Tricycling Missoula

The life of the unabashedly single boasts one major hazard: the inevitability of finding oneself the dread "third wheel." This shouldn't be viewed as a complaint, merely an analysis of social phenomena I've found myself party to quite often. Passing the odd weeknight or Saturday afternoon with two close friends who happen to be dating isn't all that uncommon. Far from. But sometimes the circumstances of those outings stand out as particularly unique. For example, J and K kindly invited me to a dinner outing a few Tuesdays back. Not one to pass up a pitcher and a po-boy at Charlie's, or conversation with two of my favorite people for that matter, I took up the offer instantly. We chatted work and school and social goings-on for a while, then J reminded me of the day's significance: J and K's eight-month anniversary. Thinking about it still makes me smile. I can't say I didn't push J a little hard in his initial interest in K, and I'm glad I got to raise a toast with them in celebration.

Sometimes, though, the situation makes me downright uncomfortable. About a year and a half back, I found myself setting a possible record as the ninth wheel. Yea, that's right. The couples at the time were all good friends: J and J, P and A, B and E, and S and T. I got a last-minute invite to a Mauler's hockey game (hockey, I admit, was the single motivating factor in suffering a couples overdose). Unlike prior brushes with third-wheel, fifth-wheel and even seventh-wheel syndrome, this ninth wheel crap left me feeling more than the odd man out. I can only imagine it's how Neil Armstrong felt staring down at Earth from the Moon. Complete and total isolation. If three fights hadn't broken out in quick succession, I'd probably have lost my freaking mind.

Not quite as strange was last night's little excursion to the Osprey's playoff game against Great Falls. B invited me, though in all fairness he did warn me that he and A were going with A's parents. K and T came along as well, pushing me dangerously close to a repeat ninth-wheel experience. But I enjoyed the game, chatted with A's mom and joked around with B for the first time since he got back from Washington, D.C. K and T left early, and I tricycled alongside to the Top Hat for some excellent rock-and-reggae. Fun night, all told. Still...can't say I didn't feel the occasional twinge.

[Addendum: since writing this post on Sunday night, I've three-wheeled through the first half of "Wayne's World" with K and T and tossed back a wonderful night of Tanq-and-tonics with J and K.]

Work's going. Tomorrow I get a Montana license (only been putting that one off five months), perhaps full registration for my car on Wednesday (strongly encouraged by a dickish Missoula County sheriff's deputy from here on referred to only as Douchey McDoucebag). But life seems stuck, like movie characters when you hit the pause button. Morning temps are dipping to the low 50s. Fall's coming, and with it winter. Maybe then things will pick up. In the meantime, here I sit. At my desk. Or in my cubicle. Or on a bar stool somewhere, waiting for the bartender to shout last call so I have an excuse to shuffle on home.