Serenity now. Insanity Later.

The last few days have been a bit surreal. Some really wierd random shit has happened since Saturday. I waited around for some sort of contact throughout the day for my guy to arrive in Cleveland somewhere around ten threw in the towel and went out. I played designated driver during daylight hours, but made up for it later when I sucked down Jack like it was water starting first at Liquid, then danced around the Warehouse District. Ran into HSS (read:ex) at Blind Pig — who I haven’t seen in what feels like a year.

I tried Tequila Ranch again — still sucks. Bar Flyy — perfect to continue the walk of the dancing queens.

Ate a Panini’s sandwich and pizza. Cab driver yelled at me for eating in the car. Seriously, how many times does he clean up drunk vomit on a weekly basis, and he’s worried about my pizza. He should be more worried about my friend riding in a baggage cart through the hotel and up the elevator at the Marriott. We just dropped her off at the door of some random. Hope he tips the concierge. Finally able to sleep in and enjoy an awesome hungover breakfast with a side of riddling from the room service man. Ooh, and of course, luck would have that I meet someone with the EXACT same name as the little-boy-that-forgot-how-a-cell-phone-worked.

And that was *quite* a walk back to the car at one in the afternoon on a Sunday with my club clothes. As the Marriott signs states: Respect our guests. No autographs or photos, please!

Went to a humiliating Tribe loss on Sunday night. Tickets courtesy of the opposing team. Somewhere around the 4th when we really started to suck, took over the Market Pavilion and proceeded to do the wave (with a “woo!”) for 3 straight innings. Ran into another ex. For whatever in God’s name is holy, all the bars around Gateway don’t cater to Sunday night baseball crowds — tried Harry Buffalo, Boneyard — everywhere was freakin closed except for Winking Lizard which boarded up around midnight. I am involved in a sumo wrestling match on the sidewalks of Huron. We end up at the Kenilworth in Lakewood and close up shop.

Still Monday, no returned phone call. Took my mind off things with a few brews and a buffalo chicken wrap at The Public House while we invented our own reasons as to where SSD disappeared to.

One word: disappointed. The boy. Not the sandwich. The one-word text he gets from me explains it all. That’s all I got.

Sometime over night in River, one of the condo buildings caught fire and all random people were texting and calling to insure it wasn’t where I lived. Crazy. Random. Phone Calls. Even one from Youngstown. But still not the one I was waiting for.

Received a reminder update from Cleveland.com of an “Ask the Psychic” Chat at noon. I have some questions that need to be answered, so I drop on in. Only a handful of peeps left in the room and I throw out to Dr. Lauren: So the guy I was dating disappeared on me. What happened?
In almost unheard of chat-room response time, my response: Mel he went back to an ex that wasn’t sure they were broken up. He wasn’t as free to commit to you as you believed.

Dumbfounded, I type: ouch

Well, if you attempt to find your own reasons, someone is determined to give you one. Thanks, Doc for whatever stock I put in to internet mind-readers.

If aforementioned actions are true, I hope she finds the underwear I hid in the house. Statements in this blog may or may not be true… or may be posted purely to drive you nuts to see if you really do read this and are searching endlessly and aimlessly throughout your place to find a clue as to where I hid them… even better — maybe it’s not even underwear. Maybe it’s a piece of paper that says Mel was HERE!, And HERE!, Oh, yeah, we did it HERE too! End disclaimer.

Ended Tuesday evening with a mens’ softball game over in North Olmsted, but not before popping into some random bar called “Stop on Inn” on Lorain with 25 — yes TWENTY-FIVE — cent drafts and well drinks. It was Ladies’ night. Every Tuesday. Sucks it’s karoake night … but we questioned the bartender about a wet t-shirt contest with a $400 prize. Not too shabby. I’m home by eleven.

Tomorrow will be another rough work day. Heading to the game again. The cycle restarts… or has it even ended?

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