But before I get to the end of the evening, I suppose I should set the scene.
It was my friend Marvin's birthday (actually, I think his birthday was a couple of days ago) and he had a party at the White Horse. Celebration in the hizzouse.
This is Marvin:
I should have said "this is quintessential Marvin." Even though I'm not exactly sure what "quintessential Marvin" is supposed to mean, I think that this photo kinda captures it.
It was a pretty great party. There were lots of awesome people there. People I haven't seen in manymany years (manymany beats). There also happened to be a huge number of frequent blog readers. People like, for example: Joe Chandler (who used to leave lots of comments on my blog) (but who doesn't leave as many comments anymore) (but who still reads, so I forgive him) (because, apparently, he's a busy man) (I still forgive him) (even though, part of me is like, whatever) (because we're all busy, dude) (but--and this is an even better "but"--last night was the first time I had seen Joe Chandler [I like using his whole name, like he's a character from My So-Called Life or something] since I started the blog and so last night we were able to do some New Thing scheming, which was rocktastic) (just wait!); and people like Lindsay (who helped me do an AWESOME new thing last night) (a new thing that will get its own post later, because it's just too awesome to not have its own post) (and who I haven't seen in manymany years, like, since 1999) (oh, man, these parantheticals are getting confused with their possesives--I didn't mean to imply that I haven't seen that awesome post in manymany years; I haven't seen Lindsay in manymany years) (which was probably obvious) (I don't know why I felt compelled to explain that) (I was just reading Wil Wheaton's blog--and when I say "just," I mean this morning at, like, 3am--and he was making fun of people who use parenthetical statements) (and I know he wasn't talking to me specifically because we don't know each other or anything, but I was like, dude, whatever) (wait, since 1999? is that possible?????) (I think that's how long it's been since I've seen Lindsay) (sooooo good to see her); and people like Eleanor (who flew in from Flagstaff just so I could tell her I dissed her on my blog) (but, Eleanor, you see what I was referring to now, right? It wasn't really a diss. I just called you a failure at getting TBOGR:SNL--but now that I own it on DVD, we must must must watch it together) (it will change your life) (that's a riff on a quote from LA Story, from when the talking billboard tells Steve Martin that the weather will change his life three times) (I just mention that because I love LA Story and I wanted to point out that I was quoting Steve Martin when talking about Gilda Radnor because Steve Martin and Gilda Radnor are like tuna fish and mayonaise in my heart) (which means they go together and I really really like them); and people like Bo (who commented once on my blog, but thought that his comment didn't get posted, and then complained that comments on my blog don't work, or that you need to be registered somewhere to make them, which is SO NOT TRUE); and people like Steve (I don't know why I keep saying "people like" when I'm actually talking about very specific people) (Sorry, Wil Wheaton, but it looks like I'm still making parenthetical statements) (Steve likes it though) (I think) (no, I know) (Steve and I went to college together, though we didn't really know each other well at school) (last night, when I saw him, we had a really awkward "hello" moment, and then, about an hour later, we were talking and he was like, "I don't comment either," referring to Fiona, "but I read your blog, and I wanted to let you know that I'm a fan too") (and so then we talked about the blog awhile and it was really cool) (Steve, you must comment on this entry) (do it) (consider it a New Thing) (OMG, I am such a comment whore it's out of control) (I need help) (Steve, help me) (how can you help, you ask?) (by commenting!); and people like Urp (who inspires me to be bold with men) (have you noticed? i do bold things when you're around) (and without whom I probably wouldn't have done the New Thing I did at the end of the evening that I'm about to blog about) (which I should probably get to already, shouldn't I?) (I mean, I said this wasn't going to be an epic post) (I am such a fucking liar sometimes).
Here's some photographic evidence:
That's Lindsay with the red hair, Urp with the sour face (she hates photos), and Joe Chandler with the beatific smile.
That's Eleanor on the far left and Bo on the far right. I kinda feel like this photo should be used to promote awesome teeth.
That's Steve, and he looks kinda scared in this photo, but I think that's just because I ambushed him with my camera. IRL, he was really charming and not scared of me in the least. (Or if he was, he did a really good job of hiding it.)
Okay, so, on to New Thing #70...
After Marvin's party, I was planning on going to a post-party at Joe Chandler's house, but I was famished and so first I went to get some food at a diner with Urp and Bo, and then we never made it to Joe Chandler's house (my apologies).
At the diner, we were eatin' and gabbing and making googly eyes at our waiter (because that's what you do at diners) (especially if you have a really hot waiter) (and we did) (are waiter was really hot) (I JUST WROTE "ARE" INSTEAD OF "OUR") (HOW STUPID AM I?) (anyway) (he was, like, Anderson Cooper hot) and I guess I got kind of drunk on hash browns or something because I decided that I wanted to tell our waiter that he was really hot (ANDERSON COOPER HOT), and I wanted to give him my number, and I wanted to be bold, but being bold with men isn't necessarily the thing I usually am.
See, I'm a Charlotte, which means that sometimes I'm shy, especially when it comes to men. Jessica and I talk about how I need to "be Samantha" in situations like this, and so last night I tried to push my inner Charlotte aside and just focus on BEING SAMANTHA. I ended up writing him a note (because he was busy and working and it seemed more right at the time than interrupting his flow).
Oh, that's New Thing #70: I gave my phone number to a waiter. With a note. On the back of the check.
Here's what the note read:
Dear Danny (which I assume is his name because that's what it said on the check, but there's always the possibility that he was signed into the computer using someone else's screenname or something and he's not really Danny and someone else is Danny and someone else will get the note) (but I think he's Danny) (because Danny's a hot name and he looked like a Danny), I'm the guy with the glasses. (I said that so that he wouldn't think I was Bo) I think you're really attractive. (I thought the word attractive worked better in the moment than the word "hot," and I decided it would be better to keep it simple and just say "I think you're really attractive" than to be like, "I think you're as attractive as Anderson Cooper," because what if he doesn't think Anderson Cooper's hot and then he thinks I'm dissing him or something) (even though it's hard to imagine someone not thinking Anderson Cooper is hot) (I'm just acknowledging it's a possibility) I don't usually give my phone number out to strangers, but this is my year of new things. Erik.
And then I wrote my phone number and I wrote my blog address, figuring that if he was on the fence about whether or not this guy who left him a note was sane or not, my blog might serve as a character reference.
I have no idea if anything will come of it. He probably threw the note away last night after he read it. He probably has a boyfriend. (I mean, he was Anderson Cooper hot.) Or maybe he didn't even see the note, maybe it just went into the pile with the other completed receipts. But maybe he read the note, and maybe he doesn't have a boyfriend, and maybe he'll call, and maybe this will be the beginning of a movie-style romance. (Way to build expectations, Erik.)
Regardless, I gave him my number, which means, last night I was Samantha, which is definitely New.