Say hello to my friend Alden.
Alden is a hipster Lothario. He may think I don't recognize his suave ladykiller skills, but I'm a maneater from way back so I've realized we're pretty much the same person. Wait, hold that: minus me being a hipster. Either way, I think I'd make an excellent wingman for him. Alden is enthusiastic about thrifting, so I forgive the hipsterness and dubstep love. He has two middle names that, at first listen, sound like he could have been named after some old school rock god Jims, though in actuality that is not the case. He once sang a song about being unable to decide whether a girl had mint or honey eyes - when I have a reality show made about my feats as a super famous librarian perhaps I will adopt it as my theme song. He likes poetry, likes Laura Kasischke. I've been urging him to start a blog and I think I may have convinced him; soon we will brainstorm a worthy name. (He already turned me down on "Alden Hipster." Damn.) I may tease him, but he's all right in my book.
I've seen Alden more in the past three weeks than I have in the past three years. He tends to just show up places. Granted, I live with a bunch of musicians that he hangs out with so it's not the creepiness factor that it sounds like. Yesterday I was laying out on my beloved picnic blanket, reading a book and trying to escape the hot, stagnant air inside when he emerged from the house post band-rehearsal. We struck up a conversation. He is easy to talk to when he's not calling me out on my snark.
So get this: he was wearing all these fantastic shades of red, ranging from maroon to crimson. Everything was red, down to his little bag. I was fascinated. I told him to wait and I scampered barefoot inside to grab the Pentax. I'm starting to live through the lens and he was the perfect victim: compliant and seemingly unbothered by my clicking and refocusing.
Alden: "You are a terrifying woman."
Compliment of the year.
Later that evening I went down to the Bodega Brew Pub and Tap with my friend Ryan, whom I regrettably have no photo of. I'd gone into the Bodega ever-so-briefly on the night of my birthday (Lexi bought me a sex on the beach) but the atmosphere is quite different on a Wednesday night. The food was perfect. Ryan bought me an apricot beer and we caught up and gossiped. More perfection. By the time Alden showed up it was nearing 11 pm so I old ladied the situation by returning home rather than buying a wristband at another bar. You know, work in the morning. Being poor. That sort of thing.