2001:June:19
2001
I've already re-told this story twice, so I feel that it's already beat/dead/over/yesterday's news. Anyhoo, I went out with my lover and a few friends for Friday at five drinks. Kent and I went to get Mike (our shy, lifelong stoner, gay friend from college). While there, a shifty looking, fringe character came to visit Mike. I looked at him as a delay in our plans to catch the sunset from a neighborhood bar. He was one of those people who looked thirty-four but was really 27 and divorced with two stepchildren and he had a missing front tooth. I immediately changed gears as a stranger was among us. We made chit chat. We all got high. Anyway, five minutes later, I turn into stoned Kristen. I find myself on auto-pilot comedienne. I'm soon playing that game where I investigate the newcomer and try to reach common ground while making my friends laugh. Turns out, I hit paydirt and the newcomer and I stamp out all of our common ground available in either of our entire lives: frustration with exes, dislike of the coldness of sign of aquarius ex-es, women are odd, bo derek (who he thinks epitomized beauty) and I have the same birthday, celebrities aren't really that pretty in real life, truth is paramount to everything. Then I hit personal paydirt: I get a complement. Contrary to what Greg Gulas says, this emotionally battered man was NOT hitting on me. He simply felt comfortable in our brigadoon-like camaraderie and observed what to him was a fact: I, Kristen Martin, embody the perfect Irish woman. He reiterated that Irish men would look at me as the ideal mother for their children, and I should be aware of this. I tried tricking him into saying it was because of my reddish hair (dyed of course), but he said the Irish beauty was in my eyes and cheekbones. Oh, I've been coasting on this complement for two days (you should see me shamelessly looking in the mirror making goo goo eyes at myself).
The more frightening complement was that Mike, Kent, and the newcomer were rolling on the floor. They kept gasping how funny I was and what amazing things come out of my mouth. I'm not really sure in retrospect why I'm frightened by being liked, but I know it triggers something. And there's the whole waiting for the other shoe to drop thing.
The next night, high again. This time there was no Kent as Greg Gulas had nixed him. It was me, Greg, Craig, and Steve. I only went out at all because Greg seemed like he needed to get out of the house (he's my neighbor). Luckily we ran into some girls we know and the tool party could come to an end. We ended up in the downtown loft area used as an office for a funny comedy group/salon in town. It was sort of a lonely night for me as I talked talked talked and didn't really get talked to. I did get addressed by someone interesting as "great, amazing, fabulous". In fact, it was a generally pretty ego-boosting evening. It was interesting to see people in this town who have fascinating lives entirely outside of my social circle. I felt rather like I was an entertainment. Hopefully my days as The Loudmouth will end soon.
At the end of the evening, there had been a buzz of a party across the street. It was no one I knew. The entire thing reminded me a bit of college where there were soft-spoken alliances and whispers. It was a feeling I hadn't felt in forever: fear of not being cool enough to go to a party. Finally, we exited the office space and the others did a bit more whispering. Greg and I said our goodbyes. They tarried on.
