Here's a memory you really don't want to forget, considering how surreal it felt. You went to work tonight at 8:00 PM, the first real thing you'd done all day, and that was nothing special -- just a chance to let out some of that pent-up energy from the past two days. Work ends, 'nuff said. You're down to go smoke with Carissa after you drop off Alyssa -- which was the original plan -- but then Carissa says that Alyssa (20-ounce-breve-hot-chocolate-with-whip Alyssa) wants to have us over to smoke and see her apartment. You're in no position to decline a new experience and you agree without hesitation to meet back at the A'romas parking lot after taking Alyssa (the coworker) home and picking up two forties from 711. Midnight rolls around and you all head your separate ways. Oh, and you let Alyssa drive herself home because she passed her permit test on Wednesday and, gosh darnit, you couldn't say no to her.
Half hour later you follow Carissa out of the A'romas parking lot thinking you had a far way to drive, but then you're pulling over down the street -- less than a block from work -- and parking in front of this old building that recently became a bicycle shop after a failed clothing store. Now you're looking up at the balcony that overlooks the road on the second-floor of this building and there's breve-hot-chocolate Alyssa waving down to you. She actually lives up there. And you're not even going to remember exactly how awesome this place was. Imagine that bachelor pad apartment you dreamed about renting in some big city, and then blow your mind by actually meeting the people who rent an apartment that, more or less, exactly matches your dream home.
The staircase is a thin, too-vertical climb with steps that creak and moan like demonic piano keys. The first room is a dark laundry area with an obnoxious amount of doors leading to unknown places, hallways or secrets. You've been in love since you parked on the road. You're following Alyssa through the tour like she's guiding you through a virtual recreation of what you someday hope of having. The tiny last-minute-thought kitchen off to the side of the empty dining room with hardwood floors and white peeled-paint arches and beams -- everything from the 1940's and showing age, yet sturdy and homely. The scatterbrained assortment of chairs and knick-knacks all over the place. The headless, armless, legless mannequin. The food porn coffee-table book. The two bedrooms with the shared bathroom. Access to the flat gravel-coated rooftop with an incredibly open view of the stars. High ceilings. An unkempt and unorganized look to the place that makes you feel more comfortable than being somewhere too tidy. You know from the instant you step inside that these are the kind of people you want to be friends with. And, maybe because you loved the apartment so much and wanted to someday return, you were seriously on your conversation game tonight. Carissa even complimented you on it when you guys went to Jack in the Box afterward.
You know what that's like -- when you're the perfect mix of stoned, buzzed, and hyper and an unusual amount of comfort and energy seems to sharpen your wit.
Alyssa and her roommate, Melinda, were good hosts. Melinda and Alyssa would both qualify as two of the most attractive girls you've had good conversations with. And you're a harsh judge when it comes to how you think a conversation went. You usually pick up on negative vibes and back out of it, quickly, when the conversation goes wrong -- especially with an attractive girl -- and the same goes for how you respond when it goes right. Like tonight, when you were talking to just Melinda (the other two were having a cigarette break) you had that "Oh fuck I'm really stoned I don't even know if I'm making any sense Can she even understand the words coming out of my mouth Am I too quiet Too loud Too weird She's not laughing Focus Focus Focus" moments, which often causes a minor panic attack when you're the wrong mixture of high and low, but tonight you pushed through it. Literally. You literally remember having those pessimistic thoughts in your head and you remember telling yourself to step back, focus on what you're saying out loud, and find some cohesive point to this conversation. You talked about ways she might make the apartment more homely -- as Melinda confessed she still didn't feel like this place was her home... When it was the four of you together you felt totally comfortable -- not awkward in the slightest -- which helped you stay vocal. If only you could figure out how to tap into that confidence every time you went out... Alyssa reminded you a lot of Jillian -- who quit -- who is simultaneously sweet and rough in her demeanor. Melinda was more relaxed and played along with your stoned ramblings about making the apartment more homely, which almost became a competition between us of who could have the dryer sarcasm.
This is why you started this blog. You want to remember nights like this one. You don't always go out. You don't always meet new people. The day to day stuff is pretty boring in the long run. But when you end up going to a customer's apartment for the first time with one of your best friends from work and relaxing while passing around the bong and talking about cooking, about books, about music, and then go get 2:00 AM Jack in the Box... Those are the nights you want to remember the most. Nights you feel like you made a positive and memorable impression on strangers who could become friends. You were high. You were all high. So that has to be taken into account when you figure if your conversation had any worth -- you remember all agreeing that a trampoline-sized drum would be awesome because someone could dance on it while also playing the drums -- but at the time, during the experience, the dialogue was good. That's what matters, now, looking back. Like choosing between the fish or the chicken side of the meat category, singing along to "Don't Worry Be Happy," guesstimating that memorizing twenty meal-sized recipes qualifies you as a "chef" as opposed to a "pretty good cook," how you write fiction but enjoy writing fiction that pretends like it's non-fiction -- and the ensuing confusion over which meant what...
