Sunday, July 5, 2009


We work at the same company, and I've seen him before, but last night was the first time we actually met. It was a 4th of July potluck for those who work for the organization we're both a part of. A scruffy, skinny fellow in his mid-twenties, with an unruly head of dark brown hair and a wicked grin, he caught my eye right away by being almost a caricature of my type. He was standing in the cluster of people I most wanted to spend time with; though this group contained people mostly between the ages of 23 and 33, we still kept splitting into a boys' circle and a girls' circle like participants in a middle school dance. Despite this, I kept finding myself in the boys' circle, drawn in mostly by Y's outrageous stories. The boy is funny, like pee-your-pants-but-it-was-worth-it-because-you'll-never-laugh-that-hard-again funny. At one point, he was able to unite the groups by giving a dissertation on Mormon teens who preserve their technical virginities by practicing, among other sordid acts, "armpit fucking."

As the evening wore on, the groups shuffled about. At one point, Y and I found ourselves in our own conversation, both at least two beers past sobriety. I can't quite remember what we talked about, though it had something to do with Sheryl Crow and the worthlessness of our moon, and involved a lot of toasting. Whatever it was, it made me happy, and I laughed more last night than I have in a long time.

Eventually, some of the girls at the party wanted to go down to the concerts at the Parkway, and because I had planned to meet some other friends down there and wasn't particularly keen on going down later by myself, I went with them. Y and the rest of the boys' circle stayed. He had another party to go to, and we probably would have split up awkwardly at that point anyway, but as I stood waiting for The Roots to come on and making polite conversation with the other girls, I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for leaving. I don't honestly think Y and I would have ended up having hot sex under the fireworks; frankly, I don't know if he's taken or even into girls (With my luck, he's probably in a committed relationship with a sexy, wonderful man). However, I am sad to think that I have missed even five minutes more of wild, witty conversation with him, and that we could have possibly even have exchanged numbers for more.

In the end, though, I am truly just happy it happened. This 4th of July will be a warm memory cast in a beer-y glow of dirty, irreverent conversation somewhere in not-quite-gentrified West Philly. And I will perhaps find myself just happening to come into work during Y's shift, in hopes of some more naughty back-and-forth.

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