I Am a Failure at Surprises

One of my old professors was giving a poetry reading, and obviously I wanted to go.  She hadn't seen me in a while, so I decided I should try to surprise her. 
The problem with me trying to surprise someone is that it often gets ruined. 
I decided to go that afternoon to a study room to do some reading and writing.  I frequent this particular study room, and it's usually pretty quiet on weekday afternoons.  At most, I've seen one person in there at this time of day, and even then, it's usually someone who just looks in and then walks away. 
I went in and, for about an hour, worked.  And then Chelsea walked in. 

I hadn't seen Chelsea in a long time either.  I was trying to remember the last conversation I had with her.  I vaguely remembered talking to her about four years ago about a book series we both liked.  I remembered this conversation because I didn't really know a lot of people who read this series; my best friend had introduced me to them years previous to that, and I had only spoken about the series with a man in a library once who read The Dresden Files, which I was also familiar with and was similar.  I think during that conversation Chelsea also mentioned that she was really good at interviewing for jobs and that's why she was always employed.  At the time this had impressed me because I had always felt like my interviewing skills were terrible.  (I am happy to report now that I've learned better interviewing techniques and that I think I've even impressed some people.)
But Chelsea didn't really acknowledge me.  She just sat down and read something.  Oh, I thought.  She must not remember me. 
Not that she really should remember me.  We were really friends of friends and I mean, I'm sure there have been more important people out there. 
We sat in silence for another half hour, I continuing with my work.  Then she looked up at me. 

"Have you ever read Foucault?" she asked. 
I had, but it had been a long time ago.  And because I had found him frustratingly difficult in English, I had looked up a passage in the original French.  It had been easier to understand, but that was all I remembered. 
Chelsea talked to me about some of Foucault's ideas.  She mentioned being in a particular class, which Kristina was also in.  (And had mentioned I should come to just to see what it was like.) 
Chelsea, as a fellow feminist, was not so sure she liked the ideas of Foucault.  He said some problematic things about women. 
"I always interpreted Foucault to be saying simply what is and not how things should be.  I don't think his statements are meant to be interpreted as him endorsing that view, just observing it." 
She nodded her head, looking far away.  "That sounds like something Foucault would say."
I smiled.  Now that was a compliment.  Alex had liked Foucault.  It was one of the things we had talked about in the interview.  Alex had said how beautiful she found his writing. 
I suddenly realized that I had a question for Chelsea.  "Are you one of the people from that feminist organization that recently formed?"
"I'm not really part of it.  That's Bianca." 
That surprised me.  Bianca and I had been in a class together last year.  She had been relatively quiet.  Despite this, it had been obvious to me she was thoughtful and way cooler than I am (though, I would argue pretty much everyone is cooler than me.) 
I made a mental note, if I ran into Bianca anytime soon, that I should tell her how much I had admired her work.  Erin had told me all about it. 
"Are you going to the poetry reading tonight?"  So Chelsea must have known more about me than I anticipated, because she remembered that I worked with that professor. 
"I am, but she doesn't know I'm coming, so don't tell anyone I'm here.  It's a surprise." 
Seeing Chelsea was really nice, but I had to go over to Nate's to get some stuff and to have dinner, so I said goodbye and left.  I was turning the corner on the stairway, thinking merrily of how much I liked Chelsea and how I was going to get to see people tonight at this reading, when I was startled to see Stephanie, three steps down from me, staring up at me.  Her eyes went wide.
And this wasn't just Stephanie my friend.  She was also Stephanie, the assistant to this professor. 
She hadn't seen me in a long time either. 
Oh shit, I thought. 
"Don't tell her I'm here!" I said, slightly loud.  "I don't want her to know I'm coming tonight!  I'm trying to surprise her!"
See what I mean about surprises?  Hours before the surprise, I manage to run into two people who actually could blow it.  This was especially annoying considering how long I'd been planning this. 
Stephanie sort of laughed at me and was happy to see me.  She gave me this great big hug that made me feel great.  (Oh, to have a thousand friend hugs that I could store in a chest somewhere.)  She wanted to hear what I was up to, and we talked briefly before both of us had to be elsewhere. 
I went over to Nate's.  It had been his birthday recently, and he had all sorts of coupons for free food.  That night, he was taking me out for pizza. 

