I tagged along with Cinde when she went to look at a newly renovated apartment building on Wythe. I think it was called The Confectionary, or something like that. Nice views, free cacti?

Last night I went to this party where everyone had a tumblr, or I guess a lot of people did anyway. It was much like the blogger parties of the aughts, only it was in Brooklyn instead of Manhattan (because everyone lived on the lower east side then), and as far as I could tell there was no cocaine, only lots and lots of Keystone beer, although maybe I smelled some weed at some point. Also I feel like everyone was so much nicer than they used to be, but that might have something to do with there being no cocaine there, and also I might be nicer myself. I’m pretty sure I was the second oldest person at the party (by like a lot) and I made it my goal to leave by midnight, because leaving by midnight almost always feels appropriate these days.

At the party, I ran into someone I’ve known since the late 90s, which, if you do the math, means he was probably the oldest person at the party. (He was.) And he reminded me (and several other standing around us, so I feel OK writing this here) about the one time (although there might have been two) where we went out on a date and got drunk and made out.

He reminded me last night we met on Friendster (!) which was maybe partially true, although I feel like maybe we had friends in common too. But in way or another, our meeting was definitely internet-related. That was the beginning of all relationships being internet-related in some way or another. Now it is a pleasant and refreshing surprise when they are not.

We had drinks somewhere in the East Village, where I had an apartment for the first five years I lived in New York City. It was still daylight, but the bar was dark. I believe at that time I liked to drink hard liquor drinks at happy hour, like vodka gimlets, and lots of them. Two for one, what a bargain. Like I would just drink and drink them. He drank a lot too. There we were, drinking. He’s a funny guy, nice and smart. No weirder than I am. I am sure I had a good time.

But now I cannot help but think that during those days I must have been so unformed. Like I could not sit and talk to a man without drinking to get drunk. That was just how my interactions with men naturally unfolded, in this very unnatural, forced way. How very dangerous of me. I must have thought it was so exciting. I’m sure in some ways it was.

We left the bar and he was hungry so we walked to Two Boots for pizza, and I watched him eat the most disgusting piece of pizza. It was one of those pieces that had every single imaginable ingredient on it. I can still picture it now. Sausage and green peppers and bacon and mushrooms and the like. Everything in the kitchen, all on one slice. How could all of those flavors possibly taste good together? I watched him eat it, the vodka and Rose’s lime juice swilling around in my stomach.

Then we left the pizza place and he turned to me and kissed me and we stood on the corner and made out for a while and I got over the pizza taste, I guess. But I guess I didn’t! Because last night he told me and the other handful of people listening to this story – all of them by then aghast and amused – that the next day I said to him, “Let me give you a tip. If you want to make out with a girl, don’t eat a piece of pizza beforehand.”

And he told me he had never forgotten it. (And I think that means he carries gum around with him now but I can’t be sure.) A teaching moment! I felt slightly powerful. Let this be a teaching moment for everyone!

And then there we were at an internet party 11 years later and it was nearing midnight and I left because I could (you always can, even if you don’t know it yet), and I made it home by 12:15 and then I checked my email and went to bed.

I kind of missed the perigree moon though, and felt bad about it. I saw it for a little bit when I was driving around. Will it be another twenty years before it’s that big again? By then I will live somewhere else and have a different life entirely. In twenty years I will be nearly 60. I hope there is someone who wants to climb up a hill with me and stare at the big moon in silence. I hope the world is still around then. I hope Japan is going to be OK. I think about Japan all the time, every day. And also the people getting pushed around all over the Middle East, who I am also thinking about all the time, every day. There is a lot of shoving these days. I hope nobody shoves me. I hope we all make it long enough to see that moon again. I promise never to miss it again.

(03/20/11) | 1 Comment »