Taking shots at each other

A friend I met yesterday found humor in her recent break up with boyfriend -- when he put on his act to break up, she laughed, instead of crying "wawa...I wanna go home." Her goofy mood scared the jacks*** out of me yesterday.

Chinese violins played in the cafe's background, expressing pain, and apples fell from my bag. Ex-GF started true blue halloween stories. She said that after a person dies and is buried, his/her brain remains alive, meaning a dead person can control a living person beyond the grave through telepathy. The brain in the grave sends out electric signals that are received by living beings, who then carry out the dead person's orders. I thought I had heard that before.

The violin stopped, and surprise, surprise, Shea Seger making a light rock appearance on the PA with "Shatterwall." It was indeed astonishing to hear her after 2000 (?). Right, it was actually in 2001. Her "Clutch" rocked Roxy before I left Boston, and her name came from a DJ. The song had an amazing cut, breaking up the beat for 2 seconds, keeping me looking at Ms. Dunkin Donuts Financial Manager, and coming back with a bang to end the single. Great base guitar, great percussion, but the CD purchase was a waste of money -- it probably is a great coster for a fortunate coffee mug these days.

I told her about Ms. Dunkin Donuts Financial Manager, and how she got married in Cape Cod, on the beach. I remember her deep blue eyes and clear cut face from that Roxy moment even now.

She continued: "I wanted to marry him, you know."

"What happened?" I asked

"He was a narcissistic crybaby."

I understood the word crybaby, I was accused of being one, but narcissistic took a dictionary lookup after coming home. When a woman is crying, keep them talking; don't ask them what a word means. Interrupting them means disagreement, or so have I learnt.

She kept it going. He dropped beer on her carpet, another woman, and he wasn't a good handyman. If she was expecting a Clint Eastwood, she shouldn't expect one, I told her. But in Houston, apparently there are some, she said.

After having enough of her psychoblabbering, I recommended she try Vipassanna, an Indian meditation technique where a person has to keep quiet for 10 straight days to gain ultimate peace of mind. Right, it might not exactly do that, but I had to get the woman to shut up or she'd send me for Vipassanna.

Lauren Hill's "Ready or not" followed. I desperately want the Fugees to come back and save me from this insane woman on the loose.

"What trick has your boyfriend run to turn you into a halloween machine?" I asked her, trying to break her amorous streak.

"He was imaginary," she responded. And our conversation continued.

That is how the conversation between us has always been. We take quick snaps at each other and argue pointlessly about stuff that even drug dealers would run away from.

I met her on Halloween day when we got lost from our group, and it was so crowded that we shacked up in a bar and ended up arguing for the first time (about the president). She's a hardcore Democrat.

Ironically, she moved to Houston right before the election and her vote didn't count, and I really miss her now. But we haven't stopped our pointless arguments with each other.

This one's for you, J. Hope you enjoy reading it.