Did you ever go to one of those parties thrown in honour of a certain special someone and there’s a cake and everything and you get there early so you’re waiting for people to show up and then some people actually do come by and then someone hands you a sheet of paper and you realize the guest of honor died exactly a year ago and that what you’re reading — what you will be reading aloud — is a list of happy memories written out by his family? Never went to one of those? First time for everything. Mine was Friday. It felt awkward for me at first in an I-never-knew-Michael-so-maybe-I-shouldn’t-be-reading-this kind ofway, but at least there was cake and everything actually turned into an hour well spent.

I started out, for no reason at all, not in the best of moods. Pile that on with the fact that sometimes Cherry goes into this temper wherein, any time someone opens his mouth, she has to let him know how pompous he is ("You think you’re so witty:" the refrain every time I make some dumb pun). Yes, "him," because she only does it with dudes, and only as long as the dude isn’t Asian. It seems appropriate if you’re trying to stop some chronic ass from giving his tiresome Art Speech, but tonight it’s just Jordan trying to amuse some party guests. I can’t really figure out why this irks Cherry to the point that she has to snipe at him every five minutes (Jordan’s either got a lot of patience or an ENORMOUS shlong or maybe both), and I don’t really feel like being in anybody’s crosshairs, so I just shut up and listened, for once.

I often do that (shut up and listen) better when I avoid looking at the person talking; a little like closing your eyes to really savor a whiff of some nice perfume. So when Cate talks I zone out and gawk at a spot on the concrete, but I can totally hear all sorts of rhythm and inflection that I never noticed before because Ariana always steals the having-cute-speech-patterns thunder. Later the Hipster Elf will say I "looked like I was a million miles away."

I wasn’t, but I was kind of upset about having come across this two hours before, which I suppose is what I get for looking at LiveJournal. Yes, I "screwed somebody and it ended poorly" (when doesn’t it?); so poorly, in fact, that I was really looking forward to not having to talk about it ever again with anybody, ever.

Then there’s the other thing. "Disgustingly self-absorbed couple?" I could maybe handle "Most Annoying English Major Couple," but something about "disgustingly self absorbed" just doesn’t sit right. It makes it seem as though we wait for a crowd to gather and then start humping each other or something, the whole time laughing about how awesome and edgy we are. So. While I was (or wasn’t) a million miles away, I thought about what it’s like to be "disgustingly self-absorbed;" to the extent that the people in a pair technically kind of have to be disgustingly into each other (or else there’s no couple), well, I guess "disgustingly self-absorbed" really is accurate, although just "They Make a Cute Couple; Too Bad About His Face" would be more accurate, and "The S&M Jokes Aren’t Fooling Anyone; We All Know He’s A Fucking Pansy" would hit veeeeery close to home, leaving a welt in my psyche much like that time the Hipster Elf put on those high heels and that leather mask with the zipper in front where a mouth should be, and gave me 40 lashes with a lace flail. I asked Jen Roberts about proper titles at the Kathouse, after Sugi’s reading last week.

"Now that I came here with the Hipter Elf I’m worried about us being the Most Annoying English Major couple."

"Oh don’t worry about it. Everyone in the department is hitched."

Hm. Hitched is being a "couple" in the same way Infinite Jest is "a book."

"But those are actual, like, professors, like Reckling and Kimball. What about, you know, shlubs?"

There are, indeed, many grad student couples — Jen named some people I’d heard of and a bunch of others I hadn’t. Undergrads don’t really count, so I guess I’m off the hook. Although the Man Who Travels With Jen is a townie and not a student, he’s actually met every author that’s come through town, making him a better English major than I am.

Anyway. Then there’s the other thing: there is no "cluster-fuck of understanding" around me. Yes, I am reserved and shy and hardly ever share personal bullshit, but someone who really wanted to "understand" "me" (for the record, I’m really not that interesting) would have to accept that trait of mine, not declare war on it. And I have a feeling it’s not me that she wants understanding on but rather how much does that terse hookup way back in January have to do with how she and I feel about each other now? Let’s face it: thinking about that is kind of a huge downer. So don’t. Just read some cheesy Blink-182 lyrics (in a pinch can just say you were doing it Ironically) and have a drink.

Last year there’s no way I would have been at a party like this. Like, I’d have called someone, and I’d have gotten "you wouldn’t like it very much," or "I’d bring you along, but it’s not really my party," or some other code for "you’re not cool enough" or "Cherry is kinda on a date and wouldn’t it be weird if you came along, ha ha ha, kthxbai." Tonight is different. For them, nominally at least, it is about Michael; for me it is a gift from friends. I sit back and enjoy it. Then I trace circles on Hipster Elf’s right knee and make googly eyes at her. Ariana makes a face like she’s about to vomit, but she doesn’t really mean it.