Caterwauling

Random theater. Dim the lights.

Well, I’d love to say that my experience at a certain Irish pub this evening contained good food, good service and good friends, but one out of three ain’t bad. I wouldn’t know how the food was because I didn’t have an opportunity to order any (I served my own drinks. I wasn’t able to take my menu and cook my own damn food), based on the appallingly horrible service I received, but enh. I don’t have to go back. That, and the friends? More than made up for it.

And besides, there’s a ‘Tilla next door, and while the thought did occur to me to go get food there and bring it back to the table at Four Courts, I do have some measure of class. Not much, but some. 😉

Besides, the purpose of the gathering was to have a sort of Irish wake for a beloved Irish cat. A four-pawed prince who deserved a million toasts in his honor. (UPDATE: A slideshow of him growing up. Awwwww!)

This was a big day for me, actually making personal plans and showing up for them — and on time, at that. Not that the hostess was at all helpful in knowing that my party existed and was THERE. But that’s OK — I had a few drinks at the bar and had some time with my thoughts, although I would have rather spent that time with my friends.

It was strange being in Clarendon again, although I’d just been there for my friends’ wedding. I mean, I know my way around Arlington and I drove straight to my destination, but I don’t take that route home anymore. I don’t need the GW Parkway or I-66/50 or whatever else. I barely graze the Beltway on a normal day, just enough to take me to Connecticut Avenue, which will eventually take me home.

It was a nice drive (now) — I liked taking my old route, knowing that friends would be at the end of it. But I also liked taking my blackened chicken quesadilla from California Tortilla home to my own neighborhood. I think this is maybe the second time in four months that I’ve felt like I were actually coming home. It’s weird how Northern Virginia, like Pittsburgh, has become a place that holds people I love but that’s all — it’s not somewhere I miss otherwise.

I’m from the generation that’s spiritually homeless — we may pay rent somewhere, but is it home or just a residence? But it’s not the “where,” but rather the “what” — what it represents, what possibilities it holds, what we’ll look back on and remember when we’ve moved on and, hopefully, up. So when we lose a pet or a relationship or something that once filled that space, the void is more palpable than an object that takes up a portion of a room. And I was glad tonight to come home to my adorable pain-in-the-ass cats because they’re what makes this place mine. I know my friends will someday hurt less because of the void that’s taken the place of their furchild, but I wouldn’t wish that void on my worst enemy. His baby brother Jack’s got some stupendous paws to fill.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 3rd, 2006 at 10:36 PM and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.