LEVEL UP

Yesterday:
Hanging out with *Beautiful Boy* at the mall. At one point, he was carrying me over his shoulder at Champs all nonchalant, and I was commenting on the colour of the running shoes, all nonchalant, and people were looking at us very weird. I chased him with a pool noodle and hugged him with an alligator. The greeters at Walmart don't know where anything is, and they suck at greeting too, I might add, and that guy that works in the automotive department just might not have a life outside of it. But neither do the million or so people that were driving like morons in the parking lot, and walking into people in the mall on a Saturday afternoon. What were we thinking mixing with the masses anyway?

Last night:
Giant Killer Shark with Vonnell and Bryce. Good, fun times running into old classmates. And it's always fun to see someone being productive with their time. Not a bad show, but I'm still convinced Nelly and I could write a better musical. $17? Well, maybe not worth quite that much, but ever since Nelly became my life sponsor, I'm whining a lot less about money (or complete lack thereof).
Martinis with Nelly. We closed down the restaurant and left a lousy tip for a good waiter, but I promised myself to return eventually and right that wrong.
As the vodka went straight to my head since I hadn't eaten anything all day, I found myself telling Nelly about Tomal's recent email, which stated rather bluntly that he thinks that I'm needy and clingy. To which Nelly replied, in a rather rambling fashion because the vodka was hitting her too, that he "just doesn't get it". We (and by "we", I mean "I") then went on to discuss (and by "discuss", I mean "rant") at length (about) the individualistic society we live in and the impact it has on our conceptualizations of ourselves and our relationships with others.
In the cross-cultural psychology class I took this summer, we learned that terms such as "clingy" and "needy" wouldn't be applicable in most Eastern cultures, which are based on collectivistic beliefs. There, who you are as an individual is inextricably intertwined with your relationships with others. Therefore, you don't identify yourself as "funny" overall, the way we do in the West, you identify yourself as "funny with my friends, serious with my grandparents" and so on.
And since we also learned that Eastern Europeans find themselves stuck somewhere in between the values of the East and West, it makes perfect sense that while I value my independence, I also place very high priority on my relationships with other people. My relationships do define me in many ways, and they change me, and mold me, and I see that as normal, not as negative.
When I recently learned that a couple that has been together forever, and I thought would stay together forever, called it quits because one of the individuals in the relationship felt that they were "losing themselves", I felt a little heartbroken. They've clearly bought into this philosophy that you can't be yourself if you define yourself, in part, as being with someone else. Western society sees it as "clinginess" or a "crutch", and it has a very negative connotation. To depend on someone else to "complete" you, or even "enhance" you is blasphemous.
But when my dad tells me on a daily basis that he misses my mother, (and she's only been gone for two weeks), and says he doesn't know what to do without her - I feel for him. She is part of him. And I want that for myself.
Walking to LEVEL, slightly tipsy, Nelly and I made a pact to have a wonderful night, and to pick up. We were accosted halfway to our destination by a promoter who ushered us into D.N.A with promises of free drinks. After a quick (FREE!) trip to the bar, Nelly and I decided to stick around for 10 minutes at least, to make it seem like we weren't just total users. We spotted a verily drunk gentleman getting jiggy with it by himself on the dancefloor, and decided it'd be a hoot to join him. So as I walk over and ask him if he'd like to dance, and he says he'd "love" to, his friend comes and wooshes him away. At first, Nelly and I are simply dumbfounded by this occurance, but eventually we realize that we have just been identified as trainwrecks who this inebriated friend apparently needed to be rescued from. It was a total blow to our collective ego. Until we rationalized that he must be married, and that utter rejection had nothing to do with us.
We finally arrive at LEVEL an hour and a half later then we were supposed to, and head straight for the bar once inside. We quickly find James and the rest of the party and begin dancing it up. I'm soon drunk enough to no longer notice the pain shooting up my legs as a result of the blisters on my feet. I spot a cute guy across the room, we stare at each other for a while, smile, look away.
Then again.
Then again.
I make for the washroom and the bar, Nelly comes with, but soon we're back at headquarters, and he's still looking over every once in a while, and smiling. Soon we're dancing, and I learn his name. We shall call him Cheesesteak. He's uber cute even totally up close, and he smells delicious.
And that's all I remember, officer.
That, and the piggyback ride James gave me up the street, and the ride to Nelly's on the Blue Line, and the hysterical woman sitting across from us laughing at all of our jokes, and the "Bang Bang Bar" that Nelly confused for a "Gang Bang Bar", and sleeping in the tent because it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I woke up with a killer hangover and an email in my inbox. *Cutest guy ever* from work, with whom the email exchange has been going strong ever since that first one, had asked me if I wanted to do something with him today. Suffering from a pounding headache and griminess to the nth degree, I declined and suggested something later this week instead. Plans are in the works. I'm excited. Thinking about him makes me smile.

And think.

Because if Cheesesteak decides to call, and I doubt he will, but if he does, there will be a third boy in my life to be smiling about. And I'm not sure my cheeks can handle that.