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Saturday June 10, 2000, 03:19

I will now complain about something about which I have any right to complain. We went to a reading today, by an author named Shannon Olson. Her book, "Welcome to My Planet *Where English is Sometimes Spoken" sounded interesting from the brief description that I found of it on Amazon, so Seth and I went to see her read passages and do some of that "getting out and doing culture" thing that I feel people who live in cities and have any sense of culture and the world around them are supposed to do.

Besides, her book sounds like it has a lot of twenty-something angst in it, much of which is about Shannon's life at a software company. A job where she doesn't know what she is supposed to be doing becuase she documents software for a product that does exist yet.

I ended up laughing a lot while she was talking. I would chuckle. "Yadda yadda drank coffee read email called mom yadda yadda" she would say. And I'd laugh. Ha ha! I would say out loud during the reading. I tried to stifle chuckles, but I couldn't help it. Her words struck too close to home.

She was an attractive woman, blond hair chopped, messily, yet with a certain flair. Her dress, black, deep v scoop type thing. Casual, yet hip. Her voice was high, almost squeaky. Did I find it annoying? I'm not sure, but the voice fit the reading, so it was ok. Would it get grating in a social setting? Not sure. And that was the thing.

I was actually thinking that. I was thinking that I wanted to become friends with her just because I thought she might be fun. And because I liked the way she dressed and because she was a published author. And because she seemed nice. I like nice people.

So this is a pretty sick state of affairs. I went to a book reading and ended up thinking that I wanted to become friends with this author becuase she seemed nice? This seems like a case of me not being satisfied with my life and trying to supplement it with more people. More people is not going to be the answer. Though a more varied group might be helpful.

She also smiled at me throughout the reading. I'd like to think that it was because she saw some sort of kinship with a fellow writer (because people look at me and realize that I do this writing thing on occassion). Or that I was just really cute so she couldn't help looking at me saying "He's pretty cute." But I suspect that it was because there weren't that many people in the room and was being kind of loud in my giggling.

I turned around. Oh hello. She's pretty. Can't look. She's right behind me. Can't turn around becuase she'll see me watching her instead of watching the reader.

I think that I missed spring and am catching up with all my spring lust right now. The girl behind had short black hair, a black skirt, black button shirt over white shirt under. I turned briefly to catch another glimpse and then sat and faced forward.

After the reading, she was on the line behind us, Seth and me, as we chatted with Ms. Olson about the history of the process of the book (thesis to publication) and the fact that we too are both budding authors and just wanted to know how long (very long) it took to write and whther she was working on it full-time or what (thesis). We were chatting and I distinctly remember turning and seeing this girl. The cute one. Who was behind me before, during the reading.

We stood outside on the corner. Deciding what to do. We started walking away, and the girl was there, on the sidewalk. She was talking to a boy. I looked. She looked back. There was that moment where the look could have been not a look but merely a sideways glance, to be discarded immediately. But I looked back at her, looked back at her eyes. She looked back and I smiled. And she smiled. Success.

I walked away.

I walked away and never looked back would be a lie because I did look back and given the right frame of mind I might have even gone back to her. Said something to her to make her smile again and join us for dinner. Something of the sort. A new friend. But alas, given that I was with a friend and had nothing interesting to say, I didn't.

Do I regret this now? No. Could I have had the guts to do anything about it? Maybe. Am I going to go back to the bookstore and just skulk around until this girl reappears? That would be sick and twisted. I might just do it, depending on how much I believe in chance meetings that could mean something in the future. If I don't believe it, then I won't bother.

If nothing else, it means that I'm definitely smile-worthy to girls in book shops. The other things it means is that I'm a slut. Oh well.

I'm rambling. Other things of note really fast.

I ran into Annalisa in the Harvard Square T stop. We hadn't seen each other in six months and had just started emailing again last week. And Steph read my "play" that I had written 3 years ago and said that the descriptions of the scenes but that as a short short it was lacking. Considering I had written it one night in the computer lab as an exercise in staying awake as opposed to anything else, I was pleased that she felt compelled enough to critique it.

11:06

I fell asleep on the couch again. Crap.

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