And now to the details. What to tell first? Hmm. . . Okay, okay. You’re dying to hear about The Man so I’ll give you my impression of him. (Keep in mind this impression was formed within less than 48 hours of meeting him so accuracy is not guaranteed.) I like him. He seems like a solid, decent guy. He has a steady job. He has spent a good deal of time helping Drama get settled in her new place, putting up blinds and shelves and things. He seems genuinely nice, and he seems to genuinely care about Drama. Are they meant for each other in the long term? I don’t know. Only they can decide that as time goes by. What I do know is that they seem to mesh well with each other’s personalities. I give The Man my thumbs up approval to date Drama. (As if she needed my approval, but hey it’s good when the friends get along with the main squeeze.)
Drama’s new place is furnished in early modern cardboard boxes. Heh, heh. She’s only been there a couple of weeks and is still unpacking. She does have walking paths through the apartment, and if I didn’t have such an amply sized booty I probably could’ve walked around without bumping into things and knocking things over. Fortunately, I didn’t knock much over (and nothing breakable), and I had nothing at all to do with the curtain rods falling all on their own on Sunday. Drama was worried that the mess would bother me, but I thought the place looked as well as could be expected given the short time she’s been there and the lack of storage space in the apartment. She worries too much.
Of course, my visit did nothing to help the unpacking process. She spent Saturday entertaining me, taking me to lunch with friends from her workplace, and that evening taking me to dinner and later an Irish pub with her divorce support group friends.
I came away from the pub with these observations:
- If you are a senior citizen it isn’t cute to spike your hair, wear skin tight clothes, and act like a teenage groupie over a band full of 20-somethings.
- If everyone is staring at you when you’re the only one dancing, that does not necessarily mean you are being favorably judged by those staring at you.
- Tact and manners is not your forte if you think it’s okay to try to wave over a band member, and upon being unsuccessful, walk over to him and ask "When is the f***ing music is going to start?"
- There is a difference between making polite conversation and conducting the grand inquisition. Asking someone to tell you about their children is polite conversation. Asking someone if they know who the baby daddy is when told of a pregnancy is not polite conversation.
It’s nice when outings can be an educational experience.
We didn’t stay out late like last year when I visited Drama. We got home early, around 11:00 p.m. I think. That doesn’t, however, mean that the party was over. Drama, The Man, Drama’s best friend, and I played a card/board game until the wee hours of the morning. There may have been a wee bit of drinking while playing. There may also have been a wee bit of laughter, and some incredibly interesting conversation. All I can say is I will never again hear the phrase “I’m parched” without at least snickering and perhaps laughing right out loud. Also, I will never again follow five beers with three Buttery Nipples. I’m too old to be that wild anymore. I suffered the consequences, and I don’t care to have any repeat performances. I haven’t drunk that much since my college days, when I swore I’d never drink that much again. I’m renewing that vow now. Hopefully, I’m old enough and wise enough to keep it this time.
If you ever make it to the great state of Illinois (we aren’t all corrupt politicians here you know, in spite of how it appears) I highly recommend partying with Drama. That is one girl who knows how to live. Oh, and invite me too. I’d hate to miss out on a good time.