Good times were had Sunday during Chicago Pride, an event that there should be a law made saying everyone who's gay-friendly should attend at least once in their lifetime, and twice if they like it. B-Dubs and the Baby were my cruise directors, and everything was quite lovely for the majority of the day; the parade (which damn! three hours!), dinner afterwards and the first bar we went to after dinner were quite the barrel of laughs. But the Baby wasn't finding any wimmins, so we went to a second bar which was packed to the rafters with people dancing, drinking, sweating and spilling things on me, but it still wasn't horrible, though it was much more a gay bar than a lesbian bar and the Baby still wasn't having any luck.
It became horrible when the group (one of the Baby's friends and her boyfriend also came with) decided they wanted to go to a third club, and I didn't.
Now, I've discovered as I grow older that between my mental health issues and just generally growing older, slower and fatter, I'm not down with the huge crowd thing. Like, seriously not, and anyways after wearing my 3-1/2 inch wedges all day Saturday, my feet were already reaching bowling ball proportions before the day started. So walking another four, five blocks to the next club, which was also likely packed with people who would be dancing, drinking, sweating and spilling things on me? Nuh-uh. But I didn't really need to get home, either, and I certainly didn't want to ruin the day for B-Dubs and the Baby since it was their High Holiday, so my plan was to grab a Reader, go back to the car and hang out in solitude whilst they continued on. I mean, I wouldn't have tolerated them being out all night or anything, but a few hours, fine. So, they forged on ahead to the next club, and I turned the other way, thinking I'd use what little stamina my feet still had to get back to the car. Two minutes after they realized I disappeared, the Baby texted me, and I told her to tell the group to party on without me and to not worry about it.
Of course, as is my usual way, I realize I have no idea where we parked, so I decided to stop at the McDonald's across from Wrigley since it was well lit and easy-to-find when the group was done. I plopped myself down on this brick edge thingy and started to read.
A short time later, I checked my phone and found that the Baby texted me again, telling me that they were at the car, where the hell was I? and I told them I had gotten lost, was at the McDonald's and why weren't they out. She texts back
So I text her back: "I said go. Now ur going to blame me for cutting into your fun?" and I think she may have texted to call B-Dubs or whatever, but then I didn't hear from them, so I figured they ventured back out. Except they didn't, and then she texts me about an hour later to tell me they've been waiting for me at the car.
You can see the clusterfuck coming, right!??
I'm not as murderously angry at them anymore -- after all, it was just a big miscommunication, nothing to get all freaked out about -- but damn, would you fucking listen to me when I'm talking!?? That's what really pissed me off about the whole thing, that and the fact that I felt like they turned me into the bad guy when I wasn't trying to be. I mean, shit.