having changed clothes, at last, i'm officially done riding the wave that was yesterday. what contributed to that serendipity i can't hardly say. some combination of pheremones, some configuration of aligned stars ... but let me skip How and get down to What.
perfectly pleasant day on campus: productive meetings, hawking co|motion to pre-frosh at the activities fair ("feminism is for kids!"), watching the delightfully witty-wise if rote postcards from the edge. then (penn)becca called with instructions. come into the city! and look cute about it.
[cue faint twinkly music]
met (penn)becca at the theater where she's been interning and had a lovely indian buffet dinner with her and her boyfriend. at the cash register the restauranteur asked me, "who's paying for you?" "i am," said i. "no, i am," said he, and that was the end of it.
sailed out of Samosa.
back at the theater, (penn)becca and i cleaned and set up and prepared to bartend for the post-production party in the theater lobby. i insisted on handling the wine and beer while becca took care of soda. somehow opening beers and handing them to people thrilled me. it must have shown because the tip jar filled and filled. certain socially-awkward middle aged men kept meandering back over to us, possibly because at least we'd smile at and talk to them -- even, in one case, in broken, high-skool, but assumedly adorable french. in return, they contributed generously to our evening total. $20 EACH for 45 minutes of easy work, during which we drank as much wine as we wanted. my god! if i'd known men would pay me to be sweet and cute i'd have embarked on a career as a geisha years ago. or at least something other than an intellectualish, writerly feminist.
i wonder if this means i can flirt, after all.
the septa train intended to take me home rolled in 20 minutes late. this would have been inconvenient except that it enabled stef and eliz, who had gone to see the incredible Cho, to not only make that train but also to accompany me home. and back home, still feeling desirable, i got to be with the only one i desire. really, how nice.
The Hatred of Poetry by Ben Lerner
11 minutes ago