“Where the hell are you guys?”

“Aw, we lost our jobs and moved back to Florida a couple of months ago,” he answered. “You should come visit!”

“Okay. I hate Florida, though.”

“But we love you!”

(And, in the background, I heard Kitty shriek, We love you, Kellyyyy, in between chomps of margarita ice. Anyway, Pablo continued… )

“We’ve missed you so much and we talk about you all the time. We had a big going away party, and we were like, ‘This is great, but I wish Kelly was here.’”

Turns out that when my cell phone was stolen and I lost all of my phone numbers, Pablo and Kitty had their car busted into, and lost their phones (and all their numbers) as well. I had emailed Pablo, but he doesn’t check his email because he’s stuck in the 60s despite the fact that he was born in 1977. So, there was no way for us to get in contact, until I dug through all of my info, found Pab’s number, and called him. Three weeks later, he called me back.

So, we’re in touch again. I told him about grad school and my impending move to California, he congratulated me and said that he and Kitty would try to visit.

I was never really concerned that Pablo would disappear forever, because Pablo, while he's a good friend whom I love and trust, has a habit of disappearing every now and again. But he’s become a sort of symbolic friend in my life, and I know he’ll always turn up, straight up deus ex machina style, when I’m thinking about him, or when I could really use his loving, horny, potheaded outlook. I have faith in the Sweetnesses.

“So, how’s Florida?” I asked.

“It’s great. Our friends are here, Kitty’s an insurance broker, and I’m looking for a job on the railroad.”

“Oh, that totally makes sense. But I always figured if you were riding the rails, it would be as a hobo.”

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!”

Pablo then turned to relay the joke to Kitty, who laughed, and repeated, “We love you Kelly! You have to come visit us!”

“Yeah, you totally have to visit,” Pab repeated.

“I’d love to, but I’m going to be poor for a while, and ... I hate Florida.”

“Oh, yeah. So what are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing. I did all my partying over the last two nights.” (This was true.)

“YOU’RE NOT OUT PARTYING????”

“Naw.” (I was sitting on my ass, being lonely.)

“WHY? You’re SO FUCKING HOT!”

“Um, okay. Pablo, you have no idea how much I needed that, today.”

“Baby, anytime you want, you call me and I’ll tell you how fucking hot you are. You’re so fucking hot.”

And in the background, I again heard Kitty shriek, You’re HOT, Kellyyyy …

Pablo promised to call and harass me at various odd hours, we hung up, and, with a creaking of gears and a pulling of wires, my deus ex machina exited through the sky of the stage, and out of sight. Even though he was drunk and his wasted wife is usually a few feet away, and even though it's shallow, it always helps my ego and my outlook to hear from Pablo. I don't know anyone who so adamantly tries to make me feel good about myself, every time he sees me.

See, Pablo knew me during summer theatre in Vermont, where everywhere I turned, there was a different group of friends, and I was a part of each of them. There, he took it upon himself to make me realize I was a “diva,” and failed miserably, but he swears it’s an ongoing project. Everyone was poor and exhausted, we were worked until we learned to sleep standing up, and we learned to depend on each other for refuge, whether it was helping with some heavy lifting, or covering someone’s bar tab. We created a sense of community borne of passion and labor, and when the season ended, I swore to myself not to explain it away with the excuses of passion and summertime.

I have no shortage of friends or stuff to do lately, but I feel like I’m in limbo, and I miss being in the thick of things. I’m looking forward to being busy again, no matter how broke or stressed out it makes me. Much as I’ll miss my friends here, I need this change and challenge.

After my phone conversation with Pablo, I sat in my apartment and tried to read or write, but my concentration was continually disrupted by fireworks exploding all over Chicago.

I picked up my cat and took him to my west-facing window. From there, we could see the whole city beyond the Red Line train. The sun had almost set, and the sky was smeared with globs of neon Pepto Bismol pink bleeding into blue and indigo. At three separate points on the landscape, I could see different fireworks displays, either legal or illegal, on the Wild, Wild, West Side, where explosions are usually chalked up to gun play. Rainbow mushroom clouds, all independent of one another, reaching rebelliously up to the sunset.

I left my building and walked a couple of blocks east, to the lake. There, I could see the peninsula of Navy Pier stretching out into the water, and the fireworks being thrown off of balconies and shot out from anonymous parts of the city. The proper July 4th display, off of the Pier, was sparkling way in the distance.

I watched those screeching spirals and weeping willows group together and drift apart, one finite, panicked, hysterical bouquet at a time. They were all beautiful.

At the time, I admit that I was a little mopey about yet again being by myself. But, it wasn’t so bad. It was raining a little, too, which was an added sensory delight for me.

So, if any of you can think of a more auspicious Independence Day, I’ll give you five million dollars and kiss you right on the mouth.

Update:

For as long as I’m living in a house with a pit bull, (yes, that’s the type of dog, and I really don’t think he can be trained not to eat my cat,) my uncle has offered to take my cat. He lives about four hours from San Francisco, so I will be able to visit periodically, and reclaim Ziggy someday. Yay. Seeing how his beagle is almost dead, my uncle could use the company.

* Pablo is responsible for the current title of this diary, by the way. Since spreading the gospel of Pablo Sweetness, the word “awasum” has worked its way into quite a few friends’ vocabularies.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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