Paying With a Currency of Wit & Charm

Rejoining Friendster has given my life new meaning. Not really. But it did give me the following lovely testimonial, written by my 20-yr-old smart-as-a-whip co-worker:

Theresa strikes me as one of those people who breezes through life, paying with a currency of wit and charm, stumbling into fanciful happenings as you and I might step off a curb. And yet, I don't envy her...I love her! Case in point: I happen to run into her on the bus with a ticket to one of the sold-out Pixies shows at the Aragon ballroom and I sell it to her for half-price.

I'm going to have to write that first sentence down and re-read it in times of sorrow. I like to think that my co-worker is right, and that I do have a fanciful life. Or perhaps I just relish the oddities a little more.

Take Friday night: the two friends who are going to Eastern Europe with me came to visit (ostensibly to discuss our trip) and we went to see my friend Rory's performance in "Hamlet." Afterwards, hanging out with the cast at a restaurant, the actor portraying Hamlet offered to give us a ride home on the condition that we hang out at my place. Sure, we said, and ended up spending an hour driving s l o w l y through the snowdrifts of Chicago before reaching the snug security of my warm apartment. Drinking champagne and rum-laced Dr Pepper, the five of us stayed up till 5 a.m.

Who knew that by going to a play I'd end up hanging out with Hamlet till the wee hours? This is what I love about living here.

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Life is trucking on apace over the next few weeks: this weekend I'm jetting home--well, training it home--on Thursday for a quick rummage around to find my missing passport. (I'm forking over the bucks to expedite a new one, but have hopes I'll find my beloved original.) My parents will drive me in on Friday, go out to dinner for their 30th anniversary, and then it's off to a friend's party. Saturday I might go to see MU330 and Mustard Plug at the Metro, a famous concert venue near Wrigley Field.

The following weekend I'm having a flyby visit from an old friend--old meaning I met him when we were 11. He moved to Colorado, then joined the army (with a stint in Iraq). With one thing and another, I haven't seen him for seven years. Seven years!

A few days following, it's off to Prague, Budapest, Ljubljana and London for eight days. Somewhere in all of this I'm attempting to find a new job. Think it will happen?

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For those of you who sent condolences relating to my last post, thank you. While still bitter, I'm glad I took the initiative and emailed him--because without doing so, I wouldn't have gone on some amazing dates. While the beginning of last week was fraught with self-recrimination and endless repetition of our final conversations, by Thursday I had mellowed to mere revulsion at the thought of ever trying to date again. At least I can comfort myself with the thought that Hamlet, although taken, thinks I'm cute.