K: Keep me company like an old memory

So I'll be up for a while... both in the sense of awakeness and mood.

This is the story of the taco party. Now, when I say taco party, it sounds dirty, with taco being some weird euphemism for vagina, but I assure you this is not the case. This is a calm, innocent party, with tacos: the kind with meat, cheese and lettuce, with hard corn shells that crumble. That does not describe a vagina to me, except maybe the lettuce.

(That's a dumb joke that made me laugh so hard I had to include it even knowing its dumbness.)

Yesterday I got a message from Joe indicating some light informal get-together at his place in Mississauga for the next day (today.) He indicated that Haasim and Mansoor were already in. I mulled it over and decided, what have I got to lose if I join my good friends, whom I haven't seen in over a month now (or longer in some cases,) for tacos? So I called Joe up, got the directions I needed, took care of Xena as best I could, and headed out the door around 4:30 for the bus leaving Sheridan for South Common Mall.

I got to Sheridan at the exact wrong time. Unfortunately, I was in the wrong place; due to construction, the bus stop had been moved, and I was unaware. Realizing there was something fishy about a lack of anyone else whatsoever waiting for the bus, I checked a notice and sure enough, the bus stop had been moved down the way to outside the SCAET. One exhausting jog later and I'm just barely making the departing bus. Whoo, go me.

I transferred at South Common and began my fearful descent into Missisauga. I watched carefully for the street signs Joe had indicated. He told me to get off at the stop after a specific Catholic school. I did, and then immediately thought, "Which direction??" So I followed my heart up Burnhamthorpe and as luck would have it my sense of direction was correct for once (that seems to be happening more and more lately.) Around 5:30 I arrived at the street known to be Joe's. About a half hour late; not bad, considering I'd told him I would probably be late due to the commute. I arrived, pleased with my penchant for fashionable lateness, when he told me I was the first one there. Well, except for Amanda K.

We hung around a while before he got a call. It was Mansoor, and Joe asked him where he was. A sort of "What do you mean?" / "What do you mean what do I mean?" conversation ensued wherein neither of them knew what the other meant, as Joe had sworn he'd asked Mansoor over, but Mansoor had not in fact gotten word. But thankfully, Mansoor came along anyway. He was on his way. As for Haasim, it seemed he was somewhat missing in action, as he'd clearly left home yet we had no contact with him. So we assumed he'd be along anytime.

Well eventually the three of us got to eating tacos (wtf Scott actually ate real food? Yes, I'm sorta growing up) in the sunny openness of Joe's backyard, over glasses of C2 (an unconvincing but passable substitute for the Classic Coca-Cola.) Eventually, Mansoor came along and, despite having already eaten, indulged in a taco (they weren't terribly filling, as I had about four or five.) What a sport. At such and such an eventual time, the dark clouds appeared to be rolling in, so we moved it back down to the basement.

Finally finally, Haasim showed, sometime after a while (that's a hell of a syntax.) We got to joking around like the old days, about school, about each other, about girls and life and Dave Chappelle and jobs and other shit. This lasted several hours. Joe and Amanda cracked open some brews, and I eventually joined, after a fashion when I was sure I was settled. Haasim declined to bow to peer pressure, despite my logic that the best reason to do anything is because your friends are (that's what brought me to university.) As it is apt to do when there is a female present, the conversation was turned to thoughts of romance and feelings and emotions and other business guys don't naturally bring up. She asked whether I'd been attracted to anyone at Sheridan.

I said not really. I kinda dodge that question, because what can I say for my thought process? Yeah, there are/were pretty girls, but my thought process forces me to eliminate thoughts about girls who are unavailable (yeah, how ridiculous) and when I actually do think I'm onto something with a girl, my tongue turns to wax and I can't be... real. Thus, the only females I ended up talking to, I had no intentions or chances with. I gave them that half-answer and the matter was more or less dropped.

Sometimes, women are into hypotheticals. Would-be fix-ups, what-if's, first impressions... by now, most guys know this to be bait for some ludicrous argument/debate/freakout and don't take the bait, or at least play it cool. The game ended up being, "Here's who I think you would've been good with."

She said, "You know Scott, once I found out you weren't..." let me see... it was originally thought Amanda J. and I had a thing, which is funny, but I guess we spent plenty of time together (there's the tipoff that we didn't have a thing,) "...with Amanda, I thought you'd be great for (this girl.) You know, if she wasn't madly in love with her boyfriend." And she says this like it's no big thing. What a thing to say!

I should call my autobiography that. "You'd Be Great For Her If She Wasn't In Love With Her Boyfriend: The Scott Williams Story." Sounds about right. I'm not bothered or anything, I just think it's funny, since that was exactly the point of what I was saying. I didn't have time to get into any of those girls, they all were already hooked up and in solid relationships. One of my best friends in that course, I had only started talking to mostly with the intent of hitting on her, before I realized her situation. And that's been the pattern. I try not to let it bother me.

Because if I did, it would consume me.

The conversation rolled off me and onto Mansoor, who is at heart a softy of some kind. Then it turned to Haasim, and then to Amanda herself. I joked "You know who you'd be good with? Who was that tall Palestinian guy?" We had a chuckle. Mandy (as the song named after her is called) confessed to being "high maintenance" before Mansoor suggested she'd have been good with this one stoner dude, and Haasim did not miss a single beat by asking if he was just attempting to "maintain his high," or some other such awesome pun. If I remembered it properly I'd have reported it better but my memory is hazy; that's the work of a single bottle of Corona, recently imbibed when the conversation took place.

Eventually, when the scene started to get really mellow, we realized it was about quarter to 11 and time to get going. It was a usual "This was fun, we should do it again." It sounds insincere but I meant it and besides when havE I ever sunded sincere anyway? Mansoor very kindly gave me a lift to South Common, where I managed to catch the 24 back to Oakville. It was a good call earlier in the day that I'd accumulated an extreme level of change. We arrived at Sheridan about a quarter after 11. I stopped off at Rabba for some liquid carbonated refreshment and walk home in the dim foggy chill of night air. Great atmosphere after an apparently brief yet harsh rainfall.

I got in shortly before midnight. After a spell I sat down to write this. Here we are nearly an hour past that. 1:15 and counting.

I had kind of hoped to do something creative, something tangible this evening, because after getting home I felt kind of energetic, but the environment of the basement just isn't having it. Allergies are acting up, so I'm suddenly weary. Lights are kind of harsh. Dogs are unpleasant of odor. Brother is due to pass out on couch any moment. May as well just call it a night now.

I feel good. All my pissing and moaning about loneliness, I ended up leaving town for a night to kill it. Not that this can be the norm, but it was good. Very, very good.

I have many friends, and not all centered around the same group. The world is an expansive place and right now, not a miserable one. Less-than-ideal perhaps, but far from miserable indeed. Kind and warm.

Well why shouldn't it be warm? It's July.

Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan may be the finest recording ever laid down. There are other contenders, but really, how well do they stand up when Bob wails, "How does it feee-eee-eel?"

Don't make me say I need you.

All I want is for us to keep on rockin'
Scott