Bits and Pieces and Crumbs but Never the Whole Cookie

I didn't remember dancing in the Swiss flag that hung on the wall at Pation last night. Vanessa had to remind me of it today. I still can't remember what I was singing.

There was no one left in the bar. My friends with whom I had arrived had long since decided to go to bed. Everyone got kisses last night. I just stayed and kept drinking. Tequila is my only poison. suckle.

I stayed on the restaurant side of the bar and found new connections with people: like Eric and Darrin.

Eric: "I'm a cook. I do the cooking. I cook here."

He doesn't talk much, but he stares. He would catch my eye and just hold it there. I stared back at him way too much.

The length of my arm, and perhaps my hair? I cannot recall entirely, but I remember thinking that his touch was firm, unusually.

Riley and I talked at length of homonyms and sestinas and obsolete grammar rules. He played a SELF album. He's straight up.

There was a Venezuelan painter there who knew just enough English to assert that I and another girl ought to be "fucking" later that night.

I slept fully clothed.

In my partially clothed top: a wife-beater redeemed as a "boy beater," in large Sharpee letters.

I'm not a tough guy, really.

Rain: makes for good, warm brunches at Moonstruck on 2nd Ave.

Makes for pleasant nap afternoons.

Makes for excellent movie-viewing conditions.

I'll only drink beer later, because I sip beer.

Not suck.

Lasts longer.

Less drunk.

I walked out of the bar alone, and crossed 2nd. I remember vaguely looking up to make sure the light was red. Michael and Vanessa offered to walk with me (offered me a place to sleep at their (her) apartment). I was too drunk to wait.

I had been lying on the bathroom floor.

Just relaxing.

Hell, no, I didn�t puke!

I called Maggie and Tylere. They were both drunk, too, and I have no idea what was said, exactly.

My Friday was not too strenuous. The children�s activities kept our day busy, the bosses left for the weekend, and the grandparents showed up for my relief.

I did go into HMV � to buy my ticket for Sunday � and there was my little dude.

I collect such guys, by the way. There�s the gas attendant, the guy at the pet store, the Patio boys, the Starbucks guy, but the record-store guy is my favorite.

He gives me discounts.

We�d never talked much, but yesterday he told me things like that he�s in a band, and he sings and plays guitar, and he has tickets to the Field Day Festival. He smokes. He�s tall, and dark, and dresses cute and he listens to pretty good music � from what I could tell. Don�t know his name.

So I decided that next week I�d ask him to go with me to Bright Eyes.

It�s been so long since I asked a guy out and got told no that I think I might be getting weak. I need to exercise my rejection muscles.

(Those are different from the �getting the shaft muscles� by the way.)

Or perhaps he�ll be the first guy I ask out who says yes!