march 16, 2001. Today is a Sleepy Friday, 568 in a series. (Collect them all.) My night time sleep ration was a record 4 ½ hours, leading to a morning of yawns followed by an afternoon of naps. If this keeps up, I won't have to go home because I'll be living Dirk's life right along with him! (Because, you see, he stays up all night & then sleeps for 20 hours &...oh forget it. It was funny to me.) Last night was the bi-annual coffeehouse in the department of ed, and it was very very fun. Unlike the last gathering, there was a variety to the acts that went beyond the "guys with guitars" category. And I got to perform twice. This is getting to be a life pattern with me: the first time there's an opportunity to get up on stage, there isn't a bribe big enough to get me there, but the second time the opportunity comes around I'll be onstage more often than the MC. My first act came out of the Boy's desire to play for people - he's the musician in the family, after all. I liked to grumble in the week leading up to the event that I was just stage dressing to his act. Of course it didn't end up that way. The department is quite closely knit, but it's not exclusive in any sense. Any time that I've brought the Boy to a gathering, he's always been very welcome. But there was still something about performing at an ed. coffeehouse that made him want me up there with him. As the days counted down over the last two weeks, our three song line-up changed constantly. By last night we had decided to do "My Chinchilla" by Cub as a warm up, then "The State That I'm In" by Belle & Sebastian. At the last minute the Boy decided to do one of his own songs, called "Citronella." We were quite nervous, but we took that as a sign or normality and forged ahead. Once again I picked a wholly inappropriate get-up, going kindergoth with my black & white striped stockings, black babydoll dress, purple lips and the Pink Bag of Justice. My eye makeup was immaculate, which made me a bit sad when I gazed in the bathroom mirror: I should be going out with Dirk & Stacy & Dav right now, not to some local maritime coffeehouse. Spring has made me homesick, and my unusual proficiency with black eyeliner only made it worse. Socially the night was a cross between a house party and the student lounge on lunch hour. There was a lot of wandering around and talking to one another, but without the true exhilaration of a good house party. And then there was the fact that 3 of my 6 professors were there - not like any house party I've ever been to, although I have to say that they were all lovely & effusive & wonderful. We chatted about being Italian in the Maritimes (talk about your minority cultures) and ass-kicking boots (my art teacher regretted not wearing her gold mary janes. Owch.) The Boy & I went on second, and were extravagantly praised for the Cub song. (Best comment: "I hadda go to the bathroom, but I needed to hear the end of the song more.") The other songs were a bit too obscure for general hilarity, but that's okay. You have to play to your audience, and if they don't want an open-faced obscurity sandwich, so be it. Satan sucks, but you're the best! holy smokes, you passed the test. when I'm with you I feel blessed. My chinchilla. Our second set was with Mr. Avalanche the percussionist. He & I have been talking more and more this semester, and he asked me to perform with him a couple of weeks ago. I was utterly thrilled: it's a huge ego-boost to be asked to play with such a good musician. All that was left was the idea. Two days ago we decided to do the old stand-by: poetry reading to drum sounds. It turned out really well. The Boy noodled along on his acoustic for the first poem, then he improvised jazz chords while Mr. Avalanche repeated his hilarious hyper-jazz poetry recital. I was missing home pretty badly by late evening. Too make matters worse, the Anti-Stephen seemed to be deliberately avoiding me. After a few hours of this, I made a stunningly simple insight: he doesn't like me. Suddenly everything about his behaviour made sense. And of course, me being me, I had to walk over and have this out. I'm tired of wondering things about people; I need to know for sure. Maybe if I keep watch, Ophelia-type situations won't happen again. So I walked over & asked him point blank. I knew it was unfair, but I was beyond caring. It was a lot like the first time I asked a boy to dance with me in 8th grade…there's just a point when you have to risk social disaster. Just fish or cut bait. He blinked at me. "Don't like you?" he repeated incredulously. "Of course I like you…you're the intellectual…artistic…you're Amoret." I didn't realize how much this all meant to me until that moment, when a wave of relief broke over my whole body. We hugged. I felt good about my place in the universe. The end. Well, no, that wasn't quite the whole night's story. There are lots of little details to finish off the pattern of the night. There was the guy who played the electric guitar like Alexi used to: all hammer-ons and flash with only a little real craft. Helluva nice guy, though. There was the impromptu sock contest between myself and Kilted Will, which garnered me a majority of the popular vote and settled a debate that had been going on for at least an hour. There was the "dare kiss" between Jerry & the Anti-Stephen, a response to some faux-lesbian play that stuck me as totally false & lame (the faux play, not the kiss. The kiss was surprisingly tender, like Preacher & Tymothi:J dancing at my wedding). There was the party at the Anti Stephen's that included a trash-talking croquino (sp?) game, pot and a late night pizza run. I was obscurely comforted by the latter; somehow it's nice to know that no matter where you go, if you're at a party, somebody always wants pizza at 1:30 a.m. And then there was the Sailor Friend. Last coffeehouse we met a guy (the Sailor Friend) who played Belle & Sebastian; this time we had a chance to speak to him at length. By the time we left the place, he had discovered miles of commonality between himself and myself and the Boy, leading him to invite us to an "erotic art" party tonight. He & the Boy got into an obscurity jam that ended up with a Verve duet that made me shiver. The Sailor Friend even remarked on my art project, which has been up in the hallway for a couple of weeks now and has been attracting more attention than I would've thought. Okay, it does include a picture of me in a bra - not that you can see my face. I suppose that is kind of striking. Ultimately, the night was a huge leap forward for our social life. Getting invited to a party is one big step, performing was another thing that seemed to open hearts. Hermione has been hugging me a lot lately, which is really nice. And then there was the flirting. Over the past month I've been fuming quietly to myself that because we moved here married, nobody ever flirts with me, goddamn it. When I complained about it, I received exactly the kind of friendly flirting that I crave from two of my peers. You just can't ask for better than that. The other good thing about yesterday was that the afternoon presentation included some light yoga. I've been thinking vaguely about "doing" yoga for the last six years, but it hasn't gone beyond the "wouldn't it be nice" stage in my head. Yesterday I felt better in my body than I have in a really long time: strong, attractive, flexible, happy, energetic. I haven't been to the gym in half a year - I absolutely need to get back in there. I think yoga is the way to do it. Who knows, I may even be able to touch my toes eventually. I've never been flexible enough to do it before, which may be why my two years in Modern Dance was unsuccessful. Well, that and I'm about as light-footed as a full-grown moose. It's all that back bacon and maple syrup, you know how it is.