One of the more adventurous nights I've had in a while.
I had dinner with my closest now-ex-coworkers, Tamara, Brad, Jamie (plus his wife and son), Christine, and Craig (the last two being the ones that made me cry earlier in the day). It was at Jake's, the crawfish place, and it was AWESOME. A ridiculous spread of seafood appetizers and a delightful Beaujolais later, I was apparently commenting on how enjoyable the lettuce in my Caesar salad was, being that it was crispy and hydrated. Go, PR, go.
And here's where it gets sick... I gave up sugar about a year and a half ago, leaving only room for the occasional soda and the very, very rare [read: I've had about three in the last year and a half] sugary dessert treat just for the sake of having a sugary desert treat. And this one was ridiculous. THREE scoops of silky vanilla ice cream drizzled with caramel and chocolate sauces, topped with nice, thick whipped cream and flanked on three sides by the most divinely textured, dense but smooth, thick ass fudgy chocolate truffle brownie tort slices. Holy shit. I almost died. When I didn't die, I almost passed out from the happiness. I came nowhere near finishing the stunning thing.
After dinner, I said goodbye to Brad. Brad, being the most recent addition to the editing pool, was quiet at first. After Tamara and I had to start working in the office again, it took just a little bit for the three of us to get completely warmed up to sharing an office every day (at least that's how I see it). But we did warm up to it... in fact, I don't expect to ever again have such close coworkers in the sense that the three of us had a knack for bullshitting until we were all in belly laughs. I appreciate Brad and the time we spent together as coworkers maybe more than he knows. His sometimes deadpan sarcasm, and his classic line from the point of view of the clueless person we're talking about, the overtly and intentionally facetious, "I think I know a little something about [insert whatever you're talking about here]" is one that I'll take with me until the end of my days. I'm going to miss the conversations. He's a hell of a good guy, and I hope beyond hope that we don't lose touch. Even that mustache grew on me, though I can not at all blame his girlfriend for not wanting to be with the guy with the mustache. Heh.
Several of us went to Ringler's, where there were a few more coworkers waiting and drinking. That didn't last long, but there were some faces I was happy to see there... some people I wasn't expecting to see.
And then I said goodbye to Tamara. If I've said it once, I've said it, err... a few times... Tamara and I have a very unlikely friendship. We don't run in similar circles at all (she climbs mountains, I stare at my ceiling), we don't share a lot of similar interests (on the surface anyway), and I don't think we would have ever run into each other if not for CD Baby. As it turns out, we think about a lot of the same things, and we've had a few similar experiences in our lives.. We've spent long hours talking, we've spent long hours typing. I made up characters for her prosthetic radius and cadaver ligament when she was about to have surgery on her busted arm, and she always had a willing ear for me to bend when things weren't going great for me. I'll miss it. She offers excellent perspective and riotous giggling, and she's amazing.
Refer to the above photo of the three editors. That's us, me in the middle. The only two people in the world who understand the pain and elation of being an editor at CD Baby are Tamara and Brad. Someday there will be others, but it's an exclusive club, one that no one else gets and only we can appreciate. There's a certain tacit bond there. And that's where the ambivalence comes in... I loved it, I hated it. It's done now.
After Ringler's, Daniel gave me a ride up to the Towne Lounge, where I caught the last bit of Oh Darling and the first bit of Derby. And then I had to go. At first, I intended to catch a cab and go home, but I walked down Burnside a bit, and I wanted to keep walking. I think I have a need to mark significant events in my life with other things that are significant. Example: getting up early on my 30th birthday and driving out to the gorge to watch the sunrise, then cutting all of my hair off (also happened to be the day before all of my appointments started). For everything I find monumentally significant, there has to be something else to mark the occasion. It's like I can't let one thing stand on its own. There has to be some kind of double meaning in things so I won't forget them or something. It can't just be the day I left CD Baby, it has to be the day I left CD Baby and walked over the Burnside Bridge for the first time.
In my health and psychology classes, they always said something to the effect of "risky behavior indicates willingness to engage in risky behavior." I kept thinking that as I was weaving through crowds outside of bars, as people yelled behind me, but my walk didn't feel risky. All the way down the hill, over the bridge, and up the east side of the river. I made it to E. Burnside and 16th, and then I called a cab. A good 2 mile walk as it turns out... you know, prep for Europe (and in the bad shoes, so I'm gonna be fine!).
I've been so insulated in my car that I've forgotten the kinds of things you see and hear when you're just walking in the city. Girls half yelling into their mobile phones about who is sleeping with their friends (while sloppily walking to the next bar), fights breaking out, floodlights filling the area of rubble where a building is being torn down, how narrow the lanes of the freeways look when you're on an overpass. And then there's the river. I don't think I've noticed how big and beautiful it is since the last time I rode my bike to work when I worked downtown. It's wide, and it reflects the moonlight as well as the lights on its banks with perfection. I kind of wish I was wearing my glasses. I'm kind of glad I wasn't.
Good night all. Good night me.
--
Listening to "The Remains of a Heart"
by John Brodeur
from "Tiger Pop"
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