| | Around sundown, the wind picked up a bit. Sitting on a blanket at the Miller Outdoor Theater, drinking a $12 bottle of wine from a Nalgene, I started to become immersed in Memoirs of a Giesha. Three of my coworkers were beside me, combining gas-station-cheddar with a Whole-Foods-baugette. The Blackberry started vibrating--I became distracted, and rapid-fire-message'd ten or so people over Messenger, IM, and email. One was Dennis--saw him in the opera last night, he spotted me in the audience tonight. Beside him on chairs--Josh and Max. Max is just in town for a view days on his way from Indiana to San Antonio. For him, Colorado this summer.
The Geisha, dishonored, engaged in ritual suicide, and a European coworker and I walked back to our cars. He was about to go on a date, I was about to go on my way. We talked big picture stuff--on how when they bought our company a year ago he never would have thought this would now be his life. We got to our cars, but the conversation wasn't done. It kept going, five, ten minutes, before we both realized there were other things to do that night.
I drove home. Cecil picked me up. Thinking we were going to Poison Girl, he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Quick clothing change, I dressed him in cowboy gear. Straight guys--will they ever learn. We picked up Greg and Jesse--Jesse's friend Kevin too, who we all just met but soon realized we collectively liked. Got to the bar, Shiner in hand, and watched cowboys dance. Poker buddy was two-stepping. Socialite George was buying drinks. Coworker and her daughter, contract lawyer and her New York friend came in. Line danced. Shots.
Off to South Beach--two folks ahead in line was Chris and Jacob. Jacob just got his Master's--his recital was two weeks ago--amazing. Inside. People. Lights. Everyone wants to be a diva. Squeezed in the dance floor, and lost in the music. Beer in hand, laser light show, kick-all-the-smokers-outside.
Three hours, dancing in boots. Whirl of faces, of trying to remember how I know them. Of finding the right bartender. Of contract lawyer's New York friend getting kicked out. Of text messages and laughter and drama and oblivion.
While still not certain, I'm very likely transferring to Madrid. In three months, new network, new experiences, new language, new faces.
But yet, strangely normal.
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| | Posted 5/11/2008 4:16 PM - 87 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments
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