lundi 18 juillet 2005

Et, le dénouement.

This picture is once again unrelated to the story that follows. Squid ink pasta, simply tossed with some olive oil, basil, and red pepper flakes. I think that the contrasting colours here is rather nice. And dammit, pictures of food make me happy.

Because I could have told everyone exactly what was going to happen if they meddled. And I was right, as always, because I am never ever EVER wrong.

So anyway, we all went out to dinner Saturday night, a bunch of us, wherein FB pretty much ignored me, as if I had the plague (which sometimes I do, but not this week. This week it's only peeling back). And I got annoyed, because I don't like being ignored, and I knew exactly the reason for it. So I was plotting ways to make him feel uncomfortable, which would have largely consisted of hitting on him until he squirmed. And then we went drinking, wherein another meddler decided to step in and talk to him.

Grrr. So I kept drinking, and had a lot of vicious fun in rejecting guys who kept trying to talk to me, because I was in that sort of mood. (I am particularly famous amongst my group of friends for just looking at guys I don't want to talk to like they are roaches I'd like to smush, and turning around and walking away. The cut direct, perhaps, and maybe a touch too mean, but at least they get the message and don't keep trying to pester me. Besides, it's sort of funny. I feel sort of sorry for the ones who look like they could be nice guys, not so badly for the ones who look like jackasses, but you know - I don't talk to strangers. It's not a safe thing to do.)

And so I sat there stewing, drinking (this fabulous drink called a First French Fuck that involved tequila, strawberry puree, and champagne. Ah, tequila, the kiss of death), and consequently getting ready to call FB out for ignoring me all night, for by that time I was in a yelling sort of mood. Yelling and confrontational. (This kind of mood happens only very rarely. The last time was when.. oh, senior year. Stupid dumbass Nick [different from FB, and with whom I have a very complicated history which can be distilled down to two facts: he will always be in love with me and I will never want him] tried to hit on me while he had a girlfriend, and I got SO MAD I started yelling at him when we got back to my place. The funny part about all of this is that one of my friends was already passed out in my bed, and FB didn't want any part of this fight so he passed out next to her. They didn't know each other very well, so that'd be amusing enough if not for the fact that after I was done yelling at Nick, I HAD NOWHERE TO SLEEP and had to share my futon with him.)

Where were we? Yelling and confrontational. Yummy. It would have been lovely.

But then he nipped what little fun I'd have in the bud by coming over and talking to me, except it was stilted and awkward and all the things I hate and it just wasn't him. And he apologized for ignoring me, but it was still horrible and it wasn't like we'd known each other for years and years and were good good friends.

Which was exactly what I was afraid of.

And I got the backstory on the drive home, and apparently, ooh, while FB is attracted to me (because who isn't? I mean, I sound like a perfectly charming person, don't I now? All sweetness and light and sheer loveliness) it apparently could only be a relationship because I am somehow, for all my faults and foibles, on this incredibly high untouchable pedastal. Oh, and that he has girl issues that apparently need to be fixed with a few (many) sessions with a therapist.

In the end, what I'm the most upset about is that, due to all this meddling, I'm going to have to do the repair work and somehow magically patch things up so that every time we talk, it's not going to be strained and painful.

I could have told everyone what was going to happen, but of course nobody listens to me. And now, I'm left with a mess, and I don't even know where to begin in repairing it.

And because my life is just swell like that, before this whole hullaboo started, we'd signed up for salsa lessons that start this week. Awesome. Because I mean, if he can't even talk to me, how the hell is he going to even touch me, even in something so innocent as dancing?