Sunday, May 10, 2009

Date 30.2: This Couldn't be Saved with Second Hand Smoke

As I left my house on a slightly rainy evening to pick up Montana and my purported Scottish-Canadian turned American BFF so we could head to Addison home of the Two Ts for a fantastic evening of Foreigner, my text messages notification beeped.

“Hand Me Downs* said you two were going to Taste of Addison. That should be fun!”

Strange. Pretty sure I was going with Montana and my purported Scottish-Canadian turned American BFF to meet the Two Ts and some other randoms. My confusion was interrupted by my text message notification once again.

“Let’s meet up for Taste of Addison.”

Who am I to stop Hand Me Downs from joining us for taste of Addison? The more the merrier, right? I let him know what time and where we are meeting and continue on my way to meet up with everyone after a quick stop at IKEA for a kitchen in a box. We get to the Two Ts place about the time that everyone is heading out for Bowling for Soup. Hand Me Downs is lost… and late. We wait patiently, or as patiently as one can be when someone had more than ample time to get where they are going and lives 10 miles closer than I do and there was perfectly good beer being consumed by someone other than me.

Hand Me Downs arrives in style with no hat (wow… didn’t remember him being that bald), a raincoat (true it was sprinkling but seriously who wears a raincoat to an outdoor concert in Addison?), and an umbrella that he was using kinda like a cane (only he wasn’t wearing black clothes and a sweet bowler hat/billycock and strolling in the park whistling to himself… that would have made the umbrella thing okay). Goodness, he has aged since I last saw him mere days ago.

Perhaps Foreigner will have the same cloud of positive energy that Dave Matthews had. Then things will smooth out and I will know that we were meant to continue dating in a haze of positive energy.

No such luck. This couldn't be saved with second hand smoke anyway.

Hand Me Downs had his sister meet him out there. He decided he didn’t like where we were standing and moved back a bit. We stood in silence only occasionally speaking. Montana was uncomfortable. My purported Scottish-Canadian turned American BFF was uncomfortable and decided to go in search of lingerie and jewelry or some such absurdities. The Two Ts weren’t uncomfortable, but it was clear they thought I was.

Thankfully Hand Me Downs is elderly and was too tired to stay out late will all us crazy kids and our rock and roll music. The night wasn’t a complete bust due to other company and a rousing rendition of Hot Blooded followed by an evening of F the Dealer back at the Two Ts.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Good Thing I Inhaled

I love Dave Matthews.

Admittedly, I did not love Dave Matthews until 1996 when I decided that I would let him crash into me any time.

In 1998 on a trip across the border I took Dave's advice and didn't drink the water.

In 2002 as I packed my things to move yet again, I told Dave, "stop asking... I don't know where I'm going."

I even loved DMB in August 2004 when at least 120 Chicago tourists hated Dave.

I loved Dave through low times... and high times... and really high times.

Today, in the pouring rain and ridiculous storms, I stood (slightly damp) loving Dave. I was with the Triathlete's Hand Me Downs. A guy that wanted her and made that plain to me (he was late to meet me because he really needed to stop and buy Cliff bars for her even though she was out of town... no really, I don't mind when someone is late when they have such a good reason). But alas, there was hope... not only was the music amazing, again, I love Dave... but there was this cloud of positive energy. The energy was so thick I think I could actually see it rising from the crowd in a haze. Positive energy smells familiarly sweet.

What little I know about metaphysics leads me to believe I have a gift! Certainly not everyone has the gift to see positive energy.

So I took a page from Lyndon B Johnson who once said, “The American people have a right to air that they and their children can breathe without fear.” So I took a breath and suddenly there was hope for the date. I saw Hand Me Downs in a new light. He seemed sweet. Conversation seemed to be going well. I didn't really mind the rain. He was looking less bald... and less old. His banter about the Triathlete seemed almost endearing. The image I had in my mind of him in a wetsuit flailing about in the lake has nearly dissipated. And the intense guitar vs saxophone action that was occurring on stage... priceless.

Back in his SUV (cause what single 40 something year old man doesn't drive an SUV) we chatted on the way to my car. Then it was over as quickly as it had began. I was still enjoying my elevated mood so I decided to treat myself on the way to some Whataburger... hooray for Taquitos. This day keeps getting better.

I had such a great night, but in retrospect, there was nothing that made this match feasible. But for a fleeting moment, Dave made anything seem possible.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Chronic Dating

One of my friends mentioned over Sunday brunch that I was a chronic dater.

An afternoon of shopping, a wine tasting, and quick workout later, I found myself pondering the statement, or more specifically, the term chronic dater. A quick trip to the thesaurus in search of a better term to replace chronic left me disappointed, but after a quick trip to the dictionary and a little online etymology search I was left with a new perspective...

Chronic: being long-lasting and recurrent or characterized by long suffering
Long suffering.

Well isn’t that apropos. Apparently in the beginning, khronos (which is Greek for “time”) became khronikos (Greek for “of time”) which became chronicus (Latin) then chronique (French) and finally chronical… Then in 1601 someone gave it a vague disapproving sense by associating it with disease. Did that man sitting in his broad lace collar with his full, slashed sleeves, tall broad hat and breeches have me in mind when he made that fateful association that turned chronic from time to long suffering?

Perhaps, but doesn't that make it that much better when my days of chronic dating are over? I like to think so.