It all fades so quickly. You're glad you got as much written as you did.
Oh, and Bryce got his HD camera. That's the start of another adventure entirely.
Half hour later you follow Carissa out of the A'romas parking lot thinking you had a far way to drive, but then you're pulling over down the street -- less than a block from work -- and parking in front of this old building that recently became a bicycle shop after a failed clothing store. Now you're looking up at the balcony that overlooks the road on the second-floor of this building and there's breve-hot-chocolate Alyssa waving down to you. She actually lives up there. And you're not even going to remember exactly how awesome this place was. Imagine that bachelor pad apartment you dreamed about renting in some big city, and then blow your mind by actually meeting the people who rent an apartment that, more or less, exactly matches your dream home.
The staircase is a thin, too-vertical climb with steps that creak and moan like demonic piano keys. The first room is a dark laundry area with an obnoxious amount of doors leading to unknown places, hallways or secrets. You've been in love since you parked on the road. You're following Alyssa through the tour like she's guiding you through a virtual recreation of what you someday hope of having. The tiny last-minute-thought kitchen off to the side of the empty dining room with hardwood floors and white peeled-paint arches and beams -- everything from the 1940's and showing age, yet sturdy and homely. The scatterbrained assortment of chairs and knick-knacks all over the place. The headless, armless, legless mannequin. The food porn coffee-table book. The two bedrooms with the shared bathroom. Access to the flat gravel-coated rooftop with an incredibly open view of the stars. High ceilings. An unkempt and unorganized look to the place that makes you feel more comfortable than being somewhere too tidy. You know from the instant you step inside that these are the kind of people you want to be friends with. And, maybe because you loved the apartment so much and wanted to someday return, you were seriously on your conversation game tonight. Carissa even complimented you on it when you guys went to Jack in the Box afterward.
You know what that's like -- when you're the perfect mix of stoned, buzzed, and hyper and an unusual amount of comfort and energy seems to sharpen your wit.
Alyssa and her roommate, Melinda, were good hosts. Melinda and Alyssa would both qualify as two of the most attractive girls you've had good conversations with. And you're a harsh judge when it comes to how you think a conversation went. You usually pick up on negative vibes and back out of it, quickly, when the conversation goes wrong -- especially with an attractive girl -- and the same goes for how you respond when it goes right. Like tonight, when you were talking to just Melinda (the other two were having a cigarette break) you had that "Oh fuck I'm really stoned I don't even know if I'm making any sense Can she even understand the words coming out of my mouth Am I too quiet Too loud Too weird She's not laughing Focus Focus Focus" moments, which often causes a minor panic attack when you're the wrong mixture of high and low, but tonight you pushed through it. Literally. You literally remember having those pessimistic thoughts in your head and you remember telling yourself to step back, focus on what you're saying out loud, and find some cohesive point to this conversation. You talked about ways she might make the apartment more homely -- as Melinda confessed she still didn't feel like this place was her home... When it was the four of you together you felt totally comfortable -- not awkward in the slightest -- which helped you stay vocal. If only you could figure out how to tap into that confidence every time you went out... Alyssa reminded you a lot of Jillian -- who quit -- who is simultaneously sweet and rough in her demeanor. Melinda was more relaxed and played along with your stoned ramblings about making the apartment more homely, which almost became a competition between us of who could have the dryer sarcasm.
This is why you started this blog. You want to remember nights like this one. You don't always go out. You don't always meet new people. The day to day stuff is pretty boring in the long run. But when you end up going to a customer's apartment for the first time with one of your best friends from work and relaxing while passing around the bong and talking about cooking, about books, about music, and then go get 2:00 AM Jack in the Box... Those are the nights you want to remember the most. Nights you feel like you made a positive and memorable impression on strangers who could become friends. You were high. You were all high. So that has to be taken into account when you figure if your conversation had any worth -- you remember all agreeing that a trampoline-sized drum would be awesome because someone could dance on it while also playing the drums -- but at the time, during the experience, the dialogue was good. That's what matters, now, looking back. Like choosing between the fish or the chicken side of the meat category, singing along to "Don't Worry Be Happy," guesstimating that memorizing twenty meal-sized recipes qualifies you as a "chef" as opposed to a "pretty good cook," how you write fiction but enjoy writing fiction that pretends like it's non-fiction -- and the ensuing confusion over which meant what...
It all fades so quickly. You're glad you got as much written as you did.
Oh, and Bryce got his HD camera. That's the start of another adventure entirely.
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