2001-08-13

Dork

Hi. I'm Lisa, and I'm a big dork.

Yesterday was Aaron's 30-esque birthday party, a surprise soiree thrown by Shari and Paula. I was very excited about this shindig, since I hadn't seen either Aaron or Paula since before they went on tour, plus it was being touted as a "wine and cheese" affair. Kev and I went out and bought a bottle of Boone's Farm and a can of semi-liquid orange "cheese food product," thinking ourselves quite the clever chickens all the while.

Before I go any further, let me say in my defense that I always kicked major ass on the "reading comprehension" portions of any exams I took throughout my school daze. Indeed, I have always prided myself on my ability to follow directions, like the good little camper I am.

Okay, so en route to Paula and Aaron's, I was marveling at her cleverness: my goodness, how is she going to convince Aaron to leave the apartment on such a drizzly Sunday afternoon? Had she given Shari the keys beforehand? We marched up the walk and noted, giggling, that the shades were down. Rang the bell.

Aaron answered the door, happy to see us, but clearly confused. I scooted by him, leaving Kev to hem and haw, and encountered a very bewildered-looking Paula in the hallway.

"I thought you said to come at 3," I whispered.

"It's at Shari's," she hissed.

I immediately had the unpleasant sensation of almost losing control of my bladder, hastily mumbled something about us "just being in the neighborhood" (with a bottle of Boone's Farm, no less) and scooted back out. The door closed behind us.

Then I burst into tears.

As we headed back to the car, Kev asked, "Hon? What did the invitation say?"

"I just read the thing about the wine and the cheese," I wailed, "I just assumed it was here!"

I sobbed all the way back home, convinced that I had utterly ruined Aaron's birthday. Kev patted my head now and again, offering vague condolences, attempting to reassure me that Paula didn't hate me and that by 8 o'clock, it'd all be just something funny to relate in the grand scheme of things. Still, I wasn't convinced; I was feeling good and sorry for myself at that point, secretly fascinated by the black rivulets of "waterproof" mascara cascading down my face: Molly Ringwald meets Tammy Faye Bakker Not a pretty sight.

I felt a bit better when I heard Paula's message on our voicemail when we got back, assuring us that the surprise was not ruined, and to please come over to Shari's. So after a quickie makeup repair, we got back in the car and headed back into Cambridge.

On our way up the street, I started worrying about getting ragged on. "Do you think they'll all think I'm just, like, the dumbest fuck ever?" I whined, "Do you think everyone's gonna make fun of me?"

"Why do you think I'm making you go in first?"

As I went to knock on the door, I heard someone inside yell, "THERE SHE IS," which made me feel simultaneously happy and terrified. Paula greeted me at the door with a big hug. Some good-natured ribbing took place, and then we got nice and settled in.

Several hours into the affair, I found myself tipsily engaged in a lengthy discourse on the concept of "bratcore" with a bevy of beauties seated, not surprisingly, next to Jake Zavracky. Suddenly one of them interrupted: "I'm sorry; I didn't get your name."

"Lisa."

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, you're the girl who showed up at the wrong house!"

"Yeah, that would be me."

I'm Lisa, and I'm a big dork. Hi.

lisamcc at 2:51 p.m.

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