The conclusion to the catfish story, a recipe for split pea soup, girlfriends vs girl friends, and really irritable and pissed off!

Okay, so an update on the catfish: she didn't show up to our date, not that I expected her to, or even that I really had much hope of it turning into any type of relationship. Really this was one of those situations where I kinda was hoping it would work out and turn into something just so in later years I could tell people the most awesome story of how we met—“yeah, I thought she was human trafficker but I showed up to the date anyway...”

That would have been a good story wouldn't it?

Anyway, so it was at Cary Street Cafe last Tuesday happy hour. I chose Cary Street because basically everyone knows me there and it is a bar where I feel comfortable. I was also hoping a lot of my friends would show up and be there so I wouldn't get drugged, thrown into the back of a van and wake up naked in Mexico somewhere. Well the only friends who showed were a couple I know who were sitting at the opposite end of the bar. I sat at my end for a while nursing a gin and tonic then went and talked to them for a bit.

So, to backtrack there's this other girl I was talking to the week before right as I was leaving. Apparently this was news—So did you see that girl Natalie was talking to?

She wasn't really my type but then again very few people in the RVA are. I was kinda hoping to run into her again.

“She had a really squeaky annoying voice,” my friend told me, “or at least the girl we all saw you talking to.”

“I don't remember that.”

Actually, I remember very little of our initial conversation. Whatever we talked about was very inconsequential. Probably something along the lines of:

Her: You come here often?

Me: I guess so, probably about once a week.

Her: My name is Nekjowfalas. What is your name?

Me: Natalie. (My credit-card receipt comes) I'm actually on my way out of here.

Her: Oh (disappointment). Will you be here next week?

Me: Probably.

I don't remember her having a squeaky voice. Anyway Nekjowfalas was at Cary Street on Tuesday, and did say hi, and did remember my name, but we didn't really have any conversation. I guess I should have gone and tried to talk to her but I'm not that type. I usually do have something to say, and usually do want to have a conversation, but almost always (even if I know someone relatively well) the other person needs to come say hello to me.

Oh and backing up again: I was looking good. “Sexy,” one of my friends told me the last time I wore that outfit. Actually I wore my date outfit all day, maybe I waited til evening to do my lips, but basically I wore the same outfit all day, and yeah I think I do look good in that outfit. I wore it to class, and Tuesday that week was the first week I tried to use my student ID to access the parking deck.

I swiped it; nothing happened. I swiped it again; still nothing happened. I swiped it a third time and when nothing happened for a third time I pushed the button for a ticket to gain access to the parking deck and drove to the teller window.

“My card doesn't work.”

“Honey,” the lady said, “That's the wrong card. You'll have to drive back around.”

So I drive back around, swipe the correct ID, gain access to the parking deck and drive too fast over a speed bump knocking the hood off my car. Okay. Just to clarify I don't drive a POS—It's European. The hood is only a small piece of plastic that isn't really attached. It just kinda snaps into place and has a strap to keep me from loosing it on these occasions—well I drive for about two laps around the parking deck before I decide that I should probably get out and reattach the hood before I park.

I am glad that I was dressed as well as I was, because at least people were probably justifying my ding-batted-ness as just dumb blonde behavior. In other words: I was appropriately dressed. I hate that stereotypical thinking, but I would have been much more embarrassed had I been (excuse the language) dykeing it up.

Wednesday: Nothing substantial or interesting happened.

Thursday: I fucking aced an exam about drugs! Then Thursday evening I had friends over.

Friday: I woke up feeling nauseated as hell.

When I was growing up I caught the stomach flu about once a year. Whenever I was sick my mother bought me frozen pizza and coca-cola—yeah, think Rosanne; my mom's from Indiana—now whenever I am sick all I want is frozen pizza and coke. I drove to Food Lion (which I admit is redneck as hell) because they have a pizza brand (Mama Rosa's) that is a guilty pleasure of mine. When I got home I threw-up violently—I popped a blood vessel in my eyeball and made my nose bleed. I spent the rest of the day alternating between shitting my brains out and eating frozen pizza while watching Dr. Who. Needless to say I called out of work the next day also.

My dog Victoria Elizabeth, who is absolutely in love with me and spends most of our time together either lying on my chest or staring at me, was really sick of me by Saturday night. Friday, she was sympathetic and worried. Saturday her facial expression said: “you need to get the hell out of here so I can have some alone time.” She spent the evening out of sight.

Sunday: I was feeling better, and went into work, but as I hadn't really seen or communicated with anyone on Friday or Saturday, I was feeling...cranky. Oh, and it was the Superbowl.

Actually, I could care less about having the Superbowl off. Perhaps another one of God's ways of punishing me, I was born a die hard Skins fan, and since they have pretty much consistently sucked every season for the past twenty-three years (I do remember them going to the Superbowl once when I was a child) I don't really follow football (the only sport I have ever enjoyed watching). The only thing is: a close friend of mine, is a Seahawks fan and was having a party, and she's only in town like two days a week and I don't get to talk to or spend much time with her.

Oh well...I had to work.

I missed basically the whole game. Then at the very end, the Seahawks were like a couple yards from the finish line and I thought they were about to win, and in my phone I had wrote “congratulations” in a text to send to my friend, and then they didn't win. I changed the text to: “sorry...it was a good game though or what I was able to see of it.”

I stopped for one beer on the way home after work. It was karaoke night, but I didn't really see anyone I felt like talking to.

Monday: the only day I have off all week, I really, really wanted to hang-out. Actually, let me clarify that. I woke up feeling pissed off and irritable and wanted to hang out with one of my girlfriends. (Okay, so as a woman who is into women this is complicated to explain: I have girlfriends that I'd let into the dressing room with me and girl friends that I wouldn't. It isn't that I feel closer to one group or the other...it's just...well, quite frankly my girlfriends are girls who basically are attracted to the same type of person I am and experience a lot the same frustrations the same way I do. My girl friends aren't (and well...quite often they are people I'm very attracted to and I wouldn't feel comfortable undressing or sharing some things with them without some sort of...commitment(?).) I mean, I don't always want a different perspective I usually just want more clarity on how I'm feeling.

Tuesday (yesterday): still irritable. I made split-pea soup for dinner. It was pretty delicious. Yeah here's a quick recipe (I'm finding that the more mature a cook I become the less ingredients I use):

Sweat three stalks of fine diced celery, one fine diced onion, three sliced carrots with a pinch of salt. Add one pound of split-peas, a ham hock and water (about four parts water to one part split-peas). Bring to a simmer. Simmer until the peas are thoroughly cooked. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. My mother would run her split-pea soup though a food mill but I never have. Anyway I had that with French bread and butter and went to bed rather early.

Today: Still really irritable and kinda feeling really pissed off. I'm realizing however that I'm not going to write about it because, it probably isn't as serious as my emotions made it out to be and I would probably really upset people I care a great deal for. Oh and on that note I'm really glad I blog because I probably wouldn't have figured that out.

Anyway, that's what's going on this week.