It's okay, I think the joke's on me (or how I received e-mail from a creep) By Catherine on 9/29/2007 11:22:00 PM
I am an oxymoron, and those who know me personally are acutely aware of it.What I mean is, I'm an introverted-extrovert. I love blogging, hate bars. I love dinner parties, hate frat parties. I'm addicted to the internet, but no, I do not want to meet up. Ever. The first night I met her, I was told by my dear friend's significant other that I am "too nice." But then I drank wine and went on a sarcastic tirade. I am guardedly-open (sans shiraz). I am an oxymoron.
The point is, I am stepping outside the Catherine-bubble and doing my first real poetry reading tomorrow evening. I selected three decent poems, and I am gonna do it. It's ten minutes of my life, and if I don't try it now I might not get the chance again. I picked two quite light-hearted pieces and a more serious one, but my market is children. And that's what y'all are gonna get. I'm rather proud, because I never used to have sage fright (there's pictures somewhere of me as Meg from Damn Yankees and as a stripper in Guys and Dolls-- no, not appearing on Flickr) but now, I'm nervous.
My first attempt at overstepping my comfort-line was to join the French-speakers MeetUp in my area, but that didn't go so well. I'll admit, I joined in a moment of weakness. I was feeling lonely, having just moved to these God-forsaken suburbs from Amherst, which is a kind of lasting intellectual fairytale in my mind. I majored in French, and specialize now in Language Arts in my classroom. I loves me the Frenchies. (And Africa, but, hello, another post for another day! Oh, how I wish Joseph Conrad were alive and writing...) DIGRESSION. See the pattern? ADD!
I joined the French MeetUp in my most pathetic moment, and then I blew them off. I just. Never. Went. The first few were house parties and brunches, and I could always find a reason to be busy. Until The Creep e-mailed me.
The Creep blindsided me on a weeknight, a few days before the monthly brunch at Panera, demanding WHY hadn't I come to any meetings and didn't I know that the organizer pays $75 per year to the site?! (interrobang! ADD.) I almost didn't dignify him with a response, but I'd be lying if I told you I was that mature. My reply was the e-mail equivalent of the bird, cause, who monitors that shit? And who cares?
Apparently MeetUp.com is the same thing as EngagedtoBeMarried.com. I was not aware. But The Creep didn't care though, and he obviously didn't get it, because he proceeded to reciprocate with how lonely he was and did I want to call him? His number is 1-800-BEGGIN-4-LUV. Three pages worth of this garbage. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. The only thing that stopped me from posting the whole sordid affair was the fact that gmail deletes Trash mail after 30 days, and this happened in June. And I realized that my bubble is safe. From creeps.
Of course, that didn't exactly make me want to start going. In fact, it had the opposite effect, and made me think that I was not, and will never be that lonely. But again with the digression.
I decided not to venture out again, at least until this current opportunity popped up. This seems somewhat less... Full of foreboding, unlike the last one. I can read three poems, and if I totally embarrass myself then whatever, cause I just disproved my own hermit-ness. And I don't have to see them ever again. And I can adopt a pseudonym when I publish my bestselling book.
And I can rationalize anything. Thanks, Mr. Creep, you're my hero.
Check out:
MeetUp.com
Labels: creeps, I have ADD, interrobang, joseph conrad, librivox, meetup, NEWS series, poetry, STRESSSTRESSSTRESS, writing