Amusing enough night last night -- sort of collision of worlds. With EN & the gang went to see Lifestyle play at the Sky Bar. The Sky Bar has orange and brown carpet that looks like fluorescent sick under the black lights. The Sky Bar has the usual crowd of thick-necked assholes, and sometimes (like last night) a little passle of people who Know People Who Work With An Independent Label, don't you know. They are strange-looking, with interesting haircuts and unconventional shoes. The women look like drag queens because they're heavily made up and wear �berheels, standing next to the slouchy boys.
I, personally, creep out the lead singer's girlfriend. She's very nice, but I always call her by the pseudonym she uses in her band. To make her feel more comfortable (stop to think, for a moment, what a shocking phrase that is!) I tend to camp it up a little too much around her, "Oh, darling! where do you find such fabulous accessories?", sort of thing. My eyes squint involuntarily every time I think about it. Fortunately, one of my other neuroses always steps in when one gets overpowering: every time I convince myself that I've ruined somebody's evening by being socially awkard or just a little too drunk at them, I can tell myself sternly that nobody pays me any mind anyway.
Then I went to BB's housecooling party, met some attractive wonderful people. It's BB's poly crowd. They're so nice. They give each other backrubs and debugging tips. They cook strange and beautiful things, eat Japanese snack foods, watch anim�, wear gothy clothes, moon, giggle, tickle, and in general let a lot of very hang-out-able things hang out. Some of them are very ugly. Some of them (this tall blond boy with long hair and golden retriever eyes, in particular) are beautiful in the way of these people. I think he thought I was cute. I certainly found him attractive. First, he came up and patting my head unsolicited, and then tracing pentacles in my face instead of engaging me in conversation. I was afraid to ask whether or not he thought he was casting some kind of glamour on me. I was too perplexed to summon up any nerve. I think I said it was bothering me, and he asked me to name his punishment. Usually, I'd be quick on my tongue's feet and spit out something pornographic and lightning-clear. But for some reason, it -- the situation -- didn't seem to be in enough earnest, so I mumbled and hawed and went to find somebody else to talk to. It didn't help that this little interaction took place in the middle of the kitchen with everybody else watching and rather pointedly trying to think of something to say. You see why I love them anway? They are painfully unhip, splendidly honest, and somehow embarrassing and entrancing all at the same time, like a children's singing recital.
Children are singing next door--it must be a birthday party. In this day and age, children singing has a vague nightmarish quality to it. I mean, it doesn't sound innocent any more -- there are too many horror-movie connotations and the songs they sing seem too displayed -- extrovert or sexual. And then there's the fact that people just don't sing, in this culture: they leave it to professionals. O what a world. That I love to sing apparently took away from my score at the terrific and awful straightacting.com (I'm a 5, thank you very much: on a scale of 10, dead center between Butchy and Femmy).
There is a beautiful boy sleeping on the sofa in the sitting room. I tried very hard to seduce him last night but you know how bad I am at these things. He's one of RW's friends from out of town, and RW and EN, in their hellaciously inhospitable manner, stranded him on our sofa last night while they snogged away. I came back from BB's party and got him some food and water. It's hard to switch between Mother Teresa and Bette Davis, and Mother Teresa usually wins out, damn it.
Fleeing upstairs before EN and RW come into the kitchen and derail my train of thought.
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a.