Cautiously Pessimistic

So first I think I owe an apology to Will, who insisted that I rub Kelly's stomach at my earliest convenience. Well I saw Kelly twice this weekend but didn't remember to molest her midsection. To be fair I knew I was supposed to do something creepy to her, but I figure I accomplished that through the normal course of conversation. So to make up for that I said I would write about my weekend and specifically about my time at my second home* with someone who looked decidedly unlike the Emperor**.

Friday night I went out to People's - which reminds me, their website needs more bells and whistles... maybe a blog? - where I sat in the corner like the alcoholic trainee that I am and watched the Celtics lose to the Phoenix Suns with some dude named Chris from Arizona. I was there early drinking up some confidence while I waited for Amy to show up. You remember Amy, right? Cute blonde girl. Like's metal. Somehow got me to dance like an asshole and (even more baffling) answered my phone calls afterwards. Well I finally manned up and asked her out for a drink. Creative and imaginative bastard that I am, we settled on going back to the scene of the crime.

Brief tangent: it was brought to my attention that despite spending an incredible amount of time in Cambridge, I rarely (if ever) leave the Republik. Never been to Plough and Stars, never been to Phoenix Landing, or River Gods. I've been to both versions of the Middle East (I prefer Upstairs because they have Tullamore Dew and they hide it from the feebs that don't know about it), and TT & the Bear's to see Kay Hanley, who is probably my biggest MILF crush. I gave someone directions to Phoenix Landing and when they asked about how it is, I said I'd never been which confused them but I'm not in the business of enlightenment; just directions, sugar.

So I'm watching the C's and drinking my Bud Heavy when Kelly shows up. Kelly - who was formerly perfect in every way until we discovered she's a Yankees fan - gets a lot of credit in my book for recognizing me, because I'm a kind of generic-looking kinda guy and if I'm not with the Emperor I can blend in with a crowd. Granted, she's been tacitly tolerating my existence for a long enough time that I feel comfortable using the F-word*** with her, but I also have a rotating system of hats and facial hair that makes me the man of 1,000 (generic) faces. So anyway, Kelly comes up gives me a hug and asks to talk about the universe with her. Normally I'd spend my night buying her beers, leering, and arguing string theory but normallyI'm not gonna run into ANOTHER blonde girl who is willing to spend her time in my presence. So I says to Kelly: "Listen, baby, I ain't no master conversationalist and this girl expects me pretend I'm charming and interesting for hours, literally hours, and I don't have enough in the tank to satisfy both of you intellectually." At least that's how it went in my mind, in reality I talked to Kelly until Amy showed up which makes me look like a dink, but hey let's keep their expectations low, right?

Luckily they both have better memories than I do and recognized each other, said their hellos, and only in my mind was there a cat-fight for my company. So I pretend to be charming and intelligent with moderate success while Amy tolerated my presence and amused herself by pouring Corona into my Bud and watching me struggle to force it down, because dogs gotta eat and boys gotta drink. It went as well as these things are supposed to go - I think. I didn't get my kiss goodnight, but as Kelly would say later you don't want a girl who kisses that quickly. Obviously she doesn't know me very well; I'm out of shape and even when I wasn't, I was never good at the chase. So I walked her to her car, made plans for Saturday (which got nixed) and went back inside to talk shop with McFee.

Of course, while I'm talking to The Big Guy some chick with one of those 80s off-the-shoulder shirts comes right the fuck up with her entourage in tow and just hands McFee her number. Just. Like. That. The chicks leave and he looks over at me and catches my "Motherfucker, what the fuck?!" look and goes "That does not happen." To which I respond, "Shut up, you Lou Ferrigno-looking motherfucker with that 'this doesn't happen' bullshit." It's a good thing he's got a good sense of humor and is a gentle giant, because he could easily rip my sternum off.

Long story short: I'm cautiously pessimistic about this whole Chasing Amy situation, so we'll see what happens. Kelly at least seemed impressed so if worse comes to worst at least I'll have a shoulder to cry on. And a stomach to rub.

Peace,
{VM}

PS. Saw Porter, Evelyn, Bonnie and Kentes (and the People's People) on Saturday. I'll write about that tomorrow.

* My first home being a hotel in Connecticut and my third home being the place where I sleep alone and they mail my bills.
** Feel better, homie.
*** Friend. I say 'fuck' in front of my own mother (but not grandma, she'd whoop my ass).