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December
8, 2005. Last Saturday was a weird day for me. I didn't really want or need to go anywhere during the day, so I tried to sleep in. This never works. I tend to get up for work anywhere between 5:15 AM and 5:45 AM. By the time I've worked that early morning trick (I am truly a magician in this respect, as I am SO not a morning person) 5 times in a row, my body rebels against any sort of additional sleep for Saturday or Sunday, even if I've gotten to bed late the night before. I cleaned. I did as much as I possibly could, considering that my old computer desk is still inhabiting the kitchen waiting to be picked up by my stepsister, thereby throwing off a lot of the flow of the space. I puttered. I pondered things, and I played a little Diablo II. I started getting ready to go out in the late afternoon, as dusk fell and snow started falling gently outside. By 7 PM I was ready to venture out. I was bundled up, and I had my fare card ready. I caught the bus. When I arrived at the train stop, I realized that it had been a while since I'd used public transportation to get me out on the town, rather than to my job. My walking pace felt comically brisk and efficient next to the hipsters who were ambling along and canoodling down the staircase opposite. The tunnel was a lot quieter and more empty, and as I jogged down the last few steps, I could hear the rubber soles of my boots echo a tiny bit. A strange tapthud, almost like the tread was frozen. Oddly percussive. The train was a little sad, I suppose. Mostly couples going somewhere special. Even in the arctic temps with snow gathering and collecting all over the sidewalks outside, there were still a few girls on the train with strappy heels and hair pulled back in glittering combs, giving off an aura of perfume and quiet excitement about the evening ahead. Opera? Theater? Party? Shopping and then a carriage ride on Michigan Avenue? Wedding? Company dinner? I pulled off my mittens and let the conversations wash over me. I felt that tiny thrill once or twice before I arrived at Clark and Lake: I'm by myself, and I am going out. Despite being a fairly social person as an adult, I still really, really enjoy going places on my own. When I went to see Sigur Ros recently, I went by myself, and had a phenomenal time. Incidentally, my brother had called during the opening act that night (he was checking in with me as there was a hurricane heading towards Houston, and he and his wife were staying put), and I talked to him while sitting on some velvet-covered bench in the lobby stairwell. He was shocked I was there on my own, and told me that he could never do that. "Do what?" I asked. "Go somewhere alone." I chuckled. I wouldn't have minded having someone there with me, I suppose, but mostly, I just wanted to be there. I got to the surface, cursing my worn boots and the lack of salting, which kept my normal commuter's pace to a sliding stroll. As I walked further east, getting closer to the crowds shopping and checking out store windows, I felt a little brighter, and a bus came along soon enough to take me into River North. I had another short walk after that, and then suddenly, I was right near the curb where my car was officially dubbed The Clown Car.
I took a moment there, tried not to get choked up (my car was essentially totaled about a week ago, in a stupid hit and run, see), and then got swept into the very busy waiting area of Fogo de Chao. I ambled slowly through the warm, cozy space, keeping an eye out for friends. I had started to move through a small gap in the crowd to continue my search near the bar, when I suddenly came face-to-face with Jenfu. I was still a little dazed and frozen from my walk, so I stubbornly just sort of stood there and looked at her until she recognized me. Which she did, heh, and then suddenly there was a flurry of hugging and semi-drunken squealing, and then we waited approximately two Ice Ages to get sat at a table. We spent the waiting time hip-to-hip on a bench, sharing sangria, and then randomly Jenfu or Mo would would throw out a hand and shrill, "Wickeeeeeeehd!" I found out that Jenfu's boyfriend was at the Colma Tombstone Hold 'Em tournament, and wants to work on ARGs. I had a weird, delicious moment of confusion before then, of trying to explain this 'weird' new thing called ARGs to a bunch of people I know through online journaling. Online journals used to be the 'weird' thing, you know? So it was sort of a relief to find that someone there was familiar with the idea. It was nice to see Ian again, even though it was just about three years ago, at the San Francisco Journalcon, that I last saw any of them. Dinner was loads of fun. I had trouble really eating a whole hell of a lot (at least, to match the price of dinner and the concept of churrascaria), but it was all very delicious. We were a decent-sized party of ten, and we were actually sat at the same table I was at for Hivemeet in May. Weird. I had a most delicious caipirinha, and there was more sangria, and then fried bananas, and then Weetabix and I shared this foamy, boozy papaya thing, and all too soon it was time to finish up our gluttony and stagger out into the night (giving Jenfu more opportunities to point excitedly and say, "Snow!"). I am hoping to hang with them in February. We'll see how the finances go. I will probably need to aggressively seek out some R&R by the time the depths of winter have fallen over us. Because that's what February is for, see: spending quality time with snobby, snobby girls. The cab ride home was quiet and uneventful. Woody texted me envious messages about not getting to have Fogo that night. That was one of my favorite memories of Hivemeet, actually - sharing potato salad with Woody, and watching everyone slip into a crazy kind of meat coma. I remember Dave keeping his chip turned green side up the longest. He was like a machine. I felt glad for the cabbie that I not only tipped well, but then another guy run up and ask to be the next fare, saving him the effort of driving around looking for one.
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