Claire's Birthday Dinner

I was talking to one of Claire's friends, named Chris.  He was telling me about his hometown, how everyone muttered and how he had taken up speaking fast but that he didn't really have an inbetween speaking speed. 
"You don't have to perform for me," I said, referencing the fact that he was an actor. 
"So just to be clear," I asked.  "Are you gay or straight?"
The other people at our end of the table heard us, and they went up in fits of laughter.  Both Vicki and Amanda admonished me for speaking to him like that. 
"She doesn't have a filter," Amanda said. 
I do too have a filter.  There are all sorts of things I don't say, and I suspect that people would be deeply scarred if they heard the majority of my thoughts.  In comparison with other people, who lack thoughts to say in the first place, sure, it looks like I am filterless.
I suspected that Chris wouldn't mind me asking, and he took it like it was totally normal.  "I wake up everyday asking myself the same question," he said. 
After a while, one of Claire's other friends came along.  He sat down at the table next to Chris and in front of me.  He was dressed as a hipster.  We chatted about the neighborhood and made fun of hipsters and how expensive the whole thing was.  As he was talking, his voice reminded me vaguely of someone's, and then it occurred to me that he sounded just like Kashif.  And then as we continued talking, I realized he didn't just have Kashif's voice but that same particular sweetness that I've only previously encountered in Kashif.  Too bad this young man was gay. 
He talked to me about singing, which he was apparently into, and about how everyone can sing, and about the business aspect of getting a job in singing.  He asked me what I did, and I said I was a poet. 
(As an aside, can I just say how impossibly hard I find the question of who I am or what I do?  I hate the idea of identifying myself as just one thing.  But at the same time, if allowed to, I would babble on forever about who I am and I suspect people still wouldn't know.) 

In any case, the young man was nice enough to be supportive, ask me who my favorite poets are (another question I dread and never seem to just have a good, truthful and concise answer to).  He told me he liked Sylvia Plath, and since I like her too, that got us both off and running.  We discussed the Bell Jar. 
He also was nice enough to make some suggestions for where I should go read my poetry.  He told me it was casual, and not to worry.  I really don't like to read my poetry; part of the reason I write is because of my aversion to performance. 

Maxwell had moved over to sit with us at that point, and he talked about his failed attempts at dating and how much he really wished he could be on Gossip Girl.  A lot of people probably wish they were on television shows, myself included, though Gossip Girl isn't the first one that comes to mind. 
Chris and I continued talking a bit.  He told me about how much he loved Joss Whedon, and guessing correctly, I asked if he liked Firefly.  (Shocker, he did.  When boys say they like Whedon, none of them mean they like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, what they mean is that they like Firefly.  Which would be fine but I wish they'd be more honest about it.)  He also said he liked Dr. Horrible. 

At this point, I mentioned to him that I wished someone would invite Whedon to work on Broadway, as I thought it would be interesting to see him work in a live audience setting, and this got the boy talking about a live production of Dr. Horrible he'd seen.  He went through everything with me, the actors, the singing, how Bad Horse was managed, how the lighting worked; it was very detailed and very boring, as I hadn't seen this live production.  (It was almost as bad as listening to Emily earlier that day rave about Darren Chris on Glee.) 
And then Chris mentioned he had a girlfriend. 
Oh Gods, why bother? I thought.  And I was a tad annoyed Claire had sat me with him with no indication that Chris wasn't single. 
Obviously, it was time to abandon ship. 

We talked a little more.  I asked him what it was like to work with Claire, and he said that she was his favorite person, and that of everyone he knew, he thought she was going to make it.  We chatted about superheros, particularly Spider-Man.  We ate our dinners, and Maxwell shared his chips with us.  (Good man.  There are few things I like better than food, and one of them happens to be free food.)  Then I went to the bathroom.  I made the move of leaving, but then was persuaded to stay, and sat at the other end of the table with Jenny, Tamara, and Ruth. 
Ruth was complaining bitterly to Tamara about school, who, possibly more bitter than Ruth about the whole thing, was whole heartedly agreeing with her.  We started talking about the waiter, who I've encountered a couple of times before at this place.  He is very talk, and somewhat built, with a little fat  on him.  But what I find extraordinary about him is his face, particularly his hair.  It's very dark and long, and in some guys, I find long hair very attractive, as with him.  He had the whole dark eyes thing to complete the look.  He looks very much like he should be playing in band, particularly bass or even maybe drums.  When we asked him last night, he said that he use to play football and that's all.
That's all, I thought.  Good Lord, you must be lying.  I can't imagine that he is only a former football player.  And, moreover, what the heck is he doing being a waiter at a restaurant?  Surely he must have some other goal.  I was hoping he would illuminate us as to that.  (Jenny joked later that he was an Amnesty International lawyer, which I would find totally acceptable, vaguely intriguing, and a surprising choice.) 
Then we decided to move on to our next place.  We walked down several blocks to a pub I had passed by multiple times but had never been in before.