Love. Or something like it.
I saw you looking at me, in a crowded room full of chatter and office gossip we both cared enough to listen in and provide timely contributions to. But cared little to not stop checking out new people at the party that kept magically appearing like the passive-aggressive comebacks that keep coming to you in a fight that's long over so you can’t really make them. Your stealthy glances eying the last pizza slice on the counter in between. How you masked your disappointment, lest you be judged by the fat bitch who beat you to it. As if you had a chance.
I saw you again, at a friend’s party (I know you didn’t particularly care about, but were too polite to refuse.) You refused a glass of wine being shoved in your face over loud music that you bobbed your head to, just to, you know, keep things hip(ster). Among the twitterati who gulped down their sangrias. Classy buggers, to say the least. This time we shared names with each other and also our common hatred for these youngsters, doused it in sarcasm and humor, and laughed, a little too loudly for sober people. We were cooler than Brian outside the bowling alley. Next morning, I logged on to twitter. To shame you. Because I felt obligated to curb your enthusiasm. Just to keep things real.
Next up was some healthy facebook stalking, a movie plan and quickly escalating this manic behaviour to concerts, more shitty movie plans only to bitch about them later and attending even more insufferable parties just so we could bask in the glory of shared hatred for them.
Now, as we sit on a couch, watching the greatness that is the internet unfurl via the chromecast you bought me, I am too proud to thank you for the past 3 years of indulging my whining, my half-baked dreams and my award winning ability of finding fault in all things perfect and all people who live better lives than I do.
So I’ll do the next best thing of writing a semi-fictional account of the series of events that led me to finding peace. In the chaos of the melodrama, I like to believe is my life. You, with your conscious Chandler-esque smile, your folded hands and your froth-in-the-mouth warranting excitement for all things geeky, dogs, Seinfeld and thankfully me. I love you. (Even more than coffee, cat gifs and your presents. Now that’s saying a lot!)