Melica breezed back into town for the past few days-- culminating in one of those
get-the-usual-gang-together-around-a-big-round-table-with-plenty-of-cocktails-and-conversation evenings
last night at Café Deluxe. It was a night filled with a whole host of "only-with-Melica" events:
an attempt to incorporate goat cheese into all three courses; Patrick's unwillingness to give up his menu and
frequently consulting it throughout our meal; our sticky martini glasses causing forks to be semi-permanently glued
to fingers for most of the main course; walking out on an androgynous folk singer at the Zebra Lounge who was launching
into a morbid tune about when her life did a 180° about a year and a half ago; and finally Dunhills without drinks
at the Cactus Cantina.
There is something about this random group that makes me so comfortable-- and so extroverted. Launching into
my childhood fondue stories at Melica's minimal urgings-- then admitting to my secret life as the PopTart Princess.
I even dragged out some my other friends' party favorites-- like my running joke with Laine about how psychologists and
glitter-glue really shouldn't converge in any tangible reality. I was raucous and animated-- surprisingly so. And as I made
my way home through the slush and snow, I felt giddy and fulfilled.
| 
