Update Continued

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Ebb and Flow: Luckily for me I came to my senses during the day Friday and pulled back a little from throwing my emotions out there. On Friday, after PCB, I went to the bar to watch the Red Sox game. As I was walking by the window I saw Dr. B and D. playing pool in the back room and then as I went in, I saw JetBlue at the bar having some food. She was immersed in her food so I went straight back to see the boyz. (Oh yeah, playing it cool). Anyway, when I went to get a beer I stopped over to say hi to her and talked about the Red Sox for a few minutes. She seemed tired and was answering monosyllabically so I figured I was wasting my time and went back and played a game or two of pool. After we were done pooling it we went back and hung around her and some other people. And she was still fairly subdued until she made some comment to D. about him being a typical man, treating women poorly. Then D. shot back with “Don’t get me started. I could talk.” And she left shortly after that. Ha! Well, I think she was leaving anyway, but the timing of D.’s comment just made it seem the funnier.

So, anyway, after JetBlue jetted my new smoking buddy L. (one of the people with us) turned to me and said: “Where did she go? I thought JetBlue was your date?” “Nooooo…not tonight.” I replied. And was thinking “Where did she come up with that idea? Someone’s been talking.” So, a few minutes later she started asking me more questions of the “Are you going out?” variety. I said that we had and that I would again, but–and, as L. re-affirmed for me, you get a different JetBlue experience everytime you see her. And, well, I had a few drinks and probably shared too much with L. but that’s okay. Having spoken with a few people lately, I think that admitting that you like JetBlue is like admitting you are clueless. Both L. and D. in their own ways basically told me that I’m trying to get onto a roller coaster–one that doesn’t have seat belts and one that doesn’t know itself which track it’s going to follow next. The analogy’s mine, but that was their message to me. But, hey, I know that, people. And that’s been part of what’s made this fun instead of painful.

Okay, Saturday next: I headed out to the bar around 9:30 to catch the cool reggae band that was playing. I was there to meet up with D. and Dr. B so when I saw ‘she who never returned my phone call’ I just walked right on by her and went and hung out with them. She left around ten–but then showed up again after one. By that time I had been enjoying myself quite a bit and I only vaguely remember talking to her. I know I did at least briefly, but the details, well, I’m sure I was less than brilliant in my elocution skills. But she did hug me on her way out the door. What that should mean to me I haven’t a clue.

In between ten and one lots happened but I’ve gone on long enough with this post, so I’ll be relatively brief:

There were the Ho’gaarten girls–pimping that crazy Belgian beer–who fit their product’s name well. I’m not sure how many times they had to fend off leering men with the retort “It’s pronounced ‘who’ not ‘hoe’!”

There were the soft toy baseballs they handed out–not an ideal choice of prize in a crowded room of drunk people.

There was the conga line–don’t even ask.

Oh shoot, I almost forgot, there was the sweet woman from Montgomery (or as someone claims I pronounce it “Montgumery”) that I talked to outside a couple of times. I hope you come back down off your mountain soon!

There was more advice from Dr. B.–who found me on myspace recently. Bastahd. Oh, the books worth of unsolicited advice he has given me. I’ve given up even trying to record it all here!

There were Tur’bos; there was the friend of the girl D. was chatting up; there was great music; and, once again, there was a large bar tab waiting for me, filled with items I don’t remember ordering. Alright, people, who’s leeching off of me? Oh–and to leave off–why do they give you a list of your drinks with your credit card receipt? I guess so that when you get pulled over and tell the cops you only had a couple, they can check your list and say–“Not the way I read it. Seems you had 6 Heinekens, 3 Turbos, 5 Bud Lights, 3 Sam drafts, 2 G &T’s and, um, a $4 Ho’gaarten…and you have a lot of explaining to do about that last item.”


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