And today sucks. Don’t want to do this.
Tonight was amazing, until it became a
fucking nightmare less than amazing.
I flew into Chicago today, and my friend B met me at the airport. We dropped my stuff off at his place and then went to the vegan place around the corner. We split an awesome vegetarian BBQ wrap and I got to make googly-eyes at a guy in the corner table.
Afterward, we met up with B’s friends at a karaoke bar. I was having an awesome time, drinking and singing. Seriously, one of the genuinely best nights I’ve had out in a while. And to top it all off, this very, very cute guy was making eyes at me. Quite frankly, I felt like the uber-hot chick that I am. (I’m coming off being sick and gross for two and half weeks, so having admirers was a very good feeling.)
Eventually, I got around to talking to this guy. And it goes something like this,
Me: Yeah, I’m just visiting, I got into Chicago this evening.
Guy: Oh yeah? Me too, I’m here for a friend’s wedding.
Me: Oh no kidding, where are you from?
Me: No fucking way! (I get really excited) I’m used to live there!
Guy: Yeah, yeah, I live in (wherever).
Me: Awesome, I used to live in Mt. Vernon.
Conversation continues but takes a turn for the worse.
Me: So what do you do in Baltimore?
Guy: Oh, what I do enjoy or for living?
Me: What do you enjoy?
Guy: I’m a bassist and play drums.
::FLASHING WARNING SIGNS ARE GOING OFF IN MY HEAD – WALK AWAY HEATHER. WALK AWAY RIGHT NOW. MUSICIANS ARE EVIL::
Me: Really? What kind of music, where do you play?
Guy: Dixie-land stuff, (he names some bands I haven’t heard of, phew). At the Windup Space and…
Me: The Windup Space?
Guy: Yeah, I used to do the sound there.
Me: Oh, fuck no.
I kid you not. I am hundreds of miles away from Baltimore, and I meet a guy, a guy who is into me, a guy I’ve been “flirting” with all night, a guy who is texting me right now at 2 am, from Baltimore who knows my narcissistic, cheating, lying ex-boyfriend, Adam. Even worse, when I tell him that I’m Adam’s ex-girlfriend, he kind of drops an, “oh… uh…” awkwardly, as if he knows who I am through some vicarious circle or he likes Adam enough not to want to say anything bad about him. FUCK ME. I HATE MY LIFE. Oh wait it gets worse, we converse a bit more about other musicians we mutually know, and then he’s all like, I shouldn’t say this.
D: Well, it’s weird.
D: Well, I’ve probably had like six people tap me on the shoulder calling me Adam.
Me: I don’t understand…
D: I’ve gone out, been out at bars and stuff, and people have tapped me on the shoulder thinking I’m Adam Hopkins.
Me: Are you fucking serious?
Me: Okay, this is too weird.
Conversation ends awkwardly and I slowly step away from the fire.
FUCK MY LIFE! How can I not escape Adam. Is his reach so far? (I bet that narcissistic fuck is just loving this.) I seriously, seriously was having an amazing night. I was seriously, seriously not thinking about Adam anymore. And yet, and YET this shit is brought to the forefront all over again. FUCK MY LIFE. For the love of God, I’m in CHICAGO, how is this possibly happening to me. This is why I LEFT Baltimore, so this bullshit wouldn’t happen to me. FUCK MY LIFE.
Update: you can tell how melodramtic i’m being from my liberal use of all caps. ahh alcohol. in retrospect, it’s not a big deal, just a terrible coincidence. He was very good looking. oh well.