So, my fabulous weekend of merely sitting on the couch until I nearly become a fungus was "ruined" by Jody. Ruined is of course used lightly because I enjoy Jody quite a good deal and certainly don't mind helping a boy out. His car troubles led me to Mariemont four times in total for the weekend and up to Butt-Fucking Mason (its official name) and then to Northside Tavern (which I think is about to get a good Butt-Fucking added to its name as well).
First of all, I thought of a great deal of things while sitting down to my meal at O'Charley's and listening to Jody talk and responding or initiating the conversation myself. I make a lot of eye contact. I never really realized it until recent job interviews. Everyone says, "I really like your eye contact. You have great eye contact." I always presumed I was making them uncomfortable for them to notice it so much. Maybe I'm like a stalker. I would make a really great stalker if I could actually find myself even remotely entertained by someone else's life. Anyway, Jody and I were also talking about the fact that I don't usually hang out with too many girls. I find them whiney and obnoxious overall, but there are the few that can handle me. I'm not a yes-girl and more than anything girls seem to want to be told they're right all the time. I generally don't tell someone they're right unless they are. I figure that's why I can meet people's eyes and others seem uncomfortale about it, either veering away or addressing it so that it doesn't seem so strange. I have nothing to hide. Anyone can know anything about me given the right conversation or the right line of questioning. I'm not dishonest because I can't be dishonest and maybe that's because I spend so much time looking people directly in the eyes, which is also strange because I can never remember a person's eye color.
I suppose that's why people feel they can be honest with me. I am the only girl probably still left on the planet that has no particular desire to see a boy cry, but has seen nearly all of her guy friends do it at some point. Now, I generally deal with this just fine, but sometimes, in the moments before I know it's going to happen, I brace myself uncomfortably. There are some people (not just boys) that I sit on the edge of my seat chanting, "Please don't cry, please don't cry, please don't cry" because I don't want to have to comfort them. Which is again strange because I generally don't comfort them and I think that's why they all cry around me in the first place. They know I'll make them stop one way or another. Most of the time, people crying don't need to be comforted, they need to be told the truth. Most of the time, they're too embarrassed and want to be brought out of it one way or another, so I find honesty and laughter the best tool for those sorts of things. It passes all of those uncomfortable moments clean by. I usually apologize and say, "It's my fault really. I make boys cry."
Oh, the brutal honesty of a bipolar, but life is really much too short to lie about (either way you want to read that is just fine). Probably why I am just as well-hated as I am well-liked depending on who you talk to.
Speaking of being truly well-hated, last night at Butt-Fucking Northside Tavern (yes, I think I'll like it and I'll stick with it) and there is a girl from a particular band (that most people will know anyway, so I'll protect the innocent here) whom I know for a fact hates the Chicks Rockfest. I think she hates it more because she was in the first one and doesn't want to admit it. It makes no difference to me either direction, it's just the facts. It's really a shame though because I quite like her band and music and would love to have her submit some year. Either way though, they played their set and I walked up to her and re-introduced myself. It's been six years since I've talked to the girl, so I said, "Hi [insert name]. I'm Jenn from the Chicks Rockfest." She looked at me queerly although I know she knows what I said and followed up with, "What?" I obliged her by repeating myself and waving it off saying it didn't matter because we met six years ago. She said, "Yeah, I don't think I ever played in that [festival]." I just waved her off again and said, "We played together several years ago when I was in a band, but that's not the point. I just wanted to tell you that you did a good job tonight and I enjoyed your set. That's all." She looked very confused by me and so I said, "That was it. I'll see you around." She shook her head and thanked me although from the looks of her you would think I had smacked her with a carp or told her that her pants were down. I don't know exactly what she was looking for out of me, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't a compliment. She has a good band, they write good songs. Why can't you compliment someone even if they don't care for what you do? Why do people seem to want and expect more drama than a simple compliment?
Another observation while at the Tavern. Girls again. They want to own their territory so badly, I thought I'd take a few on. Just for the shits and giggles of it. One girl was completely absorbed in Dale and the other was completely absorbed with someone I had just met. I came in and wrecked their party apparently because I came out to say hello to Dale. They both shot daggers at me. As soon as the fellow I had just met, did indeed met me, he was completely absorbed in conversation with me although why will be a mystery for quite some time, but I thought I would use it to expirament. I completely absorbed myself in his conversation and within nearly ninety seconds I had been invited back to some place where he said one side of the building was completely full of beer and the other completely of cocaine. He said it rather quietly as so the other girl wouldn't hear him which I found even more bizarre because then he spent a few moments later trying to ensure that he brought her into the conversation, leading me to believe they had a relationship.
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