All right, it has been a while since I have talked about boys in here. There was that whole resolution to quit being such an emotional exhibitionist, and so I've been writing about art and non-boy things (for the most part), been writing about things that I am probably not qualified to write on and which probably bore you, kind reader. And so, an update of sorts, provoked by a late-recieved message from Christopher.

Let's rewind a bit. Christopher: 26, brown hair, skinny, either nerdy or hipsterish (depending on your tastes), glasses, shy, big nose. He's a copy editor at a silly magazine and writes book reviews also. Right now, he's writing one on Hank Stuever's soon to be published book. Perhaps none of you were around when I was obsessed with Hank Stuever, the Washington Post columnist, when I listed him as my favorite writer on diaryland, when I would post links everytime he published something new. But he's writing about this DC local columnist who I used to be in love with. This is one of the main reasons I think he is cool, I am ashamed to admit. I met him at Phoenix about two weeks ago, rode the train home with him since we live near each other and exchanged a brief, awkward goodnight kiss. Last Friday, we had plans to hang out, but he blew me off to get ready for his party. His party was Saturday, and I went with Daniel, who brought two friends, Michael and Zach.

Throughout the night before we got there, I talked to Michael, was made giddy by doing so. Michael: 25, brown hair, also skinny, really sharp dresser, cute southern slow way of talking, artist, friendly, not shy, also prominent nose. Also, rumored to have a serious boyfriend. So all night before we made it to Christopher's, I talked to these boys, usually mainly just Michael though, and thought he was so cool. We finally make it to Christopher's fairly small party, and it is odd since we don't really know anyone and oh yeah, Christopher is basically holding his ex-boyfriend's hand all night. The four of us pretty much just stuck to ourselves and drank their booze. Later in the evening, we eventually mingled with the others, and then we eventually left Christopher and his (ex?)boyfriend. When we were walking back home, the four of us, Michael, being the sensitve, perceptive boy he is, asked if I liked Christopher and if that was the real reason we went to the party. I confessed that it was, and told him the story. Michael, somehow sensing I felt rejected, told me I could do much better than Christopher. And because it was coming from Michael, the boy who I was enamoured with, I was so happy.

So two days ago, I wrote Michael a rambling Friendster message about the Moshiri show he really liked and told him he should go to the Gursky and Sherman openings. And when I was running through the Sherman show, about to leave to go back to the Gursky show, there he was. I don't know if I can make you fully comprehend the difference between that moment before I saw him, sort of bored and hurried, then that elated pause at the sight of him, a brief flash that extended way past its temporal constraints of a milisecond, and then the happy giddiness I had afterwards. There's no way. It's when Dorthey wakes up in bright technicolor Oz after black and white Kansas. Or just think of a song that really hits you in a sentimental way, puts you back in a sweet place you once existed in, or that you have created for yourself via memory. For me, right now, that'll be the Cure's "Pictures of You." And just that swaying happiness that things are all right, that things are brimming with sweetness - that like the song had just come on in a playlist of otherwise unremarkable songs, is what I felt at the sight of Michael.

I talked to him and his friends for a brief bit before I had to run outside to meet Dara, Sara May and Bobby, who were already outside waiting for me to go back to the Gursky show. He said that he'd probably see me at the Gursky show and I don't know what I was thinking since I was only going to be there for a short ten minutes before I had to run off and see Jaymay. I was really cursing myself for making definite plans, assembling these people to go see Jaymay with me, when all I wanted to do was stay at these galleries and try to talk to Michael some more. But no more Michael that night because soon I was trekking across town to the Sidewalk cafe, but the fact that he showed up made me really happy, whether that was due to my email or not.

This morning I woke up and saw that there was a missed call from Christopher at around 1:30 am. Since I hadn't heard anything from him since his party, I just assumed that he was not interested. However, he didn't leave a message and so I didn't want to call back, thinking that he had probably just dialed the wrong name in his phone or something (which I actually do quite often - there are five names in my phone that start with Chris - a Chris, three Christophers, and a Christy - I just noticed this). But while I was wandering around the city today at about six, my phone said I had two messages. One from Joe at around eleven last night, and the other from Christopher when he called, and fuck you Sprint, for not telling me when I actually got these messages.

So his message was disappointing. Do the most unenthused, blase voice you are capable of and that is probably pretty close to what this message sounded like. "Uh, hi Charlie, this is Christopher (there are lots of awkard pauses where you can almost hear him shuffling his feet), uh, I don't really know why I am calling. It's pretty late, you're probably asleep. Call me back . . . if you want." Writing just doesn't do it justice - it was such a bored, uh, whatever tone. I live for messages from boys I like. I play them a few times over and over, holding the phone close to my ear, and smiling with glee. It's one of the easiest, surefire pleasures that this world has to offer me. The first message I got from Matt included the phrase, "I want to ruin all of your plans for tomorrow." And I mean, not that that is what I want whenever anyone leaves me a message, but some desire should come through in your voice, not "I don't really know why I am calling," and it actually sounding like you really don't, like you honestly don't have a clue how the phone got in your hand, like someone just threw you the phone or something and you are forced to say something.

Even though I am losing interest in Christopher, I called him back, left a message on his phone and maybe he'll call me back, maybe he won't - either way, I don't really care. And speaking of Matt - on Thursday, I went to galleries with Joe, and the very first one we walk into, a packed one, as soon as I'm through the door, there is Matt walking right in my direction. Reflexivley my hand started to jerk up to say hi, and then I remembered no contact, "especailly in public," and so I jerked my hands to my side, looked ahead and walked fast into the gallery. We were there for probably for about two minutes before I dragged Joe out to head places where Matt was not. That was a good interaction. And my resolution was to learn how to live better, to not do shameful things (i.e. throwing myself at dickhead boys), and I didn't. I behaved. I am interacting with boys more normally. Kind of. One probably has a boyfriend and is just being friendly. The other is about as exciting as my grandma.

Oh and PS - I called in sick today to celebrate getting my tax refund. Whoo!