Writers Make Out
Still on Playa time we find it difficult to be timely. We caught the N to the BART and noticed how quickly the time had gone by. We thought we would make it to the 7pm Writer's with Drinks event at the Make Out Room by 8pm.
It was now approaching 9 o'clock and we still had two blocks to walk. My friend thought a featured poet might be the same one she had met the week before. We finally walked into the dim, red lit bar.
One writer was a no show and last up was the poet...nope not a match for the playa poet. But his chosen theme, "hey fucker," was funny.
Poetry over, we debated staying for a drink and when a regular picked up conversation with us decided to stay. He went on about how starved for cultural events he was in Palo Alto. 'Really? Stanford doesn't provide for a thriving scene I mocked?' He went on about how alternative his tastes in politics and art were. We listened politely deciding still to engage in conversation or not. I was thinking about the ATM I had to visit and how I wanted to call my dad again- it was his birthday and I enjoyed bugging him all day.
I ditched them to step out to the ATM and make my call. Back inside they hadn't moved from where I left them. I got us drinks at the bar, and he was now talking about an anarchist father and son he had met. He was nice, working hard to establish his image. So, I said, 'did you go to Burning Man?' No, he said his friends went, I told him we had gone. "No shit!" his exact response.
We made our way to an open booth and I said from all you shared, it seems you would enjoy the art and community in Black Rock City. He just wanted to know if we had gotten naked. 'One of us did I smiled.' My friend pulled the photos from her Picasa Web Album onto her crackberry.
New friend in tow we decided to pub crawl in the Mission. On our way he pointed out a banner, 'Ya Basta con los ricos y sus conduminios!' At first I translated it as stop the gentrification then I literally translated it. We went into the Latin American Social Club, my first time. Carved our space in the crowded pinata cieled room and continued to drink. The pool table seemed over-sized for the small space, but we agreed, the fact that they insisted on having it in the room, made it just right.
Drinks done, soccer talk, and technology conversation exhausted we decided to continue on. Making our way out the front door, deciding where to go next I had one of those moments that any city girl knows is inevitable...In a 7x7 city with only 750,000 inhabitants.
On the sidewalk with a small group of people a guy caught my eye. I almost stopped walking as my friends moved forward. Across the way he smiled and nodded towards me and my mind quickly went through the rolodex of names and memories.
There was no avoiding him, I smiled. He said "hello," in his syrupy voice as I attempted to breeze by. So I stopped, 'really is it you?' "Yes," he moved forward and gave me a hug. Insignificant small talk aside I decided sometimes saying less is so much more, it was good to see him.
Our new friend asked who that was. 'My ex.' "Oh, but you are over him, right?"
'You are such a guy I told him. Yes, I just haven't seen him in two years. He was my first love in the city- the French Algerian, that by the way I met at Ruby Skye.'
The conversation about nightclubs resumed and now over the initial shock I skipped forward, 'Wow that was fuckin awkward! Where to next?'
It was now approaching 9 o'clock and we still had two blocks to walk. My friend thought a featured poet might be the same one she had met the week before. We finally walked into the dim, red lit bar.
One writer was a no show and last up was the poet...nope not a match for the playa poet. But his chosen theme, "hey fucker," was funny.
Poetry over, we debated staying for a drink and when a regular picked up conversation with us decided to stay. He went on about how starved for cultural events he was in Palo Alto. 'Really? Stanford doesn't provide for a thriving scene I mocked?' He went on about how alternative his tastes in politics and art were. We listened politely deciding still to engage in conversation or not. I was thinking about the ATM I had to visit and how I wanted to call my dad again- it was his birthday and I enjoyed bugging him all day.
I ditched them to step out to the ATM and make my call. Back inside they hadn't moved from where I left them. I got us drinks at the bar, and he was now talking about an anarchist father and son he had met. He was nice, working hard to establish his image. So, I said, 'did you go to Burning Man?' No, he said his friends went, I told him we had gone. "No shit!" his exact response.
We made our way to an open booth and I said from all you shared, it seems you would enjoy the art and community in Black Rock City. He just wanted to know if we had gotten naked. 'One of us did I smiled.' My friend pulled the photos from her Picasa Web Album onto her crackberry.
New friend in tow we decided to pub crawl in the Mission. On our way he pointed out a banner, 'Ya Basta con los ricos y sus conduminios!' At first I translated it as stop the gentrification then I literally translated it. We went into the Latin American Social Club, my first time. Carved our space in the crowded pinata cieled room and continued to drink. The pool table seemed over-sized for the small space, but we agreed, the fact that they insisted on having it in the room, made it just right.
Drinks done, soccer talk, and technology conversation exhausted we decided to continue on. Making our way out the front door, deciding where to go next I had one of those moments that any city girl knows is inevitable...In a 7x7 city with only 750,000 inhabitants.
On the sidewalk with a small group of people a guy caught my eye. I almost stopped walking as my friends moved forward. Across the way he smiled and nodded towards me and my mind quickly went through the rolodex of names and memories.
There was no avoiding him, I smiled. He said "hello," in his syrupy voice as I attempted to breeze by. So I stopped, 'really is it you?' "Yes," he moved forward and gave me a hug. Insignificant small talk aside I decided sometimes saying less is so much more, it was good to see him.
Our new friend asked who that was. 'My ex.' "Oh, but you are over him, right?"
'You are such a guy I told him. Yes, I just haven't seen him in two years. He was my first love in the city- the French Algerian, that by the way I met at Ruby Skye.'
The conversation about nightclubs resumed and now over the initial shock I skipped forward, 'Wow that was fuckin awkward! Where to next?'
Labels: Love, The Mission
posted by Lorena | 2:00 PM
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