I feel mildly awkward relaying this. However, we have all had some free floating form of hormones that makes us forget any sense our mama's taught us. Besides I had a very weird dream about this last night.
When I was a freshmen in college I spent a lot of time alone. I used to love to people watch. Then my people watching was caught of guard by a Certain Grad Student. He read in the cafeteria while drinking coffee. Wore weird jewelry, was also alone and would laugh occasionally about whatever he was reading. He did this sexy thing with his messenger bag where he wore it across rather than just over his shoulder. He seemed so sophisticated and smart. And these oh so sexy wire frame glasses.
I immediately upped the ante by finding even more ridiculous books to pretend to be reading. For 2 reasons: I could have something to stare over at him and I had high hopes he would be impressed by my literary choices. Even though I was socially retarded and just wanted to read Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I wanted him to read Charlotte Perkins Gilman to me! Or Rilke. I didn't care. Just do it while I am tied to your bed. Much heinous poetry and journal entries were written by candlelight in the bathtub during this phase.
As it turned out his office was in the same bldg most of my English/writing classes were. So by this point I was really scary b/c I followed his dinner schedule and knew when he was in his office. Now I wouldn't say I was on the prowl for this kid. But he enchanted me. Coming from a HillBilly army base...I didn't know boys READ! So I liked to think of him as a science project. Plus he looked really hot in his black wool pea-coat. And was older. 24 was very mysterious and scandalous.
This went on for 2 months. The colder the weather got, well, the hotter I got. So I made my move. Rather than doing something socially acceptable like talking to this kid...I sent him two yellow roses. With my number on the and. I crept around my room waiting to see if he would call. Finally. He did and I wanted to die. The worst, most awkward conversation ever. But he did say he was flattered. And then I made the mistake of saying SO! Wanna hang out? On a cool quiet day I can still hear the resounding NO. This of course ended up in a pity party in my dorm room with girls in various phases of black eyeliner and combat boots smoking and playing Ani DiFranco. B/c who knew? I could just have easily been a lesbian right about now. I mean it was 1993. Maybe Courtney Love was not such a good role model. Or the girl down the hall who gave me X and then we made out.
Anyway. I wonder what happened to his literary uppity-ness. He never spoke to me again...even in passing. Like I was going to boil his copy of Middlemarch on the stove.
Of course this was also around the time that somehow I picked up this guy from Jerusalem in the library and did things that in no way involved Charlotte Perkins Gilman. So maybe I wasn't as true to Cafeteria Guy as once thought.
The dream really bugged me. Just like our interaction in college...he was so close but so out of my reach.
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