this eve, where we scarfed down Lincoln's carryout (a local chain that has the best sandwich-y type grub, and for cheap cheap cheap), drank beer and then trekked to the video game place for games that could possibly eliminate SoW's Godzilla obsession and Target for plants (for HIM, not me), then came back to scarf down Oreos and watch "Eddie Izzard: Dressed to Kill," of which I NEVER get tired. My God, the facial expressions! I was laughing hysterically, and Wad was like, "What is your problem?" Then he passed out asleep and I came home. The end.
As we were traipsing through Target looking at plants (and wireless phone connectors for me -- $60, man! The hell?), I filled him in on the rest of the
Here's what happened, since I've been dying to talk about it:
Snidgey and I were invited to a party hosted by one of TOG's best friends, and we went (wouldn't go somewhere where we weren't invited, after all, though I must admit we came thisclose to NOT going for various and sundry reasons). Anyway, we arrive, case of beer in hand, and we walk up to where TOG and another of our mutual friends were hanging. I said "Hey, how's it going?" and he responded in kind, but the look on his face? I likened it to utter repulsion, as if I had a tumor with teeth growing out the side of my head; Snidgey, however, says it wasn't all that. But whatever it was, it was enough for me to be like, "OOOOOOOO-kay, just going to go over here to drink my beer and hang with other friends. Take it easy." And we did and had an all-right time as Snidgey learned some strumming chords and I sang off-key Eagles tunes with this one dude while TOG spent the whole night exactly opposite of where I was at. all. times. (!) Seriously. But again, if territory is appropos of anything, fine; it was his friend's party, so I steered clear. Besides, as I've said before, unlike
other descendants of my gene pool (ahem), I'm not going to pick a fight in front of other people, because first and foremost, it isn't right, but I'm also not a hillbilly, and even if I did start something? The only one who'd look like an asshole would be ME for causing a scene, never mind the fact that the chances of either winning the argument or getting it settled drop exponentially when you show your butt in public.
Anyway, the next day I e-mailed him and asked why he was being shitty to me, and no need to rehash the rest.
I'm telling Wad all this, and the first thing he says is, "You know, there are many times that I would like to say that exact same thing exactly that way, so you gotta give him props for saying it" -- which I do, never said otherwise. Then, being the type that gets into a mood where he doesn't want to deal with particular people himself, Wad said when that happens, he doesn't want to see the person, talk to them, talk to their friends about them, NOTHING. The verdict? I likely ruined the party for him. (And? The look I got was likely one of disgust, so I wasn't imagining things).
As a rather solitary person MYself, I can respect and appreciate that. Really, I do. But part of me is like, "Wow. If you're going to let my presence ruin your buzz -- especially when I'm not acting like a dumb whore or being otherwise obnoxious, which I wasn't -- you're fucked up and need to get over it. I wasn't there because of you, anyway. You'll never believe that, of course, but I wasn't."
Again, there's nothing I can do about it all now, so either he'll get over it, or he won't.
Oh, whatEVER. 
