NTKOG #2: The kind of girl who eavesdrops on people’s conversations and subsequently kinda-sorta asks them out in the subway.
I am: medium-extroverted in most situations. As in: I indulge in friendly banter with cashiers and waitresses, and occasionally random passers-by, but do not, a) enter into actual conversations, or b) introduce myself in any way, shape or form to randoms on the street.
I am not: crazy, after all. And certainly not the kind of girl who makes things happen — especially connections. Heck, my most important romance was started when I found the guy’s blog by googling my own name. So. You might say passive meetings are more my speed.
The scene: Riding the subway home with the sister after a little stroll through Cambridge. We’d just gotten back from a big Irish wedding — positively bursting with babies & booze — where I was an abominable failure at being anything other than my normal self. “I think I made a huge mistake,” I sulked to sister. “I miss all of my awesome nerd friends.”
Just then, I hear a voice behind me, a cute hipster guy wearing plastic glasses frames and, I think, possibly a vest:
CHG: “Then, while I was dropping off the answer sheet at the bar, they handed me a piece of paper for the bonus round. It was ten presidents and you had to write all of their middle names. I aced it in thirty seconds.”
Glory, glory! My heart accelerated. In this world, there are three things I love beyond measure: bars, presidental nicknames, and cute hipster boys (possibly wearing vests.) After a few minutes of intense eavesdropping on the crowded bus — and apparently I get surprisingly agile when there is a thrilling conversation to be overheard — I leaned back and asked CHG the name of the bar. He told me and cautioned that it wasn’t a particularly good one, then turned away. Disappointed, I decided to leave it at that.
Until he spent three or four minutes discussing with his friends his ideal trivia team: large enough to be totally dominant, but as small as possible, to maximize his cash-prize winnings. “I think it should be just me and [friend]: I know pretty much everything, and he can do sports and obscure anime stuff.” His adorable friend turns and asks, “What about me? I can help too.” CHG responds without even taking a breath: “We don’t need you. And why win $33 when I can win $50?”
Hold the phone. Arrogant cute vest-wearing hipster guy with functional knowledge of presidential middle names?!
I leaned into dejected adorable friend, and asked, “So, are you Harvard guys? You seem so … so smart.” He explains that they’re not, but they seem pretty pleased with the question; I explain that I’m not a total psycho, but just moved and want to meet smart people. My sister asks, “You didn’t go to Boston College, did you?”
CHG: Well, we did go to BC, in a manner of speaking. A different BC…
TKOG (ie: me): Huh?
CHG: Boston Conservatory.
TKOG: Oh, wow, how cool! What do you study?
CHG: Musical Theatre.
Ohhhhhh. I’ll admit I was hoping he was an electric guitar savant, composing a paradigm-shattering modern symphonic situation. But don’t get me wrong, I love showtunes (and the mostly gay guys who perform them.)
We banter for a bit about the roles he’s played; his eminently straight, still-cute-but-actually-in-my-league friend keeps the conversation going, which gives me hope that the guys will take my next move well:
M: Let’s be friends on facebook!
CHG: Okay.
M: No, seriously, I am totally holding you to this.
CHG: My name is –
M: [hands him an index card and pen] You can write it down. For posterity. See how serious I am about this?
The Verdict: As soon as I got home, I fbook friend requested him, with a little note reminding him that I am not a total creepazoid and I did just move to the area and I am absolutely red hot at trivia nights. So far, more than twelve hours later, he has not confirmed my request. Could it be that my asking a total stranger to hang approach was empowered to the point of friggin’ nutso? Or that I was slightly less charming than usual yesterday, sweating rivers because of the 80% humidity?
Whatever, I’m hoping the power of the tall, straight, in-my-league friend will compel him to accept my fbook friendship, check out my profile, and realize I’m a badass worth hanging with. Either way, I rule this NTKOG: potentially positive, but not to be over-used. It runs the risk of making you look like a crazy person, so only go for it if you really, really want to hang with someone and have no less-crazy ways to go about it.
[Edit on 8/24/09: Dude, he totally accepted my fbook friend request! I am The Kind Of Girl who would generally ignore this, rather than face the embarrassment of actually messaging him to propose a hang. So. You can look forward to my messaging him to propose a hang, and subsequent embarrassment, in the near future.]
[...] The guy I asked out on the T (and subsequently found out was not just gay but really actually quite …: accepted my facebook friendship, but sent back not a word in response to my perfectly charming fbook message creepily asserting that I was not a creepazoid. A few days ago, I fbook messaged him, asking the name of the presidential trivia bar, but as of press time, there has been no response. Part of me wants to use web 2.0 madness to happen to “accidentally” meet up with him in the bar next time he goes, but given my past experiences with stalking, um, maybe I’m better off just sticking to online communication. [...]
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