MONDO EXTRAS

P.S. Dear Mirna, I apologize for entirely dismissing your Napoleon complex theory based on my belief that he was not short enough to have one. Kisses, Miss A.

Fifteen

Exchange most commonly overheard at the party:

Person A: You know who's in the bar?
Person B: No, who?
Person A: Wanda Sykes.
Person B: [Pause.] Why?
Person A: [Shrug.]
Person B: Oh.

Sixteen

Lord o'mercy, Derek and Drew are some nice-lookin' boys. Initially, I notice them when SisterS says to me, "Is it my imagination, or does that guy standing right there look exactly like the guy who just walked past us?" I laugh. "It is not your imagination. They're twiiins!" I singsong.

Drew remembers me, or so it appears, which is surprising, because that was two years ago, for ten minutes. We say hi, check in, and when Derek walks up, Drew sort of gives him a, "This is...see...and she..." and then he's off in a conversation, so Derek and I talk for a minute or two about my hanging out with SisterS and reassuring her she wasn't seeing things. And then Derek sees my name tag. "Oh, you're the famous -- I didn't realize. I would have, I don't know, bowed or something."

It is that kind of thing to which I never, ever know what to say. I've blacked out whatever I said, because I guarantee you, it was something stupid. ["I feel that. Someone did bow to me, and I sincerely thought he was choking on an ice cube or something." -- Sars]

Seventeen

Cameras click all night long. Flashes that go off, flashes that don't go off, flashes that I'm warned will go off twice. It absolutely never stops striking me as utterly hilarious that anyone wants a picture of me. Because...I'm a writer. On the internet. Who needs my picture? It's not a problem, I just...I am always surprised.

At one point, it actually appears that I am going through a stretch of causing cameras all over the party not to work the way they're supposed to. I try not to develop a complex over the possibility that I am becoming a walking punch line, so horrifying that I am stopping cameras from working. "It's me," I say through a gritted smile several times. "All of a sudden, cameras do not work in my presence."

When the pictures begin to appear after the party, I think I look weird in many of them. As usual. Too pinchy, too pasty, too what-am-I-doing-with-my-face-in-that-picture. But, as always, there are some in which I manage to look pretty happy.