Much to my surprise, I reconnected with a girl who was, once upon a time, my very best friend. To date, I have never again had quite such a close friendship with anyone else. Part of that, I believe, has to do with the trust issues resulting from the circumstances under which our friendship dissolved - there was, in the grand tradition of young girlfriends, a catastrophic betrayal of epic proportions - and the other part has to do with the fact that there's just nobody else quite like her. The years since we last spoke have found me sifting nostalgically on many an occasion through old photos and notes scribbled lovingly on patterned paper with doodles and inside jokes in the margins. With each perusal of these artifacts, the bad memories faded and my resolve to cut that person out of my life has softened a bit. After a message that left me tearing up in the middle of the bath accessories aisle at Target, it is with no small amount of both elation and worry that I once again offer my friendship, support and love to an addict.
Also in contact with me this week was Ricky, my ex-boss, whom you may remember from a recent post containing the summary of my sexual history. The very same Ricky of the walk-in freezer. I was very pleased to hear that Ricky is doing very well in his new life far South of here, where the weather is sticky and the girls are quite tan. I also learned that he is taking one of these sunbathing beauties as his new wife! Photos and congratulations were exchanged, of course. This makes Ricky the second of my former flings to either get engaged or hitched in the space of two weeks. For whatever reason, I'm feeling sort of awkward about that, but I am nonetheless very happy for them both.
In other news, Pride Fest approaches! Next weekend, Chicago kids. Regrettably, I sat last year's festivities out. This year, though, I fully intend to make up for my absence.
Here's a photo for you:
That's me in the 2006 Pride parade. That year, dressing up like a dog and marching in the parade was a work requirement, and though it seemed to be about 120 degrees in that costume and I was parched the whole way, I was more than eager to participate. I'm glad I did, too. I've been to a fair number of Pride celebrations in my young life, but never have I enjoyed one quite as much as I did that summer. I don't relish the stifling feeling of baking in a faux fur oven, mind you, but something about that goofy costume gave throngs of very attractive, sweaty people license to hug, kiss, dry hump, grab, pet and otherwise rub up against me, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't totally enjoy it. This time around, I'll be without my furry paws, and probably considerably less popular for that fact, but no less pleased to be there.
Finally, news of break-ups travels fast, and I am finding my attention in high demand among former flames who have learned of mine. This is flattering, but reminding myself that exes are exes for a reason, I politely decline most of the invitations. However, one clever man recently pitched me the following line in a bid to persuade me to agree to a sleepover: "He keeps telling me, 'I want to release my dark passenger noooowwwww.' I keep telling him, 'No, you've got to wait until Mariel gets here.' So come on, Mariel - don't you want to see his dark passenger?"
Well, what girl could resist such an overture?
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