Table for one

I truly, truly hate eating alone, enough that I will often forego a meal if I can't find company, instead lying on my couch and staring at the ceiling fan. I'm told this is unhealthy. However, is it not true that a dish of herbs eaten in the company of friends is greater than a mighty banquet eaten alone? I think it is. It's not just the food, it's the conversation, the time spent ruminating on the course of the day, observing the people and activities around you and being able to split a dessert with coffee so you don't feel guilty.

When compared to that, a solitary meal seems pointless. It makes me feel heartsick. Reading makes it a bit better, so sometimes I'll go to a coffee shop with book in hand to sip and munch. It would still be improved by a friend sitting across the table doing the same.

My arrival to Dallas a few years ago was spurred by an unusual set of circumstances which I will elaborate on some other time. It's been a period where I've both made new friends and solidified friendships from the past. Alcohol was introduced to my palate. My wardrobe has been upgraded from the t-shirts and tapered leg jeans that have been in my closet since 1995. It's been a great ride. However, let me reflect back on one particular incident from August of 2005.

Amy knows how to throw a great party. That's just one of many things that make her a spectacular person. This particular party was one of the first that I remember, as well as being the first where a considerable portion was lost to an alcohol induced blackout. Thankfully, I had my digital camera with me, and other alcohol affected folks were gracious enough to record the antics of the crowd long after I was reduced to a giggling mess on the floor. But this isn't just about being a tumbrel, this is about the beginning of a friendship.

Ian and Amy have been friends long before my arrival to Dallas. I'd met him a time or two at other social events, and we'd had friendly chats, but that was the extent of it. This party marked a turning point. We were both trashed.

There we are, with a couple of other highly affected friends, in Amy's house. Good times!

The next morning, I woke up on the floor of the bedroom covered by a quilt. Someone was next to me. We both turned and looked at each other. "Gigi?" "Ian?" Then we went back to sleep for a few more minutes. Eventually we got up to breakfast with Amy and another straggler. And you know what? He hates eating alone, too.

So, besides the fact that I miss hearing his impressions of people, singing Liz Phair, Natalie Merchant, and Joan Baez loudly in the car, gritting our teeth when Dallas-ites are seated next to us, and wondering why people are so frustratingly dumb in general, I miss my dinner buddy.

September seems a long way down the road, but it'll get here soon enough. When it does, I'll be starved, let's get some food.