maybe even you

as it turns out, a handsomely scruffy midwestern snowshoeing musical prodigy has absconded with my heart to the pacific northwest.

I met mm on a friday night at a show that I grudgingly showed up to after having a day of shear madness at the salon that would make the faint of heart implode. the dragon lady was in full effect and the pre-holiday rush to get everyone's roots done before they see their judgmental mothers was imminently booming. the receptionist position at this salon is somewhat akin to being a cat show handler; all of the stylists are pristinely groomed, blue blooded, and camera ready for their close up at any given moment, and they expect to be doted upon and indulged in a weird hierarchy that I fail to appreciate. the break room for the salon is underground and I've nicknamed it the shit talk den as it is only really used for everyone that works there to bash each other while incessantly preening and watching curb your enthusiasm dvds. needless to say, by the end of the night I was covered in hair clippings, emotionally exhausted by the stylists and their equally difficult clients, and ready to crawl into my bed and curl up into the fetal position. instead, as I was counting the drawer out, I was somehow 300 dollars under the count in cash, so I ended up staying an hour and a half late trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. when I finally escaped, I had to take a packed bus all the way out to potrero because of my entire fortune subsisting of 14 bucks in my bank account to last until christmas, where I got off two stops too soon and trudged the rest of the way listening to the new britney. I was ready to avoid human contact for fear of buzzkilling anyone who came within a 3 foot radius.

lydia was as always instantly cheering, with her mysterious ability to smooth any bristling almost instantly with her beguiling charm. (we call this "meowing it out".) after watching jay's set, I was feeling less like a social pariah and shear madness be damned, the stress started to melt away into being pleased with the realization that the bottom of the hill was swarming with a flock of people I adore. I sat at the bar although I was without beverage having not been able to justify spending any money on a cocktail considering that would be like trying to take down a wooly mammoth with a tylenol PM. lydia pointed out a boy across the room and identified him as matt j's hot drummer, of whom I've heard of from time to time when he occupies the attic room at her house when he's in town from portland for shows. he was up against the wall with a perfect james dean lean by the sound equipment in his pumpkin colored dress shirt, hair hanging in his eyes, stabbing the ice in the bottom of his drink appearing slightly bemused but still vaguely disinterested by the conversation around him. hot drummer, indeed.

I turned back to lydia as she punched me in the shoulder.

"quit staring at him!"

"ehh." I fibbed, "I don't really see it. we gonna afterparty at the 811 tonight?"

"we could go down to the basement with flashlights!"

"what, like a party spelunk?"

mm started making his way across the room to stand at the bar near us and craned his neck to see where a barkeep should be, but there was no one in sight. lyds spoke up.

"I think they've already shut the bar down."

"figures." he said. "I'm always the guy at the end of the night with the leftover drink tickets."

"drink faster." I shrugged.

"I guess so, huh!" he folded up the tickets that looked exactly like the ones you get at chuck e cheese that you can trade for kazoos or glowsticks and slid them in his breast pocket.

meanwhile, lydia was rounding up the troops for the post-show festivities and everyone agreed to meet up in the infamous attic of the 811 house, the quarters that house said fabled hot drummer. I've written about it before because it's most likely my favorite room in the history of every room I've known. it is the garden of eden of kitsch, from the life size zz top miller lite cardboard cutout to the giant plastic goose lamp in the corner, and from the jetsons-esque vintage record player that always has steely dan's "can't buy a thrill" loaded up, to the busted up mirrored coffee table that I wouldn't doubt was a prop from scarface. this room understands that nothing exceeds like excess. on top of all the fun goodies and inviting set up, the room is up on the fourth floor and leads out to a roof that boasts an absolutely gorgeous view of lower haight up to diamond heights beyond the castro. and then there was MM. I wasn't yet sold.

once the partygoers started amassing, mm started djing with his ipod, and if memory serves, his first choices were londonbeat, ace of base, hall and oates, la bouche, and the turtles. I was a goner. the way to my heart is through cheese or music, and this guy just served me up a piping hot selection of my favorite awesome cheesy tunes. I made my way across the room to properly introduce myself and lydia caught my eye when I was chatting with him to hiss at me. (meow!) soon thereafter I heard myself brazenly ask if he was spoken for by any ladies in portland like some wanton woman on a mission. he told me he did not, seemingly totally unfazed, and later on we exchanged numbers huddled in front of a radiator as I was about to leave, and right then it was decided that I shouldn't walk home wasted at 5am. we went to sleep spooning (and I'm sure I snored. ugh.) and I awoke to sunlight pouring into sharkey's room along with birds chirping cheerfully to the terrifying revelation that I was 45 minutes late for work on the busiest saturday of the entire year. I shot up like I had been unceremoniously surprised by anal rape and started yelling expletives, which I'm sure is what charmed him into what followed, which was a 5 day whirlwind winter romance.

we spent most of it together, and we got along famously. I'm still a little baffled... I slept through the night 4 nights in a row for the first time in 6 months in bed with him. and that's all we did! spooning, making out, rolling around in my orange sheets in my pink room. I invited him to be my date to zoe's holiday soiree and he graciously accepted, and even got all dressed up for the occasion, complete with cufflinks. he bought cat food for rufus. he's apparently a driven musical genius who is committed to his work. is there anything this guy can't do? who IS this guy? he's intelligent, disarmingly piquant, talented and not to mention, gut bustingly hilarious. but, and there's that dreaded but, the but that I want to spank away into nothingness... he lives in portland. and he loves it. of course he does! if my hair wasn't already breaking off, I'd pull it out.

our tryst ended as abruptly as it began when fate dealt him a plane ticket home after having been snowed out of flying home for a few days. (apparently my indian blizzard dance only works to a certain degree.) after engaging in a super cuddle three way spoon with lydia in which I was the baloney, our plan was to get bloody marys at the wild side and then return to the cupcake room to do illicit things to each other, which I was very much looking forward to after half a week of foreplay. then when I was getting ready to go, I got a text saying he had to run to the airport to catch the last seat home until after christmas. tragic was the word he used, and I was definitely in agreement of that assessment.

I am the victim of a drive by crushing, and it's admittedly pretty darling. I'm sure that my roommates have been tempted to knock my goo-goo eyes out of my head a few times this week. even if it never goes beyond our unimaginably cute quickie affair, I'm so glad to have met someone who restores a little bit of faith in people in general. the dude is cool. but I'm going to be very upset if I end up drunkenly naked video chatting with him before I get to do so in person.

I'm leaving it all up to zeus.