Friday, July 07, 2006

"..and I go to sleep unfulfilled."

So around 11pm Wednesday night I get a call from Becky. I am not sure if I have mentioned Becky on here before however I met her on Sunday night in Downing Street, the cigar bar I frequent with Scott. She was very drunk and we ended up back at my place after the bar closed. She passed out not too long after getting to my place and I had to go in to the office on Monday so nothing happened. We exchanged phone numbers and since then I have spoken to her on the phone a few times but things have never gotten anywhere. This means I was a little surprised to receive her call.

She wanted to get together and since she was over on Montrose I suggested we meet at Downing Street. When I showed up I knew she was drunk and she was babbling on about not wanting to be alone tonight. I’m a cad but I was thinking things might go a little better than they did last time. I was wrong. We hung out at Downing for an hour or so and then she copped to being tired, however she was so drunk she was barely able to stand up. She was aware of how inebriated she was and was open to the suggestion of going back to my place and sleeping it off. The plan was to take her back to her car before I headed into the office on Thrusday.

On the way home she grabbed my hand and then kicked the passenger seat back and passed out. She wouldn’t wake up when we got to the house so I managed to carry her inside. Well, mostly, we got into the hall and she got tangled in the door hanging we had and at that point we went down. I didn’t drop her so much as make a controlled slide down the wall to the floor. This woke her up. She promptly headed towards the bathroom but got distracted by a couch where she passed out. I checked on her a couple times to make sure she was breathing before I crashed for the evening.

She woke me up on Thursday morning by crawling into bed and snuggling up with me which is, truth be told, a rather pleasant way to greet the morning. We BS’ed or a little bit and then I decided to blow off work for the morning and hang out with Becky. We popped Mallrats into the DVD player and settled in to watch. About halfway through the movie she got the need for some smokes and realized she had run out last night at the bar. This necessitated a quest in the car to a couple of the crappy little convenience stores around since Becky smokes American Spirits. During this quest we discovered two things. First, no one around my house sells American Spirits. Second, Becky had lost her ATM card at some point in the evening. This meant we had to go searching for the ATM card. We swung back by the house to collect her purse and then headed back to her car, which was still at Downing. Fortunately her card was in the car. At this point we went and got some breakfast at Katz’s, which she accompanied with a Bloody Mary. I should take this opportunity to point out that she had two screwdrivers at my house before we headed out and it was around 10 in the morning.

After Katz’s we decided to head our separate ways as she had a hair appointment at noon and I wanted to get into the office before it got too much later. We talked about getting together and doing something that night and I told her I would call once I was home from the office and had a plan in place. She called me either two or three times throughout the day. She never really had anything to say except hi, but this got me thinking that just maybe tonight things might get fun.

Again I was sorely mistaken.

During the course of the day the plan to meet Scott, Lynn, Angie, one of Lynn’s Canadian friends, and Diana, Mr. TunaCan’s love monkey, at the Kelvin Arms for steaks and some drinking was developed. After I got home from the comic store I gave Becky a call and filled her in on the plan. She was, much to my surprise*, out drinking. Becky and I agreed to meet at a gas station and I headed out. While I was on the way to gas station she called me twice so I could remind her where we were meeting. This was a sign of things to come.

We managed to meet up and it was clear that she was already well into her cups. I tried a couple of different things to convince her to leave her car somewhere and ride with me however this didn’t work and she ended up following me to the Kelvin. Becky is perhaps the worst follower I have ever had. When I am being followed on city streets I drive a little under the speed limit and try to keep the person following me as close as possible. Becky was driving ridiculously slow and would get more then four car lengths behind me. Then she almost rear-ended me when I pulled into the turning lane. At this point I was so annoyed I was thinking this whole thing might have been a bad idea. Once we were at the Kelvin she dropped a bomb on me. She had brought her dog, Buttercup, with her. Buttercup is one of those annoying cute and hyperactive dogs which, when owned by a single woman, is a sign that things are probably not all right upstairs. In this case Buttercup is a Chihuahua. I hate chihuahuas on principle.

The night at the Kelvin went pretty good. The steaks and potatoes were acceptably good and the company was fantastic. The only problem with Thursday’s at the Kelvin is that it is live music night. In general live music night at bars which are not specifically designed as musical venues bugs me. The acoustics tend to be horrible, the bands mediocre at best, and if I am in a bar with people I want to be able to hear what my tablemates are saying. Above and beyond that the bands that play the Kelvin tend to suck monkey butt. Thursday’s bunch was not exception, however Becky was into their music so she headed inside to listen.

Oh well. I sat out on the porch with the rest of the crew for awhile and eventually Becky came back out to join us. At this point we were discussing breaking up the evening as Scott had some stuff to do, Diana was getting dangerously close to being too drunk to drive, and it was starting to sprinkle a little bit. Diana went to the bathroom and we made the decision to bail when she got back. At this point things went all sorts of wrong. Becky started digging through her purse looking for her keys and asked me where her car was. I told her that her car was in the parking lot and indicated, in a very gentle manner, that I thought she might have had a bit too much to drive. At this point Becky got all sorts of pissed off at me and in the span of about three minutes called me a retard, accused me of hiding her keys, said I was a buzzkill and that hanging out with me was like hanging out with her grandfather, and stormed out.

I was split between shock and anger. Scott assured me I had done nothing wrong and was as mystified as I was as to the source of Becky’s anger. I knew that she, as we say in the business, has ISSUES above and beyond her drinking, however this was a special moment. As I was driving home all I could think of is the moment in Grosse Point Blank where John Cusack is leaving Minnie Driver’s house (she is so hot and one of these days she'll realize she really does want me) and she calls him a f@&#ing psycho.


Thanks for cheering me up Minnie!

Oh well. I guess it beats my typical modus operandi in this sort of situation where I end up falling for the girl however she turns out to be a slut. Therefore I am stuck listening to her pine for the guys she is sleeping with but don’t want a serious relationship. Good god, my life is actually just one big cliché. I think that’s enough for one night, don’t you?


* Please read with as much sarcasm as you can muster. Then add 10%. I can be a bit sarcastic at times.

2 comments:

Tuna Can's Love Monkey said...

I even adjusted the boobs to score her a cigarette!! Ah yes, I believe John Cusack's answer to the psycho comment is something along of the lines of not rushing to conclusions until ALL the facts are in...(Not that I'm defending her, she made me waste cleavage charm.)

James said...

You're right about Cusack's response, however I think all the facts are in on this one. I could be wrong.