Saturday, July 18, 2009

Girl About Town, Cont.

So, it's a lovely Saturday afternoon. You know-- Saturday afternoons in the summer, when there's tons of stuff to do, places to go, people to see, all sorts of free entertainment in downtown Burlington like art shows and waterfront festivals and free music, and it's finally stopped raining long enough for sunlight to be seen through the puffy white summer clouds. It's the kind of Saturday summer afternoon that makes couples rejoice and single girls believe in romance.

What am I doing while I should be frolicking in sunlight and trying to entice men with my tanned limbs and sun-kissed hair?

I'm going to go see "The Proposal" with Alli. That's right-- I'm going to go sit in a dark theater this afternoon with my roommate, split a large bag of buttery popcorn, and all for the price of a regular ticket because I am so cheap and so broke that I am literally cashing in my hoarded Susan B. Anthony coins my family used to give me on my birthday for gas and groceries. (And, the occasional movie, apparently.)

I have already exhausted all of my summer keep-busy/have-fun hobbies and events. In this past week alone, I have taken myself out for a bubble tea and chocolate reading date at Sapa, went to lunch at the Skinny Pancake and dinner at Asian Bistro in the same day, went with a friend to Yankee Tattoo as she got inked, went for a wander down by the waterfront with Madison, went to North Beach two days in a row with Alli, went to the gym twice (and it closes on the weekends or I'd be there again), spent my Thursday night playing beer pong and meeting new people at Justin's, went for an exploratory drive on 127, had an over 2-hour texting conversation with Perfect yesterday, and tomorrow am going back to Worcester to go swimming at the Pots.

I am running out of ideas to keep myself busy and (relatively) out of trouble, and there could not have been a worse time for this to happen. Why? Because Perfect is in town, less than four miles away. I am removing myself to a movie theater to try and resist the temptation to text or call Perfect and say something like, "So, I'm really, really bored and you're in town, so why don't we meet up because I have this blog that's kind of coming into it's own and unfortunately because of your decision a month ago (exactly today,) I no longer really have a love life, which is something I'd like to discuss with you, and I figure hey! A really awkward but needed "this is how I feel" conversation would really spice things up and give me something to write about you for the rest of the world online to see. Sound like fun?"

Perfect does not know about this blog. Nor does he know, (I think, I assume, I kind of hope,) that I write about him. I figure though, it's a casualty with dating a writer-- you have to assume it will happen. He knows what I do; he's read some of my articles I wrote for "Moss on the Moon." No one has supported this fact better than Stephen Stills of Crosby, Stills and Nash, who once stated: “There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature.” I believe the same is true vice-versa the genders.

So instead of making further Bad Life Decisions, I'm going to a rom-com. I'll let you know how it was later.

Being a woman, though, and having a very active imagination paired with a memory like a steel trap for random facts, I remembered right after I signed on for this endeavor that Perfect and Baby Mix (AKA: the Best Friend since knee-high and training pants) usually like to go and catch a flick together on their weekends together. And we happen to share the same theater in common, compliments of living in the same town. (Baby Mix and I, that is.) Instantly, this makes me think about how awkward it would be to run into them in the (very, very slim; in fact, microscopic) chance we all decided to go see a show at the same time. But still, with most things in life, I apply the 50-50 Rule: despite all the chances, it all boils down to a 50% possibility-- they either may be there, or they won't be. I love the 50-50 Rule. It makes almost anything seem possible.

And then, right after the "What If They're There?" daydream comes the "What If They're There And Furtively Holding Hands?" daymare. Now, bromance is nothing to kid about, and no one loves a good bromance quite like I do. I am also the last person who should be ridiculing a close bond between two friends of the same sex, as I myself have been at the receiving end of lesbian rumors because of how close (and possibly, how explicit) Madison and I are together. I also, obviously, have nothing against gay people. However, I HAVE had an ex-boyfriend who ended up being secretly gay (guesses, people?), and I obviously really, really like Perfect, so this is something that would crush me. He and Baby Mix are so close and so secure in their masculinity that they joke around about being gay lovers all the time, but really, if I were to stumble upon the truth in Essex Outlets Cinema, I think I would die right there, on the cartoon move-reel carpet, spilled Nerds, Snow-Caps, crushed popcorn, and all.

Again-- the 50-50 Rule applies here: either they are, or they aren't. I am willing to stake the rest of my meager savings that they aren't, but still, it's something that makes me panic. Right up there with the possibility of being 40 and still single. Because my boyfriends turn out to be gay.

See? I'm such a total woman-- over-active imagination and the ability to turn worrying into a professional, full-contact sport. Now excuse me-- I have a dark and air-conditioned theater to remove myself to, far away from all the happy couples PDA-ing in the parks, and the temptation to either call Perfect or go for "a little drive". Pay no mind to me. In about twenty minutes, I will be replaying the "Sex With Mr. Perfect" movie-reel inside my head, and will be realizing that there is no possible way he is gay, or in love with Baby Mix any other way than really deep and abiding bro-love, like my Bitch-Hitches with Madison and Nora. Because a man who asks you if you like RECEIVING oral and obviously loves loving the snatch I don't think would be capable of the same enthusiasm for dick. Really. (By the way-- best oral of my life. Just needed to get that brag out there. Unfucking believeable. Oh yeah. Totally not gay.)

So enjoy the nice weather for me. And if you see a really massive, attractive guy with shaggy brown hair and a perfect toothy white smile lurking around with another really tall guy with long and wavy blonde hair, probably pulled back in a ponytail, who looks like Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom miraculously copulated on the set of "Pirates of the Caribbean" and holding hands, please-- don't tell me. No, wait, scratch that-- tell me. No, better-- ask them who's the bottom. Morbid curiosity.

XOXO

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