Last night I went to this super awkward creative women’s meeting, where feminists get together and read poetry and cry. I’ve been to a handful of these meetings and each time I think, “Mmm, I’m probably not going to go back,” but something just pulls me back (actually a few times, it’s been a girl I was interested in, as awful as that makes me). Most times, I sit, watch, and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, and pray to dear god that I won’t have to speak (my tongue sometimes gives me troubles).
I was inspired to go to this particularly meeting by a girl who has caught my eye before, but at the time had a boyfriend. Now she’s single and hanging out with free-spirited women and freer-spirted lesbians, and she asked me to come, so I figured, what the hell.
So for this meeting we were supposed to bring an “aesthetic object” to share with the group. I initially wrote this story to share, but then realized my printer didn’t have ink (I just realized this though it hasn’t had ink for about 3 or 4 weeks now… I really should buy some) and I’d have no way to print it. So then, as I was leaving for the meeting, I found the shortest short story I had written, which wound up being a class exercise I’d done in September. It wasn’t my best writing, or even necessarily something I would consider an “aesthetic object” but the people in my class enjoyed it and I had gotten a lot of laughs when I read it aloud.
Stupid me should have realized that I was attending a meeting fully of menstruating femnists who wanted to hear about love/friends/ancestors/really deep thoughts with convoluted messages. They don’t want to laugh. So when I read it, I believe I got some giggles from one girl, and confused looks from everyone else. It was like doing stand-up at a funeral. I felt like an asshole.
Perhaps describing other people’s presentations will give some insight into how inappropriate my reading was. One girl brought in tupperware which contained blood and lining from her last menstruation cycle. We passed it around and as it got closer to me I kept having horrifying flashes of the top popping off and her unborn baby casing spilling all over me.
Another girl put on a news broadcast of an interview (I forget now who it was, as I can handle those meetings completely sober; inebriation blurs details) and as the interview went on, she tied a blindfold around her eyes and slowly walked around the room in a crouched position. I guess it was supposed to be interpretive?
I try, very very hard, to leave my judgemental tendencies at the door whenever I come to these meetings; and as I sit there watching it happen I manage to absorb without deciding I am amongst the insane. But once I leave, I am all about calling the crazies crazy, and the nutties nuts.
While I found the meeting mildly entertaining, as per usual, my main goal was to pry into this girl to see what her deal was. I got very little out of her, and even worse, felt strange vibes coming from this other girl who happens to be a friend and roommate of B. Yeah…. no.
So after the meeting and spending another hour or so at the house chatting with some random kid named Frank, I decided to call it a night. I went to my apartment, got naked, and went to bed.
BUT WAIT.
So, recently I’ve been interested in this nerdy boy who I find adorably charming, a little sexy, and absurdly intelligent. Honestly, I don’t know how he fits his brain in a room. But I’m going to skip all the backstory that includes my uncertainty about his interest in me and the moments we shared during the handful of times we’ve hung out. The point is that at this juncture, it was his turn to call me.
So of course, last night I called him.
The main issue I have is that I cannot read anything he does. He didn’t call, but when I called him, everything about the conversation indicated – something? When I first called (just a little past midnight) he was in a loud car and vowed to call me back. I was thinking, meh he’s out, he’ll probably just call me tomorrow. He calls me back fifteen minutes later and he’s at a bar with some of his roommates but has found a quiet corner to talk to me on the phone.
“Hey! Sorry I just got out of a meeting and wanted to see what you were up to but since you’re out, don’t worry about it.”
“Oh yeah me and (roomates) are at (bar that I don’t remember the name of). We’re probably just gonna have a few drinks and then head back. Are you staying up much longer or … whats your night looking like” (I’m not 21 yet and I don’t have a fake, so no bar for me)
“Um, well I’m not doing anything now (the lights were off and I was snug under the covers) so I can’t vouch for how long I’ll be awake, but if you’re not out too long I’ll probably still be up.”
“Oh, well we’ll probably be out a little while. Are you free tomorrow night?
“Actually, I’m going to a friend’s birthday party in West Hollywood.”
“Oh okay. Well actually I’ve been meaning to give you a call anyway. I wanted to see if you would like to cook some dinner with me?”
“Oh. Yeah definitely!”
“Okay cool. I was thinking on Sunday or Monday a bunch of us could have like a family dinner type thing”(he has about seven roommates, all of whom I’m friends with)
“Ah” (I hope I didn’t lose any of the excitement in my voice there)
We chat for a little more, make a couple of jokes, and then I let him go. So I guess the words themselves don’t indicate anything in particular, but I guess it’s just they way he says it. The way he fumbles over himself sometimes. When he says he would LOVE to hang out or that he had SO MUCH FUN or will stay in with me instead of going out (meh that only happened once but we’ve only been talking for two weeks).
I don’t know. For now I’m trying desperately just to let myself go with the flow and not try to push anything.
Trying so fucking hard.
With Alotta Love,
zee zee cakes
Stumble it!