Also found out that Max is only 22 years old. He's the guy dating Kat who has a due date in June. They live in his step-father's building. Completely happy. Sort of reminds me of the more laid-back days of my relationship with AJ, when things really were good and we really were happy. If they can sustain that, I'm sure it'll work for them. I just thought Max was closer to 27, honestly. "Not to brag or anything, but I think I have lived the most tragic life of all the people I've met," he said, and I believed him, hearing tales of his nomadic runaway life with his aunt and uncle, who basically kidnapped him at the age of five and never stopped moving. He says, "The idea of making a family now is kinda nice. I never really had that before."
Anyway, that was a trip.
Been meeting a lot of really smart girls with traveling experience and I wonder what that means. Of course by meeting I meant we've struck up conversation across the counter while I'm steaming foam for their latte bound to never see them again. The beautiful, the witty, the rude, the old, the stoned and the sober come passing through those doors. Smartest people you'll ever meet. Dumbest, too. A family of strangers serving espresso and scones to a stream of familiar faces. It's the best and worst job I'll ever have.
Katie wants to help me get new clothes for my Peace Corps interview. There's no better opinion on how to dress than that of a woman's, so of course I'm down, probably after pay day. I've discovered that talking about even attempting to join the Peace Corps gets almost the same reaction from women as showing them a puppy, and B. F. Skinner was totally right because the positive reinforcement is working. I find myself much more encouraged to keep going. Katie's been a big part of that. She has such a fantastic opinion of the world and all the wonders that are waiting out there and she really wants me to go. She said, "It's so fun to be a part of someone's life when they're going through such positive change," yesterday when we had pizza for dinner at Paesanos. Katie's the kind of person you could take to a tribe and cannibals and she'd somehow organize a book club. Anyway, when you have that kind of optimism behind you, it feels like you're fulfilling your destiny, and so of course I'm going to Oakland for that interview.
It's meant to be.
And hell, I might not get accepted. They only take 4,000 people a year. I figure there are plenty more than 4,000 people in this country who can't figure out what else to do with their lives. But I know that it's something good. I know it will change me. I know it will test me. I know it will not be anything like I expect it to be at all. But that's what I want. I want to help. I want to expand. So if I do get accepted, then that's pretty fucking intense. If not, I spin the globe, I close my eyes and I drop a finger.
And then there's the countdown to August always ticking softly in the background like some giant expiration date projected across the sky over Sacramento.That sounds way more drastic than it really is. August is just the month my lease ends, which seems like a clean and meaningful time to move on, like knowing when it's time to leave the nest.
Chrispresso. I feel like that's way more clever than it really is, but I love it.
"You've got glitter on your face," says Jenny as we're walking to The Mercantile, and she brushes the side of my face to try and get it off. The glitter belongs to Kirsten. This is when I realized how weird my life is. Save for that one moment, this was really Jenny's night, and from 8:00 to 11:50pm I was part of her world. It started at her new apartment on Q Street, where I drank sangiovese from a recycled glass yogurt cup with Jenny and her friends, David and Meg, while listening to Joy Division on the record player.
David and Meg are also customers and one of those couples who finish each other's sentences, like two pieces of the same stone put back together. Good people. The opening Simon & Garfunkel versus Hall & Oates conversation was beyond me, but I felt pretty comfortable from the get-go and settled rather nice into the company of these strangers. Next thing I know, Jenny's other roommate, Jen, shows up with her boyfriend, Nick, and plans are made to meet at The Mercantile. It's interesting how the two couples in the room give such different vibes. Jen and Nick are extroverted, David and Meg are introverted, and then you have Jenny and I, the second time we've ever hung out, these foil characters in the middle.
I've heard stories about The Mercantile, a notorious gay bar, involving stiff drinks and black out nights, so I knew that I didn't want to ever go alone. Now, with a posse, it seemed safe to try.
After watching Jenny gulp a shot of whiskey with a ginger-ale chaser and then switch to a Bud Light, I get hit on by a guy named Alex who comes to the bar while I'm waiting to order a Blue Moon. While he's laying compliment after compliment onto my ego and standing oh-so-close to my stool, he asks me to leave the bar with him. My first reaction is to say, "I'm with her," and motion to Jenny, who Alex immediately brings into the conversation to start telling her about how much of a good catch I am, how lucky she is, and Jenny says, "Yeah, he's pretty cute, huh?" and just when it seems Alex has given up, he asks Jenny how long we've been together and she tells him the truth, that "we've been friends since Friday" and totally blows my cover. It takes a little while to shake this guy off, but eventually Alex, who looks a little like Benjamin Bratt, gives up and leaves me to my Blue Moon.
Hanging out in Jenny's world was great. Everyone sitting in the back patio beneath the heat lamps, passing conversation between the six of us without falter. Jen is a performer, a singer, who once worked with AJ, my ex, (side note: this is not Jenn, who briefly worked at Old Soul, who also knew AJ) and Nick is a semi-political consultant of sorts who is currently wrapped up in the high-speed rail project. Both of the couples have interesting dynamics, I discovered. I love studying relationships.
Jenny and I bonded through discussions of journalism on the walk home, then smoked a joint in her new bedroom while listening to Nightmares on Wax and flipping through poetry anthologies. She loaned me a collection with specific poems marked with bits of torn paper. "This one is my power poem," she said, writing POWER POEM on the paper. I asked what that meant and she replied, "You'll see when you read it."
I love the way she writes in the margins.
I had to leave after a game of Scrabble Apple. We made plans to hang out again next Sunday, when she gets back from a work-related trip out of town, and I thank Christopher Nolan for that because The Dark Knight happened to be playing subtitled on the screen above the bar at The Mercantile, which Jenny hasn't seen and I've been hoping to watch again soon. Now I have a week to get the movie. Also, she's the first girl I've wanted to drink that tempranillo with, the wine my mom got me for Christmas.
When I get home, Kirsten is on the front steps ranting about her sister to someone on the other end of a cellphone call, and eventually she comes up to the room. "I had to choose between antibiotics and alcohol tonight, and I chose alcohol," she said to the bottle of Jack Daniels. Apparently her sister's been threatening suicide on facebook, and poor Kirsten has to panic and worry all night until someone finally finds her. They do. Everything is okay, save for the strained relationship Kirsten has with her sister, and this is only more fuel to motivate Kirsten to really move to Connecticut.
Katie's coming over tomorrow after work to help me figure out Peace Corps stuff and delve deeper into the mysteries of The Island in the second season of LOST. I was lazy about doing laundry so now I have to go buy clothes at Bows and Arrows to hold me over until Wednesday, and on that note...
- Left to Fry
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