Month: September 2006

There has been much debate over whether or not people flirt with me, and my relative ability to reciprocate. I explained the hypothesis to Ana and she brushed it off with a brusque People are flirting with you. Pay attention!

So I did, checking with Ana for expert advice along the way. In the course of one week I recognized two pickup attempts, and at least four people overtly flirting (and that is a conservative count verified by Ana; the number of presumed but unproven is higher).

I found this quite puzzling. I have approximately the same clothes, hair, spectacles, lipstick; nothing about my appearance has changed, but people are interacting with me in a substantially different way. Various friends suggest that the flirting has always happened and that I just failed to notice.

Historically this is perhaps true, in limited circumstances, when I already knew and loved the person. I’ve certainly never lacked friends, suitors, or conquests, even when I wanted to be alone. But something in my manner has changed in the last year. I am more tolerant of ambiguity, and willing to talk to strangers. Do I know how to flirt? According to impartial witnesses, yes. Do I practice the skill? Rarely – and judiciously. To summarize: this year I have become almost friendly.

One night we went to see DJ Laura at the Crescent, a bar I had never been to previously. We arrived late, after the crowd was uniformly wasted, and my ass was patted by strangers more times than…. well, ever; strangers have never previously dared touch me.

At some point a drunk girl grabbed my arms and tried to make me dance. I protested that I don’t know how but she started shoving me around and grinding, and when I failed to have rhythm she took offense. I had to kiss her cheek and gently shove her off on other partners.

Just before closing Byron and Jeff took the floor to sing a duet of Feel Like Making Love:

Jeff threw a dinner party in our honor and a whole crowd of people turned up. I was, of course, delighted to see old acquaintances and make so many new friends. Xin and Niki both emailed that they couldn’t make it, and of course many of the Bus Stop bartenders were working, but Holly Chernobyl, Shannon, Ramona, Matt, David, Jessie, Sarah, Darlene, Sheila, Julia, Lynnette, Joey, Zoe, Kristi, Laura, the Sexy Mailman, and very tall Mark all turned out, along with others I’ve forgotten or did not get a chance to talk to.

I was particularly pleased by the opportunity to hang out with Ade; there are very few people in the world who can laugh at my wicked stories (the ones I will never publish), fewer still who have stories to offer in return.

We talked and talked and the party pulsed and the guests consumed astonishing quantities of alcohol. Ana went to bed long before the guests left as there were neither lumberjacks nor bad boys present; Byron locked himself in his room at two in the morning; and Jeff kept pouring champagne into my cup until my brain went fuzzy.

The raucous antics upset the upstairs neighbors, who tried to intimidate us by filming the scene, until Holly screamed Do you want to see my pussy? at the camera.

The other night I went on a dinner cruise featuring several hundred computer scientists. One of my favorite people in that crowd asked in amazement Whatever are you doing on the Ship of Geeks?

I would never turn down a chance to go on a boat ride.

However, the trend of meeting other people from the past continued; the most amusing happened when we ran into someone Byron once had a fling with, and learned that she was working two doors down from our apartment.

The coincidence meant that we had to be friends, and she very kindly offered to be my surrogate mother for a shopping excursion; she picked out my new lipstick and then insisted that I try on dresses and show her each one. I’ve never had such a ladylike afternoon, nor have I ever found three new dresses that I liked and could justify purchasing.

Left to my own devices I never spend money on myself, and I left the tags on for a week – but all three eventually made it into my suitcase.

I didn’t run into anyone I recognized but nearly every night I met someone else who grew up on the peninsula. Conversations went something like this:

Stranger: Do you remember that time when those kids were murdered, except the one who just got an extra smile carved into his face?

Me: Yeah, my dad cleaned up the blood splattered restroom where he went to wash afterward. The sheriff took away the towel dispenser as evidence and still hasn’t returned it – my folks are still irritated twenty-five years down the line.

After Hometown Connection Number Eleven I was convinced that I would run into someone I’ve dated, and that they would foolishly try to speak to me.

I prepared to blithely introduce them around – This is X, that sociopath I’ve mentioned – we haven’t talked in sixteen years!

Or Oh, this is Y, my serial rapist ex. Don’t think you’ve met?

But my strange luck held out – the people I met remained familiar strangers, the final one spotted at 2 AM during our final visit to the Jade Pagoda (RIP). I nodded a hello, left a big red lipstick print on Jeffrey’s cheek, and headed back to the safety of Capitol Hill.

One feature of life in Cambridge is the fact that many of the people swarming around do not move out of my way. Specifically those who could be described as sinister hooded youth.

Of course, I do not believe that anyone has the right to impede my forward progress. The boys who get in my way do so at their own risk. I’ve slammed three so far today.

Though perhaps they like it – I have a limited scope of understanding on the subject. I was innocently purchasing fruit this afternoon and dimly perceived that one of the clerks was gawking at me; when I made eye contact he whacked himself in the head with a towering trolley full of canned goods.