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Big Girls Don't Cry
May 15, 2004, 8:56 p.m. Ugh. Had a bad night last night. Though it’s funny now. Anyway. Decided Friday night at home wasn’t what I wanted to do, so I did a quick ring around and decided to go see Van Helsing with the Stray Texan, at 8:45, after dinner. Dad was cooking a roast. However, at about 7 or so, she calls and says well, she wants to go see Troy later this weekend, so two movies would be a bit expensive. Would I like to come round and just hang out at her place? Sure, I’ll be there at about 8:30, I said, thinking I’d get a lift with my mum. However, the first ‘disaster’ struck when dinner was running late – usually it’s on by about 7:30, last night: 8:00pm. I ate quickly, but of course my mum took her time. So we finally leave at about 8:30. It’s cool, I’ve called the Texan, told her I’d be there by 9pm at the latest. So we’re finally on our way. Second disaster strikes when mum decides to drive through King St – which is, of course, packed with traffic. So a trip that should take 15 to 20 minutes actually takes half an hour, and I arrive at the Texan’s apartment building right on 9:00pm. Third disaster! I can’t remember her apartment number, so I can buzz her on the intercom. Fourth disaster! Her phone is ringing engaged. I get in on someone’s coattails, thinking I’ve remembered her apartment number – 412 – but the elevator won’t stop at the fourth floor. It’ll only go to whichever floor you were buzzed in from. Dammit. So I go downstairs and try to get her on the intercom, but there’s no answer. I keep trying and trying, the intercom and the phone, but no answer and engaged respectively. I leave increasingly agitated messages on her answering service. “Tex, it’s Lia. I can’t remember your apartment number, can you call me?” “Hey Tex, Lia again. Where are you? C’mon, I know you’re home.” “Te-ex, come on, get off that damn phone. It’s cold out here and I’m bored, and I kinda need to go to the bathroom, too.” Finally, I hit on the bright idea of buzzing some of the neighbouring apartments on the fourth floor, and getting them to buzz me in. The nice guy at 411 does, and so I get in, go to the fourth floor, and knock on 412’s door. No answer. No one at home. So I was wrong, and I don’t know her apartment number. This time I opt to stay in the lobby, as being near the intercom is useless now. I just have to keep trying her phone number, which is still engaged. I hate to admit, but I was starting to cry a bit at this stage, out of frustration. Yes, I’m a big sook. Imagine a really miserable voice for these next messages: “Tex, I’m in the lobby now. Could you please call me as soon as you get this message?” “Tex, I’m just going to go home. By the time you get this message, it’ll just be too late, and I have to work tomorrow. Okay, see you later *muffled sobs*.” (Sook!) By this stage it was 9:30. Yes, that damn phone had been engaged for the last half hour. I went to the bus stop, and called my mum and started crying to her (like I said, sook!). Then the bus came, so I got on that, sat up the back, and stared morosely into the middle distance the most of the trip home. Until, dun dun dun! The Stray Texan called: “Oh my god Lia, I have no idea what happened! I kept checking my phone for a dial tone [something similar to this had happened before, with the phone cord being pulled out], and then I checked the messages, and it was from an hour ago and I’m so sorry! I have no idea what’s wrong with my phone! I’ll bake you some cookies! I’m so so sorry, oh my god, you cried?! I’m so sorry, I have no idea what happened!” I assured her it was alright, these things happen, yes, I cried, but I cry a lot – too much, actually – I’d just go home, have some chocolate, and watch the wedding on TV. So I got home, and my sister is still cleaning the kitchen after Dad’s roast extravaganza. I pitch in a bit, and then Dad makes me do some serious cleaning on the pot drawer (pot as in pots and pans, gutterface), at which point – and this is not my most mature moment – I start crying, muttering about how this is not how I wanted to spend my Friday night. I find comfort in my mother’s arms (I’m 20 people, how big a sook can you get?!) and she goes and buys me a ridiculously chocolate-y ice cream from the service station, and I settle down to watch The Glasshouse. In the end, it wasn’t a bad night, I just hate it when the plans I make go awry (and for the worse). And yes, I did end up staying up late watching Mary Donaldson’s wedding. I have to admit, I now have the biggest crush on Crown Prince Frederik, or ‘Freddie’, as he’s known affectionately around our house. What can I say? One sook loves another, and he had my heart when he began to tear up in the cathedral. I love a man who can cry in public!
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