Did You Hear The One About...

This is a joke.  There is a punchline.  I hope you laugh.

Last year a high school crush found me on Facebook and we decided to try and live the rest of our lives together.  It didn't work out.  While I was being in this relationship I felt that songs on the radio were sending me messages.  When I was in the throes of being in love it was Billy Joel's For The Longest Time.  That's the one that stands out the most.  When things turned bad, I would hear Adelle's version of the Bob Dylan ballad Feel Your Love, and sing it to me  in solidarity with myself.

Earlier this week I considered downloading some new songs to my IPhone.  There's a song by Cece Peniston that I adore.  It's called Keep On Walkin.  It's a song I could never remember the name of and didn't know who sang it so never had a copy.  I downloaded it a couple days ago.  Ironically, the ex texted me and emailed me a couple days ago, too.   He was just letting me know that the relationship he ran to when I left him was over now.  Information I didn't want.  A contact I didn't want.  I'm a fast learner, and one of the things I learned fastest was that talking to this dude is a waste of time, only serves to anger and upset me and never changes anything.

They lyrics to the Cece Peniston song include the following:

I thought I told you it was over 
Why are you confused? 
Made your choice and now I'm voicing 
My opinion to you 

You can just Go!
Walk On
keep On

Keep on Walkin 
I aint talkin to ya
Keep on walkin, keep on walkin 


So I finally realized yesterday that part of my reason for calling out this song and putting it on the repeat was to dismiss this unwanted intrusion.  It always upsets me when I hear from that guy.  I had him blocked on my other phone, but apparently that didn't carry over to this one.  And I admit, a part of me wants to hear from a version of him that has finally taken responsibility for his part in what didn't work so that we could transcend it and maybe be together.  That is a throwback to that flaw I mentioned in the You Are NOT My Enemy post from earlier this week; the flaw of believing in people's evloved selves contrary to the hypothesis that a leopard doesn't change its spots.

So I'm listening to this jam, rockin out with Cece when I arrive home the night before last and even though I have my headphones on, I can  hear my roommates street rap blasting out of the speakers in the living room. I stick my head in singing my R&B jam.  We laugh and my roomie invites me to a chocolate cake shot.

"Yah!" I am enthusiastic. Vanilla vodka and Frangelico are the shot, followed up by a slice of lemon dipped in brown sugar.  And the shots are pretty amazing cause they really taste like chocolate cake.

So the next day, after work, I'm still suffering slightly and decide that I must have a bacon cheeseburger before I go to karaoke.  It's going to be a rough week from the look of things.

Since karaoke is in the village, I decide to find a place for dinner down there.  There's a spot on 14th Street called The Crooked Knife that I've wanted to try for a while, so I stop in and get my burger.

When the burger arrives it's Fat.  With a capital "F".  I peer around its sides trying to decide how to conquer it.  It has lettuce and tomato and onion and I add my mayo and catsup concoction making a fat, sloppy mess of wonderfullness.  I pick it up, still wondering what the best way to get the biggest bite in my mouth is.  I decide a halfway-through-the-burger-on-a-45-degree-angle is my best shot and I swan dive into that patty.

 I raise my eyes and see some patrons staring wide-eyed at me.  "Food isn't pretty," I say.   And then I realize my mouth is full.  So I smile.

I really want a burger now.  This comedy stuff makes me hungry.

The moral of the story is that overcoming pain and difficult situations makes you hungry.  Wait.  No.  I mean, it frees you up to find the joy in the mundane.  Badumching.