Last weekend I spent the entirety of Saturday in bed with the covers over my head much of the time. Homesickness had finally set in, and I mean but good. I felt even worse because it was the first relatively warm weekend we'd had here on The Mountain since I moved to this snowy place, and shouldn't I be out enjoying it? I mean, I felt guilty because I wasn't taking advantage of it. Which made me feel worse and miss my friends back home and then scurry further under the covers. Which made me more guilty. And then I was caught in a sneaky hate spiral. (PS, who else is stoked that Allie Brosh is back?! And that she had the lady balls to deal with 18 months of serious, hardcore depressive horribleness, and then come out on the other side of it and WRITE about it!? I know, right?!?! My hero.) So yeah, Saturday? Pretty much sucked out loud.
Sunday I decided I had to do something to get out of the house and be around people that would be friendly and engage with me in a somewhat meaningful way. Meaning the unhappy-for-no-reason hipster waitress who takes my order with more judgment and disdain than Regina George could ever muster at the local bookstore/coffee shop didn't count. (Hey look, a non-Lindsay Lohan Lindsay Lohan reference! Is anybody keeping a tally?) But where could I find such a group of people?
And suddenly, an answer that would NEVER have occurred to me in other circumstances came rushing forward, unbidden and unexpected. (And if you ever tell my mother that, I may feign ignorance, or perhaps no habla ingles.) Church. Of course. CHURCH! I'm not much for organized religion, finding that most such establishments prefer to tell people all the reasons they're going to hell instead of helping them find all the reasons they aren't. But I just spent the past 3 years working for a church that, although had more than its fair share of um, shall we say wounded and quirky people, was a place of comfort and strength for me. They fought for social justice, for equality for all, for Love for Love's sake. They supported me after I had to take a sudden and unplanned leave of absence to be hospitalized for depression 2 years ago, and they sent me to The Mountain with their love and blessing. Surely, this being hippy-minded Colorado, I would easily find a similar band of pilgrims?
Well. Perhaps. But instead I stumbled upon the Frozen Chosen. They were nice enough, but that's about all I can say. The music was mediocre at best (and I, my friends, have been spoiled by the musical stylings of Boy Genius). The sermon was uninspired (something about praying when the pastor's brakes went out in his truck on his way to Arizona?). And I found myself quietly crying in my seat during communion because of my homesickness and general malaise, and nobody thought to ask The New Girl if she was okay.
Fine. I guess I just assumed there would always be a delegate--a beloved Blue Haired Biddy--in every congregation everywhere who snatches up visitors and makes them the head of some new task force committee and organizes a schedule for the other parishioners to deposit casseroles at the newbie's house every Tuesday for the next 6 weeks. Maybe that's a Southern thing? Anyway, without any such person appearing and completely unsated, I cast about for another means of solace.
I know! I'll go see a movie about a despondent millionaire whose True Love forsakes him for money and comfort! I LOVE movies!! Okay, perhaps Gatsby is not the best pick-me-up story, but Baz Luhrmann's cinematography never disappoints, and anyway it was Leo and Carey in 1920s gloriousness. Yespleaseandthankyou! ALSO, it was showing at this place called Cinebistro. It's a local movie theater. But with full seat-side bistro service. You get to watch Leo on the big screen and have a nicely-dressed waiter serve you steak frittes and glasses of Pinot Noir. Holla!
As I settled myself in my seat and sipped my vino, waiting for my grilled salmon with lemon potatoes and wilted spinach to arrive, 2 guys came and sat next to me. They were total "bros," and I wondered what had brought the Fratty McFrat-Frats to see this movie at this establishment. One of them said how "tight" this place was because you could come in the fall to watch football on the big screen and drink beer and eat wings and it was "totally free, man!" The other commented that he hoped the movie was good. I wondered if he meant that from an adaptation standpoint or from a story standpoint--because if it was the latter I wanted to ask him what the hell he read in 11th grade English if not this? But I held my tongue, because I'm trying to curb the intellectual snobbery. I'm told it's not conducive for making new friends.
And then the first of the bros, the bro of football fanaticism, turns to me and asks me a question about my glass of wine. What kind was it and what did it taste like? So I told him about it, its big, fruit-forward flavor and smooth finish. (So much for curbing the intellectual snobbery.) And we got to chatting.
How long have you been in the Valley?
What do you do here?
Do you like it here? Do you ski? What kind of musician are you?
And just like that, I was drawn into their little Bro-dom. Thankful for a conversation with people other than my coworkers (or the one-sided conversations I have with Sad Hipster Barista Barbie), I found myself laughing and...dare I say it?....enjoying myself. So when they suggested we exchange information so we could all hang out again sometime, I agreed without hesitation. When the movie was over, I gave Bro #1 my number, and he said great, he would text me so I would have his, and then we'd all get a drink sometime.
Finally! I've managed to find the prospect of friends without the crutch of school or work! I might actually be okay up here on The Mountain! Some good, non-complicated friends--I'll have to put up with beer and football, but so what? Friends!!!
So imagine my surprise when he starts texting me 2 days later....and the tone was decidedly not non-complicated...
To be continued...
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