last night (she said)

Let me preface this by saying that I'm heartily disappointed - I am an eternal optimist and always think the best of people. Having said that, when your sociopath ex-boyfriend is right about someone, it's tragic.

So yesterday, get a call from Don even before I'm supposed to be at work. It is incredibly busy, I book it over there and Daniel (boss's son) is handling things. Being that it's Canada Day and absolutely nothing is open - this is warranted. Jess comes in at 4:30 - we shoot the shit while making sure everything is taken care of. The amount of requests becomes painful. Jess asks if she can get off work first - she works for the City of Toronto - they are on strike, she's picketing from 11pm-6am. I oblige her being the nice person I am, got a soft spot for Jess, having worked there with her for near 10 years. (I am a really long term person, weird huh). She leaves at 8 to go home and take a nap and it's just me and boss man now (Calvin). We talk about the trouble my brother's been getting into amongst other things, somewhere in the middle of this my iPhone battery completely croaks and I feel naked. I know I promised Peter I would come to his super secret "dry ice cloud chamber building" party, but I also let him know that I'd be late, as I'm working.

So to digress at this point. I work every day, not necessarily because I need to, I could probably mooch off my mother - considering that I am the success of the family and her favorite. I work because I'm a workaholic and because I just had a month long trip to Europe and I'm playing catchup. I'm also incredibly self sufficient and refuse to ask for help, this all goes hand in hand eventually.

Back to last night's events. So I try to call Peter but I "mis-remember" his number as I never ever really call him, because he never ever picks up. Don't get home from work until around 10:45 all sweaty and hungry - decide to plug in the phone and eat. Call Peter from house phone and leave pitiful tired message about how I've been at work and to give me a call back.

He texts back 25 minutes later that I should just come over. Fine whatever, decide to figure out how I will get there - so then follows this :

B: "I'm trying to think of how long it would take me by bus :) Is it gonna last a while? And how will I get home :/"

P: "Whatever man, have a good night (insertmylastnamehere)"

B: "I was just freaking asking. You need to take a chill pill. Not all of us are conveniently located near constant sources of transport. Why don't you let me know when you stop pms-ing and become a man again. Goodnight!"

P: "At 11:30. Have a good fuck-off-now"

B: "Blow me"

Then there's a bunch of pity me bullshit "I cleaned the whole house and I bought dry ice and you didn't even bother to call or even cancel an hour before you're supposed to be there"

Mah? I said I would be late!? My phone battery died?!

Anyway we verbally spar over text messages until I'm completely fed up and decide to go over there and kick his scrawny fucking ass into laughter. That's just the kind of awesome I am. Throw on the tigers, leather jacket, grab keys, the cards, and walk out the door. Open the garage for my bike - bike has a fucking flat. Fuck me. Grab a different bike and zoom away into the middle of the night. Fifteen minutes later I'm on Peter's porch, banging on the glass. Reach into the pocket and phone says "I'm not even home anymore, prick. High Park and a cooler of dry ice".

The sheer amount of livid rage that now courses through my veins is - well it's like I've got the fucking bends but it's not hurting me, it's elevating me to some new level of humanity. Then I laugh.....sit on the porch and send him a few scathing/loving texts, then decide that I will call. The wee cunt never picks up and eventually turns off his phone. So I sit there....breathing heavily, lest I smash something awkwardly in my wrath. Realize I'm going to go back home, realize how far that is, realize that I hate the bike I'm on and that I'm going to have to suck it up and just walk for a bit.

The next thing I remember is walking down St.Clair and ranting very loudly at Neil, a halo of cuss words enveloping me and scaring off the last of the ghetto astronauts. Neil explains to me that basically everybody has ditched Peter at the last moment, and apologizes that this is all being taken out on me. Meanwhile there are big burly men staring at me and I get that narrowing feeling in my stomach when something is somewhat off. I get out of dodge fast. I'm left to walk home through the midnight streets of Toronto suburbs and muse with my thoughts.

The alone time is nice, three minutes later I'm riding down the hill and the wind through my hair makes me feel a lot better. I'm thinking about how I feel bad for Peter, that everybody ditched him at the same time - not on purpose, but also how it's really not my fault - my intention had been to be there all along. At the same time I think he's just a fucking brat. I understand the disappointment of the night on his part, but at the same time, he's 24, he should be able to deal with this in a more constructive way.

So I told Neil I was done. I got home later and E had been trying to call me to find out what happened, he was worried about me walking home alone at night - like good boys do. We hashed it out, decided that next time I see Peter, I'm just going to kick him in the box.

And I haven't even covered half of it yet....but right now I need sustenance...