"I've always saved your poetry for these years when you'd forget."

(Cont.) To help me get through the bar experience, I drank most of a cosmopolitan . . . and proved why I’m a notoriously cheap date. During the cab ride home, I made several unsolicited phone calls, and then when I returned to my building introduced myself to the two people standing out front. Hitting the hay around 3 AM, I remembered to set my alarm since I hadn’t yet packed for my weekend at home.

Most of the next morning was a bit of a blur, except for the incident where one of the attorneys cornered me and made me cry--for the second time (but not in front of her)--because she’s overly and impossibly demanding and somewhat accusatory. Ergh. I didn’t have to deal with this for long, though, because I skibbled away from the office around 3 to catch a 4 PM train to Boston. After some quick phone calls with Erin, Catherine, Melissa, and Leslie to try to figure out plans for the evening, I passed out and didn’t wake up until the Route 128 stop--about ten minutes out from South Station. Guess who got off the train? It was the Columbia ice hockey player from Easter weekend! Craziness, huh? Being ever the suave gal that I am, I stuck to my tried-and-true duck-and-cover method of “flirting.” It’s quite effective, if by effective, you mean “accomplishes nothing.”

I hopped on the Red Line to Harvard Square, where Leslie and I ate at Red Line. The best part, though, was that some guy came up to us while we were meeting in The Pit and said, “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but I’m your blind date. If you are disappointed, you can just walk away.” How does one respond to something like this? Apparently with a smile and a “haha--thanks.” After a quick stop at Leslie’s apartment to get changed and drop off my bags, we headed to Harper’s Ferry, where we met Melissa outside and I made friends with a guy with a five year old daughter. I also laughed uncontrollably by the Boston Bruins air hockey table that had an “out of order” sign on it. No one else really seemed to think it was funny, but I took a picture. (Refer to the cancelled NHL season for why I was entertained by this.)

When I spoke with Erin on the train, she said to prepare myself for something sparkly, so I was thinking a crown or something similar. When she, Aidan, and Becky arrived, they gave me a sparkly bag containing my very own bright pink TWB (Traveling Water Bottle), a Nalgene to use for the trip to Bonnaroo in Tennessee. This is actually when I made my friend who came over and said, “I have to ask you: is that what you really wanted?” Yes, yes, it was. (Though I must admit that I'd be as excited by a popsicle as a 12-carat ring with a Wicked Awesome stone (better than brilliant cut).) It was around this time that I started insisting that I knew everyone in the room. “Hey, Obele just went by!” (I was right.) “Hey, look, guys--it’s Jen Jope behind the bar.” (I was wrong.) “Look! It’s Mr. Sullivan with Mr. Gardner’s son!” (I was right again.) I also spotted Bouncing Brian and quickly set my sights on him as well as a tall guy in khakis, a polo shirt, and a fleece, whom I dubbed “my boyfriend.” (He remained My Boyfriend until I saw him making fun of me to his friends later. He quickly got the boot.)

Then the concert started . . . To be continued . . .