I spent my week doing two things: counting down to the advent of Halloweekend with the ferocity of the candy-addled child that I am, and having a crush on this dude I just met. In case you were wondering where the inspiration from my last post came from, I don’t care who knows: it was from him and his superfoxy friends. We met last weekend at a party across the street from my place, and have been having stupid conversations on Facebook chat this week that basically consist of scintillating dialogue such as “What is your favorite movie?” and “I’m sooo stoned.” Yep, I always become infatuated with all the right ones! I hope you’re proud, Mom!!!

I made my own costume, and it was awesome, naturally. My freshman roommate and I were cosmic kittens (i.e., cats from outer space). We had plans to go to a friend’s party in the city. But a few days before Halloween I found out about a rock show going on the same night—a show that crush-boy would be playing in! Game changer.

At the first party, I tried recruiting friends to accompany me to crush-boy’s concert. I started with my sidekick number one, who has a car. If she went, I wouldn’t have to walk in the blistery black flats I bought for cosmic kittening, hallelujah. But she didn’t want to leave. My second choice felt the same way. I don’t blame them: the party was really fun, and when the cops came to bust it up they ended up just laughing at the scruffy shirtless dude in cryptic body paint trying to act sober to their faces while costumed drunks stumbled hither and thither, and then leaving without even giving us a scolding.

But at this point, I was feeling pretty dejected. I had high expectations about being able to go to that show and hang out with this dude, and I had been pinning my hopes and candy-fueled crush feelings on it all day. I zoned out for a long time, and knew my trip to Bummertown was getting out of hand when friends came up to me and asked what was wrong. Not cool to be a drag at a fun party. Especially when you’re repping all the kittens from outer space. So what if no one wanted to leave the fun party with me and pay $10 to see a show just to indulge my crushings? I can’t say that I’d ever do that sort of favor for a friend unconditionally, either. Once I realized how silly I was being, I felt dumb, and my bumming at the fun party totally unjustified.

Later, my friends congratulated me for not going to the boy’s show. They were proud of me for playing hard to get, even unwillingly. That didn’t make me feel any better, though. I’m not good at playing that game; when I try to, I feel like I’m just conforming to someone else’s expectations of How to Get Your Man 101. Sorry I’m excited about something, people! I’m naturally energetic and talkative, and when something exciting happens, what’s the point of acting like you don’t care?

The next day, the boy texted me, asking me why I hadn’t been at the show. So in the end, maybe that dumb game worked? Does everyone in the world have to play by the rules of hard to get? I (and all of the other permanently stoked people of this world) hope not. ♦