2/6/01: An Evening out with Jenny.

Jenny and I agree on the phone that the evening is looking pretty deathly. We decide to hang out and see if we can rectify this. I cut out of work a good five minutes early, and head up to White Plains.

On the ride there, Esmerelda rings. She came equipped with nine rings and I chose the least annoying one, but it's still very annoying, especially when it's just your parents, and not maybe a boy calling to say he made a dreadful mistake, or the other boy calling to say he would like to see you, or at the very least a person just calling because they miss you and not because it's only three months to tax time.

So I make up a little song about it. It goes like this:

I have a cell phone named Esmerelda.
She's a Motorola, I love her and I hate her.
She's often silent when I want a phone call.
Then she does her ring ring, and I congratulate her.

It sounds better when I sing it, but I don't sing it around people because everyone already thinks I'm kind of kooky and I don't need to make this worse.

When I get to White Plains, Jenny is waiting in her car in the train station parking lot. As we drive over to the parking lot near the bars, we point out places of interest: the parking lot near Jenny's apartment building, for instance, or the parking lot with the pretty fountain in it, or the parking lot that stands where the CVS and Mailboxes Etc used to be. Jenny and I used to travel from our town to White Plains via the train about once a month to pick up mail at Mailboxes Etc, which was part of a huge crazy scheme that I haven't the energy to explain now. And the CVS is where one of us, I shan't reveal which one, got caught shoplifting. They let us go, and both of us were scared enough by it that we haven't shoplifted since.

There isn't room enough in the parking lot by the bars for us to park there, so we go to the parking lot across the street. This is more of a parking garage than a parking lot, you will understand; and we travel to a remarkably high level before we find a space. "There are freakish amounts of people out tonight," Jenny comments.

We are supposed to meet some of Jenny's friends at Bar #1 or Bar #2. I'd tell you the names of the bars if I had even the foggiest idea of what they are. I seem chemically unable to remember their names, and I believe this is for the best.

So anyway, we wander into bar #1 by the back door. We've been to this one before, when I came up in the summer time. One of us has to pee, I shan't reveal which one, so we go to the bathrooms there. As we are waiting, I get into a conversation with some of the women at the mirror about the leis they are wearing. Jenny later says, "you like to talk, don't you?" I say, "Are you making fun of me?" Jenny says, "Yes." I find I don't really care. It's true that I like to talk to people. People are funny. And anyway, back when I was nine, I used to never talk to people. I used to hide in closets and stuff. So I think I've come a long way.

Bar #1 is very full, so we assail bar #2. Bar #2 is similarly full, but it seems full of men. Not men in the good way, like, yay! men! No, it was men in the bad way, like, ewww, men. If you don't understand this, you might as well give up on this one and head back to Yahoo.

We decide on Bar #1. We even sit at a table and play the yes/no/maybe game as we drink our Coronas. I dare you to tell me that Coronas are merely a summer beer. Avast ye! I took them to a party not so long ago, a very stupid party, though there were some very nice people there. And the Coronas went first, though there was an entire fridge of other beer. Now, there is a right way to drink Coronas. First, you must avoid stupid parties. Then, what you do is, you push the lime into the Corona, and use your thumb to plug the bottle closed as you tip the beer upside down then right side up again. You must be careful when you remove your thumb, for you will likely get a little spritz of Corona on you if you are not careful. But then the limey taste is all in the beer. It's nice. I think I learned this trick from a friend of my cousin Sean's.

Oh, you want to know about the yes/no/maybe game. The rules are simple. You look out at the crowd, and as each boy walks by, you say, yes, no, or maybe. Now I created the game as a way of simplifying people into categories, a disgusting, if amusing persuit; but my better instincts invariable overcome me, and I can't help but further subdivide my rankings, into "maybe plus", "yes -slash - maybe", and "no, no, a thousand times, no." Then someone else walks by. "Is that a yes?" Jenny says. "No," I say. "That's a hell yes.

We play for a while, and shoot the breeze. Jenny recently pulled something and got a big raise. I think that's killer. You go, girl! It's amazing how far you can go in this world if you just a BRAIN IN YOUR SCULL.

Soon enough, Dean shows up. Dean is a friend of Jenny's. Hi, Dean. He says, "Do you guys want anything?" and though my beer is still half full, I decide to think of it as half empty and ask for a new one. Which he fetches. Nice guy.

When Mecca and Dan show up, we go to Bar #2, because it's a little chiller over there and we can get a table. I make a little foray to the ladies room, where I say to myself: "Once upon a time there was a girl named Loretta, and she was having a pleasant evening with her friends, and she didn't feel the need to think about someone making out with someone else in front of her." Then I set out to make the story true.

"Lorettalorettalorettalorettaloretta," says Jenny upon my return. "Omigodsitdown," she says. "Do you remember --?" and here she names a name that means nothing to me.

"No," I say, "I don't remember him."

She explains the situation. This person is someone creepy she used to know and doesn't want to see again because he's very creepy. And he appears to be sitting at the bar. I offer to go over and find out if that person is indeed the creepy person she wishes to avoid.

I walk over to the bar. I have to do a lot of weaving and tucking but soon I am where I need to be: by this strange man Jenny thinks she recognizes. He looks at me. "Can I help you?" I look at him as though he looks familiar. "You look familiar, actually," I say. "Did you ever know someone named Arissa Gabe?" Arissa the person who introduced Jenny to the creepy fellow. The man at the bar says, "No," but that doesn't mean much. "My name is -- " he says, and yes, he IS the creepy guy. "What's your name?" I laugh, and don't say anything. Creepy Guy's friend says, "Hell, what's your friend's name?" This is a theme in my times with Jenny. People I talk to always want to know about her. And people who she talks to always want to know about me. I say, "Oh her? She's married." Which is true. And the friend says, "Who cares?" And I say, "I have to go," which is the truest thing of all.

"Yes," I report to Jenny. "He's him." Which causes a flurry of aggravation out of Jenny.