off. Pogi puts on Lacey's, and I end up in my torn white trash wife beater. John gets a text from Sryan saying how awesome the night was. We all sigh collectively. Then we go to bed. 

The next day, I jokingly ask John about Sryan's impressions. He just shakes his head.

Apparently the booth picture gave him some ideas.