Magic in the air last night, the smell of the rain still hanging low and petulant, a list for raspberry margarita ingredients in my pocket, and a sense of mission about it all.
The man at the grocery store had every item in every aisle memorized, I made sure he noticed my impressed look as I wandered off to find the particular brand of lemon juice that was called for.
The girl at the post office, staringly dazedly at my right shoulder, blushed and explained that she'd worn the same sweater in her Navy days, we couldn't help talking about how warm it kept you when the wind was raging, and the line-up behind me stretched past aisles and shelving.
The margaritas were horrendous, the liquour store closed by that hour and we'd substituted raspberry liqueur for raspberry schnapps, had no triple-sec and used too much gold tequila to compensate. We diluted and sugared and diluted and even then had a glorious time pouring it down the drain and laughing at our bumbling.
I'd rented "Sade", Nancy's boy out of town on business and little Vincent in a cranky mood, we ended up talking until well past one and never even popped the movie in.
Discussions of every woman we know having been raped at some point in their lives... Her in elementary school, me not until eight grade.
Discussions of tragedy, AIDs, the Starwood festival and how in my current monogamous state I wouldn't be able to handle all the beautiful promiscuous women flaunting their breasts and begging for hands, lips, tongues.
She described the constant drumming, tam tams and lutes and guitars and wind instruments of fancy, and the hundred-and-fifty foot bonfire at the end, I wished them a good time, offered some of my camping equipment, and promised to take care of the cats.
She asked, her usual question, why Marc and I had never gotten together. That's easy. I'm not his type, and he's too stubborn a bastard for me to be able to let myself be intimate with.
Yup, sometimes I succumb to rationalizations.
Later, leaving with a hug and a kiss from Vincent who'd had a healthy sip of my vodka-soda-water-lemon concoction replacement for the margarita, the taste of a chocolate chip cookie still slightly sour in the back of my mouth, I parked down the street from David's building and as I was climbing out this beautiful girl pointed at the "GEEK." sticker on my bumper and announced "Way cool."
I climbed up the stairs and listened to the recording of their demo, kaffeine sounding like the glimpses we catch of her sometimes, fierce, determined, sensual, bursting. David's voice coming through too pale as he imitated other singers, such a beautiful voice wasted mimicking someone else's style.
I wish he would sing what he's written. I wish, I wish so many things, and I'm stringing them together slowly.
Horseback riding this weekend, the first event for the starlight foundation on Sunday, I'm wondering if I should wear a long t-shirt to conceal my tattoos at the waterpark. I don't think I need to, but they're loud and might just affect some of the sponsors.
Alright, enough vagrancy. I'm getting back to work. I might just install RedHat 7 on this machine (I've got slackware running right now) and see if I can't get back to work on the OpenSSL engine.