If You Combine the Words Flirting and Blogging You Get Flogging. Hmmm...

Sunday or Monday night blogging with My Little Vidipookikins at ABAR (not its real name) has become enough of a tradition of sorts that the incredibly sweet and friendly doorman (who always IDs me, giving endless pleasure to my aging fragile ego) even stopped by our booth to remark upon it. Its kind of silly looking, I must admit...two old friends sharing drinks and quality time, only the quality time appears to be with their Macs only. We sit in a booth across from eachother, dueling computers back to back, likened to a game of battleship by the doorman, Mr. Mama's Tatoo of All Trades. We decided on the walk here though, that it was actually really nice to be able to spend time with someone but doing your own thing; its kind of like what we'd want from a boyfriend if both of us weren't slightly fucked up when it comes to men. We in fact said "like a boyfriend" quickly followed by "not that we need a boyfriend! no! we don't! right!" and so forth.

This weekend has been very much about not talking about what's bothering me, so tonight's activities fit in perfectly with my master plan of avoidance.

ABAR (not its real name) has the best Wi-fi connection in the East Village, fairly cheap beer, and you can camp out all night. Further reccommendation comes from the fact that the chalkboard outside tonight read "we don't give a fuck about the Superbowl"...my kind of place indeed.

Mr. Mama's Tatoo of All Trades has provided much friendly flirting and many smiles and laughs for the evening; comedy stemming from being polar opposites in many regards. We ordered food, and when he asked what I like I responded that I don't east meat; when asked what he liked he responded meat and that's pretty much it. He was also very very into the Superbowl in that very testosteroney kind of a way that somehow involves screaming at the tv, which I cannot comprehend except during the World Cup, but that's very special indeed and soccer is just so much more interesting anyway. However, its been a really nice night and I've enjoyed all the non-threatening attention to the point that I'm blogging about it but trying to sound quite cavalier. And he just offered to buy My Little Vidipookikins a beer (he had already bought me one), which was really sweet.

Now My Little Vidipookikins is making not-so-subtle remarks about Mr. Mama's Tatoo of All Trades and how nice he is etc, thus forcing me to suddenly become a middle school girl saying things like "grody to the max!" and "barf me out the back door!". Flirting in the vicininty of one of your closest friends that you've known since you were 3 is never a good idea; second only to flirting in the vicinity of your Dad who keeps saying things about how you'll find a good guy one of these days.

Sometimes its really good to feel like you're in middle school (or college- the two are somewhat similar, especially if you major in theatre) again, and sometimes an evening of flirting and blogging and flirting is really exactly what you need; good for the ego and the spirit all at once.