This is a day late, but I had to post. Sorry thank you goodbye.
A year ago this weekend, I found myself with a group of friends in Newport Beach, CA.
It was a perfect storm of happy coincidence: our friend Randall was in the southland visiting our friend Fabio, and the beau was already going to be in the same area for a rugby game. My best friend and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, hopped in her car, and drove down on Friday night to help get the party started.
I have to admit I was reluctant to spend the weekend crashing in Fabio’s living room. At the time he was living separately from his fiancée – family pressure made cohabitating before marriage impossible — in an apartment just two blocks from the beach. It was a proper bachelor pad that came furnished with half-broken wicker chairs and nautical-themed wall hangings, such as miniature wooden oars. The fluorescent light flickered in the kitchen and the sink was rusty.
Fabio has a music habit, and he indulges in it loudly. So that weekend, whenever he wasn’t drunkenly playing the keyboard and singing at the top of his voice, he was playing music videos on YouTube for us at top volume. That was the first time I ever listened to Lady Gaga. In fact, it was the first time I ever listened to a number of things.
It’s safe to say that after that weekend I was never the same.