Car crushes, hope and miscommuniation pt. II

So, on to the more relevant self-pitying whiny little things, although all with a good alcohol and lamictil fueled positiveness.

Let's call my celphone Iraq, because it is completely and utterly fucked, with no hope of recovery. (we don't apply 'Hope' to faulty technology. that's just fucking insane.)

While waiting for Hazelrigg, I buy a Rilke book and a book called Happiness, at the Elliot Bay Book company, which again all deserve a link, but won't, if ever, get one until i'm back at my own computer.

Head into a bar close to Safeco, which is advertising $1.00 bud and bud light. As, I maybe meeting the Crush soon, I may only have 2 of.

Turns out, I get no celphone coverage in the bar, and the $1.00 drinks are only 10 oz. So, that means I can have 3.

Guy from CW calls in the meantime, but I don't get the call, just randomly get the message about 30 minutes later.

3 beers in, and no call from HoV nor the Crush. I walk outside and leave a message for HoV that i'm in the bar next to his apartment and i've got no cel coverage inside.

Where is this story going? I need an editor. (Everybody needs an editor - another link to come.)

HoV/Hazelrigg shows up, and we drink and talk for a while. He's recently single, ladies, and quite a catch. He calls me pussy-whipped for checking my malfunctioning celphone every 6 minutes. Like he's got a leg to stand on. (See: previous 4 years with ex.)

Eventually, I get a message from The Crush, something about a fender bender she got in earlier, and going back to the office to get work done before aflksjfsalfaklfjChicago ajfkdalfjaf safe car ride. Godddddamn celphones.

Called and left a message back. Then left a message with Hazelrigg's number since my phone sucks so badly.

She, of course, never calls back. So, HoV and I go and get sushi at a cool place on Upper Queen Anne.

And here's the weird thing: I'm bummed, but I really feel like it's her loss. I don't know that I've ever felt this way before about a rejection. I am not, and will never, ever be, ready to accept 'Everything happens for a reason' as a legitimate consolation. But, I still feel like she's missed out on something wonderful, and that A) there's nothing I can do about it. and B) it's not a reflection on me in any way, shape or form.

This is either a revolutionary breakthrough in my self-esteem progress, or a revolutionary breakthrough in weirdly used anti-convulsant/anti-depressant/anti-bi-polar medicine, or possibly both.

But this is really and truly how I feel.

Don't get me wrong, I am bummed. I do wish there was something I could say to change her mind, or at least see her in person and try, but I'm like fonzie. And what's Fonzie? Yeah, exactly.

Digression: I've totally missed the Daily Show while blogging.

BUT, I'm cool. And though I'm drinking, I didn't go out to a bar and get butt-hammered and drown my sorrows. Didn't pick up a crack whore right outside HoV's apartment. Didn't go back to Puddletown and buy a bunch of cocaine. Though, that still might be an option.

She doesn't deserve any of my self-destructive tendencies. Or, at least, she doesn't deserve them any more than she's received. (Simbaaaaaaaaaa!)

OK, on, contradictorally, to the next beer. There's a pub just outside HoV's window that will be open for another 2 hours, but that's more for keeping awake info than possible drinking info.

Onto hope, next. But first these important commercial messages. Or, not. Let's just go to the next post.