I’ve always hated cats, but there was a time when I could say, with a completely straight face that I had cat class and I had cat style. It was an indisputable fact: I was cool for cats. Like those cat people in the David Bowie song, I spent my free time putting out fire with gasoline. No wonder he and I got along so well.
If the scary cat references haven’t given me away (“Dog Days Are Here,” according to Florence + the Machine, but not for me), let me spell it out for you: I’m no longer the crazy cat I used to be. MC Skat Cat has got everything on me. I’m officially not cool for cats.
Moving right along from the cat thing (which is either a sign that I’ve done lost my mind, or I’m turning into a lesbian cliché)…
It’s been exactly three weeks since my return to Buenos Aires from Australia, and I’m still having a hard time getting back into the social groove. I’ve been more prolific with my writing than I’ve been in months (though I don’t spend nearly enough time updating this blog), and I’ve been ridiculously dedicated to my running, Pilates and workout routine, skipping only one day of intense physical activity since my return.
What I’m missing on a near-daily basis, though, is social activity. I’ve met three friends for brunch, two for dinner, and I ventured out for drinks with a few of the guys last Friday night (which thankfully, did not end up like Katy Perry’s song of the same name), but I’ve otherwise been in reclusive mode. I’m not sure if it’s just a phase, if my age is finally catching up with me, or if mentally, I’m still stuck in Melbourne and getting too chummy with BA might snap me out of it.
I’m doing the MSN Messenger thing a bit more than I had been in Australia because that’s what folks do here in BA. The conversations are still not particularly interesting, and I haven’t gotten any better at coming up with excuses why I can’t meet up for drinks later that I’d believe if someone were using them on me. I think some of the guys are catching on, and they’ve stopped writing. If only one of them were named Lucas — I could never resist a Lucas!
The good news is that my best friend in New York City, Lori, is finally on MSN Messenger, so we can talk everyday in real time. Still, I know that I can only hide out in my apartment for so long. Eventually, I’m going to have to go out into the BA nightlife again. I’m plotting my return to Melbourne for February or March, so I’ve got a few months left to enjoy BA — or not. I’d rather enjoy, and although I’ve been writing non-stop for the various blogging networks to which I contribute, I’m itching to add some new outrageous personal stories to my collection.
I do have one new one for which I didn’t even have to leave my couch. Last night my friend Rob, whom I met last year through this blog, went to a Halloween party at Palacio nearly a week after the fact (Halloween), and he was approached by a guy from the U.S. who said to him, “Oh my God, are you Jeremy? Do you write a blog?” It gets better: This guy is the roommate of a friend of mine named Roberto (no relation to Rob), and he doesn’t even know it. Hopefully, I’ll get to meet him eventually and thank him for reading me. I’m still in awe — and extremely grateful — that anyone does.
But first, I’ll need to snap out of this reclusive thing and start getting out more. All work and no play makes Jeremy kind of a dull boy — and gives him precious little to write about by way of personal experiences — but at least I’m probably in the best physical shape of my life. And after spending a small fortune in Australia, my current hermit-like existence has been good to my bank account.
My friend Felix, whom I met at a birthday party I threw for my then-BFF Shane four years ago, shortly after I moved BA, was supposed to arrive today from Atlanta, but he was flying stand-by and didn’t make it onto the plane. So who knows when he’ll get here? I was hoping that he would help pull me up out of my BA malaise. Maybe he will. Or maybe I’m beyond hope. Just in case I am, I’ve got the rest of the fourth season of How I Met You Mother ready to go.