A few weeks of personality abrasion later, and in walks Lindsey, the Director, who feels confident that her worldview is correct and she is the authority on other’s relationships and personalities. While this may be true, to a degree, one can never fully assess the situation unless they are outside of it, and that includes myself. Again, another reason why I envy Popcorn.
The Friday evening I met Lindsey was rather interesting. First, because of my own idiocy, I had imbibed an entire bottle of Aftershock (a rather cinnamony liqueur that is oversweetened to the point where it produces crystals in the bottom consisting of pure sugar and alcohol), and ate the crystals (both were bad ideas).
Lindsey, who had a child from a previous relationship, had decided to bring him to this little Friday evening drinking party, for some inadequately-explored reason.
First things first, I love kids. Before I had started on the brain smashing liquids, I had played with the kid for a while, thouroughly enjoying myself, until he finally decided he was more interested in the piece of fuzz about a yard away, eventually exhausting his energy whille clutching said fuzz, and passing out, like babies are prone to do.
Lindsey got him situated and Julia brought out the bottles. Kristen was nowhere to be found.
After I had thouroughly lost my mind and was droolingly reclined in a chair wondering if I could find it, Lindsey began explaining her philosphy about people. She classified people into 3 categories: Victims, Targets, and Leaders. Apparently, she considered herself a member of the 3rd group. I realized, even through my drunken haze, she considered me a member of one of the former 2. Damn.
Fighting through my alcoholic fog, I finally determined that I was interested in this chick. Why? Ask me again when I’m drunk, maybe I’ll better understand my own personal idiocy.
As is so common with me, the plane got shot down. At least I had gathered up the balls (now thouroughly pickled) to ask her.
Later on that week, I lost it again, pissed off at the fact that my “plane” seemed to be full of cannon rounds, missing a landing gear, a wing hanging at a sickening angle by spit and duct tape, and the pilot and parachute oddly missing. I remember thinking to myself that it wasn’t worth it. That SHE wasn’t worth it. I went to my thinking spot and decided to take myself off the stage for a couple of days.
That Friday, Julia and Lindsey had another one of their parties. This time, they invited friends. I was passed out on the couch after a long day of work, having, again, fallen asleep watching Comedy Central.
Julia’s previous resolve to be a man-hating bull-dyke had faded, and she was now again interested in guys. One gentleman that she had dated a few years before had reappeared in her life, as he had just gotten out of prison (no, it’s not Max).
By now, I hope you’ve all noticed a subtle trend. And by “subtle”, I mean that the only people who might have missed it are asleep, dead, or have recently gone through electro-shock therapy.
When I awoke, about midnight on that Friday night, I walked outside to stretch my legs, and heard the most interesting noises coming from the open window of the girl’s place. And by “interesting”, I mean grunting. Yes, that kind of grunting. And thumping.
They weren’t moving furniture in there.
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