June 3, 2000

Oh, I am so sad. So unbelievably, hopelessly sad. Knicks lost. Season over. There's always next year. Blah blah blah.

The game wasn't even close. I don't know why I kept watching. Kept thinking there'd be a miracle, as there so often is with the Knicks. But, no. No miracle. The game clock ran down and as soon as the buzzer sounded, I turned off the television. No way was I gonna watch Reggie Miller flail his big ol' Stretch Armstrong arms all around the Garden with some sort of misguided belief in his head that the Pacers could actually win the championship. No way.

So, yeah. Other than that, I have had a kind of enjoyable last few days. On Thursday, I actually went out with Elijah, he of giving me cookies fame. Drinks were had. Lives were discussed. The man is 47 years old. 47! What the hell am I doing? It's really been amazing to watch the evolution of our flirtation, though. I honestly never thought we'd make it out of the office (do not read anything into that). He usually comes into work after I do, and I am now hyper-attuned to when he arrives. My back is to his cubicle, but I can hear him, and I get very impatient if he doesn't come over within the first half hour or so of getting to work to make some amusingly sarcastic comment. I don't need cookies before noon, I just need banter. Always, always banter.

He has started to touch me. A hand on my shoulder, a tucking in of a tag near my neck. Nothing big, and nothing lengthy (ah, to be quoted out of context…), but he is definitely getting bolder. A shift in the air. But honestly -- honestly -- nothing's going to happen. I work with the man. He's 19 years older than me. Plus, he's got health problems. One night with me would kill him.

I was going to ask him to watch the game with me last night, but he's all religious an' shit and does not go out on Friday nights. Yeah -- that's why he doesn't go out. Anyway…so then I remembered there was this guy who said he'd be in town this week, and he left me his cell phone number. Yes, it was a Web Guy. Yes, it was someone I'd never met before. But, he seemed cool, seemed smart, seemed like not the worst person to make -- er, let -- watch the game with me. So, I called him, and, lo and behold, he was still in town and had no plans for Friday night. Loser.

We met at Nice Guy Eddie's, some lame but inexplicably popular bar/restaurant on Houston & A. I was late. He was not mad. We said 'hi' about eight times before we settled into some semblance of an actual conversation. This turning Web people into real people is one mean feat.

Everything was going fine until the waitress came over and said "The people over there are waiting for the rest of their party; would you mind changing tables so they can use this table?" I was mildly annoyed, but we complied. Until. Until. Until I realized that every other table available had a thoroughly obstructed view of the television, on which was being shown: the game. Every other table. I was starting (ha!) to get really cranky. "I really hope they were here before you got here," I said to Web Guy. "No, actually, they weren't." At this, I became enraged. He was already at the table, and some big-ass Donner Party showed up, knowing full well they had more people coming, and just thought "Oh, we are very important and pretty people. We will inconvenience those lesser than us. Mwahahahahaha!"

So, we left, and went to Two Boots, where we each had a Coke and a smile served up to us in: two boots. Well, actually, we each only got one boot, but, in total, there were two boots on the table. We found this highly entertaining. Note: It was 90+ degrees. Heat stroke may have been a factor.

Then we went to Alchemy for the game, where we had warm beer and really bad reception. Web Guy was from Boston, and, as such, was not so into a game involving the Pacers and the Knicks. Instead, he busied himself with flirting badly, by his own admission. This consisted of poking me in the stomach and occasionally putting his head on my shoulder, as well as making not-so-veiled attempts to get me to blow this popsicle stand and invite him back to my apartment. It was all very cute. Very endearing. He was blond.

The game ended, as we all know by now, in tragedy. Web Guy had an 8:30 a.m. train to catch, and so needed to get to sleep. He did, however, tell me I was very beguiling and had a biting wet. "What?" I asked. "A biting wet what? And how do you know that?!" "Wit," he said. "You have a biting wit."

Sometimes, I really wish I had the conversations I think I have, rather than the ones I actually do.

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