My return to Chicago; V

On Saturday, I go for a long run along the waterfront. It cleanses me. Later that night, I go to my party, and it is actually quite fun. All my female friends are there, as well as the male ones who aren't afflicted. Jojo shows, though he is exhausted from working long hours, and never once complains about it. He's a good boy.

I ask him, "Does it seem like three years have passed since Tucker and I moved in with you?"

He says, "Yes. Definitely. It seems like more than that; look at how much you've changed."

I consider asking if I've aged about 3.5 years. I don't.

I am still salaciously hung over. I sip club sodas because I have made the vow, yet again, to heretofore never drink. I love it when I make false promises to myself. There is a fire, good music, and the windows within close proximity to our table are a little frosty. Just a tad. I feel nostalgic and wonderful and decide I may have been hasty in my assessment of my male friends. I ask everyone at the table, and everyone not there (via text message) to meet me at Twisted Spoke in Wrigleyville for brunch tomorrow. Okay. I've put myself out there again, which is good for the Karma.

The next day, I arrive late to my own brunch, for I've forgotten how much time it takes BunnySis to get ready. My friends are already there, and welcome us to their table. Guess which friends they are? Guess which ones didn't show?

Over brunch I kick myself in the ass. How could I have mistrusted my own judgment? Passive aggressive assholes are just that, passive aggressive assholes, and whether or not they dick you over, it has little if anything to do with you, your worth and your judgment. You see, I'm one of those people who absolutely must like and be liked by others. I am not comfortable with confrontation. I am social salve, and I'll go out of my way, do just about anything, to make everyone in the room happy. Of course, this song and dance is exhausting and I'm growing out of it.

I think back to a few years prior, to a time in a pub with the fire and the windows shit when Steve and I were having a few beers and a good chat. Steve was my friend, right? Yeah, he was my friend. I was sort of bouncing on my stool to a Wutang Clan song, shaking my incredibly white melon back and forth like a baby and mouthing, "Wutang Clan aint nuthin' to fuck with."

Steve smiled his never-genuine smile and said, "You are so white."

I smiled back and said, "Yep."

We were just joking. This was all jokes right? Steve was my friend, right? I wanted so badly to believe it, but part of me, the part that was always on edge around this specific smattering of Chicago friend didn't believe it.

Steve then said, "You don't know anything about Wu."

I have three of their albums, and I've seen them live, but...

"Okay. I guess I don't know Wu.

I remember thinking I needed to pretend to be stupid so as not to offend Steve. This is classic passive aggressive, push pull shit. When the conversation moved on to Steve's job and the amount of hours he worked at his very white color company, the aggressiveness was the same, as was the assertion that I didn't know what I was talking about.

"If you had a real job, you would understand."

At the time I had two real jobs. I was both a graphic designer and I had/have a book deal. I worked almost twice as many hours as Steve did.

"Okay yeah. I'm a loser."

I never realized until later that Steve was passive aggressive, had raging mommy issues, etc. I never took him to task for being such a prick either. I don't think anyone to date has, not me nor the rest of my girlfriends who played push pull with him, sometimes succumbing to his mind fuck, sometimes free of it. They simply cut him out of their lives. I suppose I could bitch at him now, but guess what? I have a life. So I sit down next to Kitty at my brunch, kiss her on the cheek and say, "I love my Kitty."

She takes a drag from the glass Bloody Mary before her, swallows and chirps, "I love my Bunny!"

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Posted by: M at October 21, 2006 09:22 AM

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