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Lonnie
I would like to dedicate this entry to my new friend Lonnie. To Lonnie - who is one year younger than my parents. Woo. To Lonnie - who hit, earnestly, on Barbie for about five minutes before learning that she is happily attached, pausing for a split second and then turning his attention to me. To Lonnie - who poked me in the side unexpectedly causing me to scream and fall out of my chair. (And to the expressions on Sarah T. and Barbie's faces when they were positive I was going to come back swinging). To Lonnie - who looked me dead in the eye and told me I had "fun" written all over my face. To Lonnie - who swears he is a "registered genius" who paints brilliant landscape pictures, cooks gourmet meals, sails the mighty Mississippi, doesn't smoke despite the crumpled pack of Marlboros in his back pocket, and gets filthy wasted downtown on Saturday night and then rides his bicycle home. To Lonnie - who, when asked what he does for a living replied "I flutter." and then proceeded to "flutter" for 5 minutes to demonstrate. To Lonnie - who would continue to flutter every time I mentioned it until he caught on that I may possibly be making fun of him. To Lonnie - who continued to ask me to dance even though I assured him that we had an understanding between us. "What understanding?" "The understanding that you ask me to dance and I politely refuse and you're totally okay with that." To Lonnie - who finally wrangled poor Sarah T. to the dance floor because she's much too nice to say no. To Lonnie - who was all hands on the dance floor which set into motion "Operation Rescue Sarah T." To Lonnie - who got me into 18 kinds of trouble with Sarah T. To Lonnie - who came dangerously close to kissing me before I raised my fist threateningly. To Lonnie - who bought me a shot even after I'd threatened to punch him in the face. To Lonnie - who introduced us to Casey who may have been the loudest man to ever abuse the cigarette machine. To Lonnie - who spontaneously burst into song with the randomest old guy who then began a crazy diatribe about Roger Miller. To Lonnie - who insisted that we stop by his house after bar time for a bonfire, chicken salad, and a view of the wire giraffe that he sculpted without ever even having looked at a giraffe. (?!) To Lonnie - who certainly kept things interesting. It doesn't matter that the guy who used to be my very best guy friend (it was brief but meaningful) was in town this weekend and didn't bother to call me. What matters is that 6 months ago that fact would have had me all tied up in knots, sitting at home staring at my phone, and then plunging into despair for the next couple weeks and this time I shrugged, made plans with my girls and had one of the most interesting nights out in a long time. What matters is that I've come to expect disappointment from him more than I've come to expect any kind of reassurance from him and that just makes him so typical of the guys in my life to date. I wanted him to be different. He's not. That's all there is to it. DRINK! |
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