(Continued from the previous entry.)

The person on the phone was the Opinions Editor from the college paper, who was calling to remind me that the paper's staff party was that night.

I had, in fact, managed to forget that fact until that point, somewhat irrationally believing that it was next week, instead. So it was probably a good thing she called.

Admittedly, I had mixed feelings. On the whole, I couldn't say I particularly wanted to attend this party. I am, after all, an introvert, at least mildly anti-social, and I didn't really feel as if I'd enjoy the thing too much... but considering everything that happened between myself and the Editor-in-Chief in the course of the semester, I figured I'd darn well better show up, as it might have been taken as an insult if I didn't.

As I'm pretty sure I've mentioned in the past, there has been an almost complete turnover amongst the staff this year. The new gang decided to do things differently.

I knew that, this time around, they were having the party in a neighborhood bar, but I didn't realize how differently they decided to do it until later in the day. But I'd better return to the narrative.

Got undressed and into bed. Set my alarm. Settled in. Closed my eyes.

Thirty seconds later, the phone rang. The Opinions Editor again. She was going to pick up a bottle of kosher wine, with which I'd promised to help, as I knew the relevant rules. Could she and the Entertainment Editor come by and pick me up?

I looked back at the bed regretfully, but agreed, pulling on a pair of blue jeans and my homemade red "PROUD MEMBER OF THE LIBERAL MEDIA" T-shirt shortly before they arrived on my doorstep.

To abridge a bit, in the interest of time and space: We picked up the wine (interesting in itself, as I don't drink, and they weren't familiar with kosher wines, so we had to sort of guess at an appropriate choice); went to the bar; began setting things up; drove off; dropped off the Entertainment Editor; went to the Opinions Editor's house, where I ended up watching most of Contact and flipping through the latest Time magazine while she got ready; drove back to the bar, picking up a plastic tablecloth en route, which turned out to be superfluous; noted that matters were well in hand there; drove back out and picked up a couple more people; dropped them off at the bar; drove out one more time to pick up a birthday cake, swinging by my apartment on the way back so I could pick up a few things; and finally returned to the bar.

Where the story was as follows. 'Twould seem that they decided to book a few bands to play at the thing, and open it up to the general public about an hour into it, advertising it on campus and charging admission, in hopes of recouping enough money to pay for the whole thing. In fact, as it happened, the turnout among actual staff members was less than impressive, and, not long after it got underway, it became pretty clear that this really wasn't turning out to have much to do with the paper at all. Especially as there turned out to be a SNAFU with the awards they'd planned to give out, and they weren't ready yet. At any rate, once the first band started playing, conversation became all but impossible.

• My previous experience with bars had been confined to the occasional poetry reading.

• My previous experience with deafeningly loud hip-hop music had been practically nil.

• My previous experience with parties had been pretty darn limited, also. Read my entry of two days ago and do some extrapolating, bearing in mind that my social life, since starting college, has been almost completely confined to working at the school paper, attending the occasional poetry reading, and schmoozing with my professors.

Anyway, a couple of hours into it, after the Editor-in-Chief left, but well before the thing was scheduled to be over, I decided to call it a night. I found the Opinions Editor downstairs, and told her that I was leaving. She told me to hang on while she found me a ride. Okeydokey.

While I was waiting, a woman came over to me and informed me that the gentleman at the bar wanted to buy me a drink. I replied, "Thanks, but I'm leaving anyway; I'm just waiting for my ride." She nodded, and went off, presumably to tell him so. I couldn't say for certain, because I wasn't really paying attention. I was half-asleep, you'll recall. Part of my mind noted something along the lines of "Well. That's odd..." but the rest of it really didn't care.

It wasn't until rather later that a few questions occurred to me. Such as, did I handle that correctly, or was I being a bit impolite by ignoring the guy? And, why did he want to buy me a drink in the first place? And, did I really want an answer to the latter question?

Remember: I had no prior experience with bars. And you might fairly say that I come from a different planet, when it comes to, well, this sort of thing (he says, gesturing vaguely with his hands in an all-encompassing manner). So what do I know?

I have to confess at this point that while I've heard the term "hitting on somebody" before, I've never known exactly what it meant, either in connontation, or in denotation. I still don't, in fact. Either way, I'm pretty sure it's a practice I've had no prior experience with, either as hitter or hittee.

On the whole, I can't help but feel flattered. Okay, a bit puzzled ("Why on Earth would somebody want to hit on me?"), but, especially considering my generally low self-esteem -- particularly as it pertains to body image -- it's kinda nice.

Too bad I'm heterosexual, and a non-drinker, and not interested in romance of any sort, and so on, and so forth. :-)