remember, there are two who are not busy: the Buddha and me
Sunday night, house is quiet, roommates gone with boyfriends. Sundays always used to be my favorite part about having a boyfriend. There is something so melancholy about these days that you should never have to spend them alone. I’m not sure if it’s the end of the weekend or the beginning of a new week stretching out into infinity that is so daunting. But happily these days I don’t really feel that so much anymore. Without school or a job, in a new city, reeling from a breakup, I find myself suddenly freed from thoughts that had become narrow and patterned The useless fear of certain days of the week.
The weekend was nice. On Friday we went out to a neighborhood bar and I was happily surprised at the Bellingham-esque drink prices. We had a few drinks before one roommate had to rush back to the apartment fearful that she was developing a sty on her eyelid. This left Chloe, Josie, and I, happily sipping our Pabst and enjoying ourselves. The woman behind the bar was probably the nicest female bartender we had ever dealt with. She even named a drink that we helped to concoct the “Chloe and Ramona.” Then Josie headed downtown and Chloe and I pranced home, and made midnight chocolate chip cookies, which are always the best kind. We woke up in the morning quite hungover, and after watching an episode of Gossip Girl, which might be the worst show I have ever seen, headed to the gym to sweat it out. We were forced to do the stair-stepper since all the treadmills were taken. At one point Chloe looked over at me and started laughing, and I had to admit that I had no idea what to do with my arms on the stair-stepper. I had been alternating between flailing them at my sides like flippers and just letting them hang limply. I wasn’t sure exactly what Chloe was doing differently, but there must have been some small thing, because she did not look as ridiculous as I certainly felt.
Our big plan for the day was to attend Love Parade, which can only be described as “this thing they do” in San Francisco. It’s basically an outdoor techno music/gaudy float/neon/rainbow extravaganza right in the middle of the classical architecture in the Civic Center: read drug-addled youth in tutus and face paint laying all over the lawns of the large and imposing government buildings. It had been predicted to rain, but turned out to be the most perfect weather breezy, sunny, and warm. We wandered down and after taking a few laps through the thick crowd decided to stake out a spot on the grass and relax. So there we sat just four girls passing around a bottle of champagne and staring at the sky as house music reverberated through out brains. It was wonderful. We topped it off with pizza, and a hilarious walk home in which Chloe’s boyfriend, having perhaps had a little more champagne than the rest of us danced through the streets in his cut-off jean shorts and t-shirt emblazoned across the chest with one word MYSTERY. Chloe was almost terminally embarrassed, but even she had to admit that it was pretty amusing.
We got home at six and I promptly fell asleep in my big white bed. Much later I was briefly awoken by the sound of Chloe’s boyfriend, who had apparently woken from his post-drinking nap, saying, “Are you kidding me, it can’t be 10:30. Really? No. Really?” Indeed it was. Another day gone, but that’s okay.