1. That Crazy Woman

    Ten years ago tonight, Michael and I went to Bottom of the Hill to see the Thinking Fellers. I’d been living in San Francisco for just a little over a month, and for too many reasons to enumerate, I was twelve days from the end of what would prove to be the most tumultuous, exhilarating, gut-wrenching, ecstatic, and unexpectedly complicated year of my life.

    That record stands, in large part because — at Bottom of the Hill, ten years ago tonight — I made out with a crazy woman.

    Michael had mentioned that our pal, tiny Kristine, would probably be at the show that night with her friend, Madeline, who I’d heard mentioned a couple times as K’s hilarious, awesome pal, who, like me, was recently done mending from a D-minus breakup, and yeah, I should really meet her some time, because I just should. Sure. Okay. Sounds good.

    Mainly, of course, as with so many of my best nights over the past 23 years, I was mostly there to get drunk with Michael, see a band, and alienate lots of strangers by saying things that made no sense and talking at length about The Fall.

    Show was good. As usual at BotH, the place was packed to the gills, and no matter where we stood, we were in someone’s way, jostling and jostled, downing domestic beer like it was about to be permanently discontinued. Joy.

    So, after a while, we see the top of tiny Kristine’s head passing through the ocean of shoulders and ironic hats, and she says hi, and — “Wow, Merlin. You’re really in luck tonight. Because my crazy friend, Madeline, is here. And she really wants to meet you. Like, really.”

    “Okay, sure. I’d love to. New town, new people. Swell.”

    Kristine heads off to the pool table area to fetch this person I’d been hearing about, and I prepared myself to meet this girl and, you know, give her the pleasure of my company, because — despite never having met me — she apparently already had a giant crush on me. (Yeah, I know. I was younger and even more arrogant. Also, PBR.)

    Then, emerging through the crowd, walking alongside the top of tiny Kristine’s head: a face.

    Beautiful eyes, giant smile, awesome haircut. Skinny. Whoa. She does look crazy. My type.

    We’re introduced, and we talk. About everything. She loves Pavement, too. She works near where I do. She’s got a big family. Talking, talking, talking.

    I stop hearing the Thinking Fellers. I forget about Kristine and Michael. I stop checking in on the wacky movies playing on the shitty TV over the bar.

    Ten minutes in, I’m already so far lost in this woman that I’m beside myself.

    Then — within what’s been described to me as twenty minutes of our first meeting — we’re frenching. Hard. In a bar. Like crazy people. And, she totally grabs my ass. Hand to God.

    This is definitely not the kind of thing I do; I learned later that the same was true for her. But, there we were.

    I was falling in love with a crazy woman. In a bar. And every molecule of my rebounding body screamed that I was out of my fucking mind to even consider getting attached to some…person. Not now. Jesus, not now.

    After all, I had a very important job preparing (in vain, of course) to become a dot-com millionaire. Plus, I had promised myself that, for at least a year, I’d only get involved in superficial flings with hot Asian chicks with expensive shoes. I didn’t want to fuck up my new life in California by getting attached to some random crazy woman who happened to grab my ass in a dive bar.

    But, I did. I totally did. Because, I just knew it. Stupid as that sounds, I really knew yet.

    So, yes, that night we went back to her apartment. Yes, we immediately started spending every possible minute together. Yes, a month later, she moved in with me. And, yes, a few years after that, she even married these damaged goods. And, yes yes yes, not too long ago she brought our perfect little daughter into the world.

    That crazy woman.

    Whom I owe everything to. And, whom I will take to Bottom of the Hill tonight. Where I won’t care what band’s playing, what’s on the TV, or whether I should have held out for cute Asian girls with expensive shoes.

    I just want that crazy woman — my favorite woman in the world — to french me hard and grab my ass, and know in her heart that, one amazing decade later, I still love her so much that it makes my head spin.

    Funny thing, though. Remember how Kristine had told me how much that crazy woman really wanted to meet me? Yeah. The next morning — ten years ago tomorrow — Madeline told me Kristine had told her the same thing. We had totally been gas-lighted. Big-time. Not that it mattered. That boat had already sailed.

    So, no, I don’t have an opinion about the universal viability of “love at first sight.” And, I have to acknowledge that Serendipity and Kismet often get a substantial kick in the ass from irreplaceable friends like Kristine and Michael.

    But, I can tell you that my life would have been really different if I hadn’t made out with that crazy woman in a bar ten years ago tonight.

    What a terrible, stupid, and rash decision that was. And you bet your ass, my friend, it’s easily the smartest terrible decision I’ll ever make. For ten years now, I’ve thanked my awful judgment every morning, when I wake up next to the most beautiful, wonderful, crazy woman in the world.

    I love you, Mad. Happy Anniversary.

    y2k

    y2k

    12/31/99 (T+13 days into the Madeline Era)

    Photo by Mr. Ferguson

And, then, you were all...

  1. caitlinjanephotography reblogged this from merlin
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    Read it! Read it!