Conflicted

Well, it was quite the weekend. From Friday afternoon on, it was a rollercoaster being disappointed and delighted by my interactions with the wider world. This let to a lot of bad sleep (with particularly nasty dreams on Friday and Saturday), which made me more emotionally fragile, heightening the impact of each bad experience.

This nearly led to a crying jag at the grocery store Sunday morning. Whatever internet radio channel they have there played a snippet of an interview with a member of the Cranberries talking about how Dolores Riordan ignored the advice of vocal coaches because "she didn't want to sound like everybody else". Then they played "Linger" and it was touch-and-go whether I would make it out of the store before I began ugly crying.

(When I got home and tried--for the umpteenth time--to nap again, I first bawled my eyes out to "To My Family" to try and get the sadness out of my system.)

I kind of wanted to stay in and focus on self-care but I'd committed to another wine-tasting event in the early afternoon and I was bringing the wine for both me and a recently-unemployed friend. (Might've been better if I had because my choice came in dead last in a field of 18.) That ultimately went well, but it was a harrowing ride getting there.

The event was in Lakeview so I decide to take the El down. After checking the location again, I decided my best route was to get off at Sheridan and either take the 151 or a cab/rideshare the rest of the way. It was a lovely Sunday and the train was pretty full--all seats taken, a number of standees. Among them were two women tucked into a corner of the vestibule having a lively conversation in Chinese.

As I got up and headed toward them, I heard someone bark "English!" Kitty-corner from them, a sour-faced young guy was slouched in the corner with headphones on. He yelled English again and I said to him "They have the right to speak whatever language they want to." He ignored me, so I repeated it. He just muttered something about being in this country and not speaking English. I told him "Shut the fuck up."

That was the wrong thing to say. He turned to me and very belligerently said "What are you going to do about it, punch me? Faggot, bitch! What are you going to do, punch me?" At this point the doors were open, so I pushed past the Cubs fans in front of me and called over my shoulder as I was stepping out, "You're just making all sorts of friends today!" A middle-aged woman standing between the two of us still wore a look of shock and horror at his invective.

I had a moment of doubt after I stepped out. Did I have a responsibility to ensure that he didn't assault anyone else after I'd incited him? I decided to trust in the capabilities of my fellow passengers and put my own safety first (not to mention the fact that I was still very focussed on making it to the gathering in a timely fashion).

I exited to the street and started waiting for the bus, peering over my shoulder at the entrance on the very off chance that he might ride back to the station and look for me. (I've had stuff like that happen before.) Finally, I decided that for my own piece of mind, the best way forward was to call a ride even though it meant arriving about ten minutes early.

I was hoping one of my pals might be waiting outside so I could tell them about the incident and decompress a bit. Instead, I ran right into one of the co-hosts and got ushered into the backyard. Things were in a state of chaos as they rushed to have things ready and I got swept up into helping out.

Eventually things settled down and I did have a chance to talk about what happened. I still felt unsettled about it afterwards so when I got home I posted about it to FB, which netted a lot of supportive comments and some very good advice on bystander intervention. (As I kinda suspected I did everything wrong, addressing myself to the instigator and escalating the conflict instead of showing solidarity with the targets.)

The gathering was very nice, despite our wine's terrible showing. As always, I met some lovely new people, had some nice drinks and nibbles, and got to see the interior of another lovely homosexual apartment. I got home (by bus this time) in a pleasant alcohol haze that fortified me against any run-in with the neighbours (more on that anon) but didn't prevent me from launching into dinner preparation and chores.

Muckefuck's Very Bad No Good Rotten Date

Unsurprisingly, my leap of faith Friday night ended in a faceplant.

It started well enough, with me leaving early with a bag full of beach duds on a gorgeous day. I stopped off for a pizza, because he wanted me to eat ahead of time, and then I popped in to visit a friend at work while I waited for his text. Around 2 pm, he'd said he'd just gotten off work and was going to shower. I asked if he still wanted to do the beach and he said "nah" so I went home to drop off my stuff and change.

I did that. Then I ran over to the insurance agency to renew my policy, paid some bills, puttered a bit at home. Almost two hours went by without me hearing from him so I texted back "¿Listo?" and he replied "No". He asked if I'd gone home yet and I replied, "I've been home for two hours." Then he told me he had errands to run and would be on his way soon.

I was well annoyed at this point, because there was plenty I could have done with that time if I'd known he was going to be so lackadaisical. I could've gone to the beach myself (and--as I found out--would've run into his friends if I had). I could've napped. I could have scrubbed down the bathroom in preparation for my Labour Day houseguest. I could've done laundry. Heck, I could've just worked until five and saved the paid time for a different occasion.

But, hey, it's a first date, so I'm trying to put my best face forward. I don't mention any of this. I just resign myself to going along from the ride. Since he's coming from the South Side, I figure he'll be up near me by 6; at 5:24, he texts to say he's just leaving. We still don't have a meeting spot; he says he'll choose one once he's closer.

Finally he suggests a bar; it's not one I like, so I intimate that I'll meet him there but I don't want to eat there. I'm riding the bus down when he casually mentions that two of his friends are there already. This is the last straw for me: twice in the past two weeks, I invited him to join me and my friends and he begged off, saying he wanted it to be "just the two of us". And now they're coming along?

Now there are few things I hate more than cancelling on someone after giving me word. Even if I think things won't go well, I'll follow through and make my exit at the earliest socially-acceptable moment. But at this point I was seething. I got off the bus in front of the bar and then crossed the street and found a place to sit as I tried to get a grip on my emotions.

He keeps texting urging me to come inside the bar. I don't want to embarrass him in front of his friends so I try to coax an explanation out of him. "I'm very confused." When he doesn't respond to that, I say what I said above about expecting it to be just the two of us and feeling confused by the change of plans.

Now here's where things take an interesting turn.

As I'm sitting there, I see a pal of mine. Well, more of a friend-of-a-friend. He's standing on the corner talking to two handsome guys and I decide to bounce on up and say hi. When they ask what I'm doing there I confess, "I think I'm in the middle of a failed date." They immediately respond with sympathy. One says, "I'll go in with you an intimidate him if you want." Their plan is to hang out at a comics shop until my pal's husband shows up and they all go to dinner and they invite me along.

Friends, I didn't go along with them. As I said, I'm stubborn. I tell them I'm going to make one more effort to salvage things. "If you see me at the comics shop, you'll know it didn't work." I check my phone. HB has responded with a kiss-off, calling my behaviour "really rude". I realise that the last remaining hope is to go meet him face-to-face with them in the room.

The less said about that encountre, the better. He invited me to sit down as if nothing had happened and then proceeded to ignore me while the three of them ate wings and chatted about trivialities. I left with a much better opinion of one of his friends, who was fine at Market Days but showed some genuine sympathy for me that night. Right in front of me, HB asked him for a ride home, so I extracted a promise from him to text me, which I knew he wouldn't keep, and fled.

There is a happy ending here: Charging down the street to the comics shop, I ran into an old pal from work who was unexpectedly in town. Upon reaching it, I found the other guys just leaving. I filled them in on the latest developments, resulting in another chorus of sympathy. We walked back up to where we'd first met and sat down to wait for a table to open up on the back patio.

It did. We had mediocre food and terrific conversation and the upshot is that we're all friends on FB now and I've got an invitation to go to their house for board games on Labour Day. I've learned yet another hard lesson about not getting carried away and ignoring warning signs, one that will hopefully last a bit longer than the last one.