There is a lot to be angry and frustrated about right now. I have a half-written entry about the middle east. I have an entry where I vent about the crime situation in my country. Now, however, I only see futility about writing about these things. Confronted with yet another atrocity in this crime-ridden country, or yet another political debacle in the Middle East, I become extremely depressed, and then nothing changes, and life goes on.
I used to be far more impassioned about these things 2 years ago. And I wonder what happened.
Instead I am content to selfishly document the paltry occurrences of my own life. Like Ant. Oh Ant. I went out with him again on Sunday evening. I had gone out with him the Sunday before, and we just drove around listening to miscellaneous rock CDs. I behaved myself that time, only giving him a peck on the cheek at the end of the night.
This Sunday, however, I went to the lead singer's house which was where they practised. The lead sing of the band is a really cool guy, by the way. When we got there, he was watching the stand-up comedy marathon, and I immediately knew that we would hit it off. And we did.
Anyways, Ant and I went into their sound-proof band room, and played some riffs for me. The guy can play. Anything I requested, he played. Including Guns N Roses' Sweet Child O Mine, Metallica's Enter Sandman, Papa Roach's Last Resort, Audioslave's Bring 'Em Back Alive, and many, many, many more. The man can play.
And Tiragem can drink. I lost count of how many screwdrivers I had.
We kissed at the end of the night. It didn't go much further than that, though. When I got home, and my head touched that pillow, I was out like a light, though not before sending him a text reaffirming my thoughts of his prowess at the guitar, and telling him to call me when he got home so I knew he reached safely.
An hour later I got a text message from him but no phone call, and after all that vodka, I was too sleepy to care. Of course the next day, when I started cussing Ant for not calling, he insisted that he did in fact call me.
I have ABSOLUTELY no memory of my phone ringing, or me answering, or anything, but according to Ant, he called and I kept calling him by someone else's name, and when he insisted he wasn't this other person, he was "Ant", I said... "Yeah, right..." and called him this-other-person's-name again.
Ant: "So who is >person whose name I kept calling him< ?"
Me: "Umm... That's my boyfriend..."
How fucked up is that? You go out with a girl, you play her some songs on your guitar, you give her a lot to drink, you kiss her at the end of the night, and then when you call her to tell her you've arrived safely home after dropping her directly in front of her house, she calls you by her boyfriend's name. Yeah.
Ant was not too miffed about being called The Syrian, though. He said it was a bit funny, because after the name calling, I started talking gibberish, and he eventually hung up. That's when he sent the text. That was when I really woke up. It would have been so funny if I had called him back then, actually awake.
"I told you to call! Not text me!"
"I did call!"
"Liar!"
Ah well. So that's the long and short of it. I suspect I may start to grow feelings for this guy. I hope not. That will bring up a whole set of complications that really should be left far, far down.
Alas. It's getting late. I'm gonna go.