sometimes men don’t understand

I didn’t write this past Friday because I was out having fun, for once. Heck, possibly for the last time in a while (at least for Fridays) because I may have choir practices on Fridays from now until Easter. I will do it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not exactly the most thrilling way to spend a Friday night, especially considering I don’t get back from Randolph until 11PM or later.

So what was I doing with myself you might ask? I went to a bar, the Independent to be exact. It’s a tiny little galley bar carved out of a neat little restaurant. They have a bit of the Irish pub theme going on, and they have a decent tap or two on their draft lines, so I don’t mind having a beer there. The real drawing point, to me, is Mash Ave, an event held there every other Friday. If you don’t know what mash ups are, I’m sorry. If you don’t find mash-ups interesting, then we need to throw down. No, it’s not original music composition, but so little around today is truly innovative new music composition, and the ability to hear the ways in which certain songs can go together is a bit of an art.

Mash Ave is headed up by Lenlow and Dj BC. I like the stuff they have going on a whole lot, and in the time since I was last there they’ve added a flat screen projecting images of varied pop-culture love. I’m talking everything from David Hasselhoff amusement to Shirt Tales.

I had mentioned wanting to get back to Mash Ave, and lamented the lack of dancing, so Ben took it upon himself to strum up a large gathering of people to descend upon the place and get our collective groove on. I showed up with Masokist at some point after Ben had gotten there, and the place was packed. Drinks were procured while summing up the place, and Ben was shortly found. I also met Elsa, who through a freak sort of six-degrees of separation thing happened to know of me both through Ben and her boyfriend. Craziness. Seeing as both connections are to people I thoroughly enjoy spending time with, we got along swimmingly.

All was good and fair in the world. Some socializing was happening, some grooving was happening, and while the place was so packed that i couldn’t keep track of Ben, it didn’t matter because he was being his normal butterfly self and flitting between all the people he’d invited. All was right in the world until I noticed the creepy guy at the bar. He was staring. He was creepy. It wasn’t just me getting it, it was Masokist as well. I moved at one point, hoping that is wasn’t me. I’m not going to go into details, but I will say that the creepy guy spend the majority of the evening trying to shower his affections on both Masokist and myself. It was annoying and just plain sad how many times this guy heard the words “no.” Essentially, the message wasn’t getting through, or he thought there was some way he could really make himself understood or something.

The affection culminated in a gift, a glass filled with champagne, accompanied by the whole bottle were placed in front of me at one point. I didn’t touch it, but was entirely befuddled and saddened. If the previous advances weren’t working, this wasn’t going to either. It has been suggested that this could be interpreted as a man buying back his dignity, but not so much, because he kept trying with the bad conversations that were quickly shut down for the whole rest of the evening.

Since when is “No, I am not interested. At all,” something that is open to interpretation? We didn’t even engage in part of a conversation with the guy, but he kept coming. Ben at one point made a nice rescue to dance with me while I was saying “Please leave me alone.” Again, I wasn’t going for subtlety or anything, so I don’t really understand why I was being misinterpreted.

This was far beyond “Can’t we just be friends,” and two steps away from “Don’t touch me or I will be forced to get you removed from this establishment.” At some point over the course of the evening I did remark that this is why I don’t go out very often. Some folks may trouble themselves over the worthiness of their suitors while out socializing. I have never had that problem. The people that go after me usually fall into three categories: old enough to be my father, creepy, and homeless.

Now, I have nothing against men. I don’t even have anything against age differences, though if you could be my parent there are probably issues. Creepy people are, well, creepy. If you are the type of person that could be interpreted as a sex offender, or play that line, then please leave me alone. There is nothing on this earth fine enough to give me to encourage my interest. As for homeless folks, I don’t mean to discriminate on the basis of class, but if you are homeless you are most likely jobless, which means I am going to have to foot the bill for everything, and that goes against my preference of going dutch.

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