Sunday, June 7, 2009

Day of the devil ...

Three years ago today, 6/6/06, I was still running with a crowd of Pharell and beer pong fanatics. It was a period of gross arrested development that tasted like a $2 jug of sangria served at room temperature, which, incidentally, is what we were drinking at my former roommate's birthday BBQ.

The night started early and included some bad behavior. 20-somethings puking in the back yard, I threw a drink in someone's face. Chaos erupted around me. I had found alcohol zen: The more bruised and purple my lips became from the drink, the more sober I became. My roommate had passed out at about 7 p.m. in the tiny tent-like bedroom without electricity where I allowed him to live.

After his friends had either a) stormed off into the night or b) left for slightly more risque outings or c) slipped into a coma in a lounge chair tilted to a dangerous angle in the backyard, I went inside to ding around online. In those days I was scouring MySpace for evidence that single, attractive, adult men who remembered Wham! still lived within 15 miles of my craptastic apartment in the Hillside. Not necessarily to date, but just to know they were there. It was a little like the game minesweeper, although I'm not exactly sure how.

My favorite was a black and white photo of a man sitting outside with a French Press coffee pot in front of him on the table. Chuckers McChuckerstein. I knew who he was: One of those Ripsaw guys. I closed one eye and wrote him a simple note on MySpace: I want to meet you.

The next day, I got his response: 3 a.m.? Are you drunk?
Me: Yes. But I still want to meet you.

And of course, we did. Months later, after I'd read and reread his blog posts, corresponded with dozens more witty emails, and looked for him everywhere I went. That was 6/6/06: Evil date breeds love.

The other day I spent the entirety of Central Entrance, on my way to Cub Foods, thinking about the little things I like about Chuck. In order to save you your gag reflex, I've chosen a simple one: I like the way he bags groceries. He has long, blueish fingers. I think they look like ET's. In a good way. He grips a package, like totally palms it with his entire blueish hand, and without looking at the bag, tosses the product in haphazardly. Doesn't matter if it's tomatoes or Annie's Mac. He has a recklessly accurate toss. It's cute and vaguely dangerous.

Anyway, I plan to tell this anniversary story every year, until it takes on a mythical, urban legend quality.

Also, today is my favorite person I've never met's birthday. Happy Day, Jodi! [Unfortunately, I'm posting this on 6/7/09 ... which means the anniversary has passed, and so has Jodichrome's birthday.]


Sproactually said...

Awww... that is the sweetest thing I have ever read here..

Wait, I think someone broke into you blogger account.

Jodi said...

Aww shucks. I am glad the day of evil has significance for you. You and Chuck are my favorite Internet couple after the Blurb-Dooces.

belldoorlover said...

I love MySpace romances. Everyone can be creepy without being creepy. Your not creepy, it use to be the only way I could hit on men.

Chris said...

The story of how you guys met surprised me. First off I don't know either one of you very well. I've only met Barrett a few times through Paul. And I've only met you one time, at the West Duluth Street Dance last year. How is it you never met him before you picked him up off the internet? It seems like you two would have run in the same crowds and hung around some of the same places? Either way it was a very cool story. Who says drunken internet use always has to end badly...

christina said...

Hah! I'm not sure how we didn't know each other. It seems funny now. Although I didn't know any of his friends until after we started dating. I rarely left the cold comfort of the Pioneer Bar.

Anonymous said...

I'd completely forgotten that happened 6/6/06! I remember I was interviewing here then flew back that evening, then stopped by your place after driving back from the Cities. Then I headed home and e-mailed my now-boss at 6:21 a.m., sucking up. And I think I met my now-boyfriend that day. Thanks, Satan!

-- Oregon