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February 14th, 2009

Valentine's Day 2009

Affirmations of love from two of the most important people in my life. From Robert:


Thank you for being in my life and sharing so many very special times together.
I love and adore you. SMOOCHES!!



And the sentiments in a card from my sister:

As the years go by,
    we begin to learn what matters.
Years don't matter.
    Differences don't matter.

                            Love matters.

As brother and sister,
    we share a bond...
                of memories,
                          of family,
                                    of love.

And on Valentine's Day,
    I just want you to know
       you matter to me.

       You always will.



Have a great day, my dear brother!

                             Love,
                             Vivian




I thought that "Anti-Valentine's Night" at Flex would be pretty lame, and indeed it was. For that very reason, I'd brought my iTouch with me so that I could check on the local "Tweeters" to possibly join them if they were out and about.

I ordered one drink, and checked in on Twitter to find everyone either at, or on their way to, Landmark Tavern. I gulped my drink, and walked over to Morgan street to see if there was an R-Line stop nearby.

The R-Line is a new free, city bus service that circles around downtown, facilitating bar-hopping without driving. It just started yesterday. (Click image for story.)


Unfortunately, the bus driver didn't know where Landmark was in order to tell me when to get off. He said, "I guess I need to go out to some of these bars downtown, so I'll know where they are."

I retorted, "And you should get paid for it. It'd be research!"

I noted that the bus had that "new bus smell," which is just like that new car smell—only longer.

I've only been to Landmark one other time, and it was during Typhoon 2 last June, where we had to play a toss the ben-wa balls onto a rack game, as evidenced about a third of the way down this very detailed blog entry of Typhoon 2 day 2008.

So, I was surprised to find someone at the door tonight to check memberships, one of which of course I don't have. The doorman asked, "Are you a member?" And just as he finished his question, the two tables right by him all screamed, "Nematome!" and I at once felt like I was in some twisted Twitter episode of Cheers:

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your Twitter name,
and they're always glad you came.

The guy at the door said, "Oh, you're here to visit with members! Go on in."

Let's see if I can recall all of the tweeters in attendance: @abbyladybug, @kitch, @DiMambro, @DTraleigh, @wiggitywack, @jillyk@PrachiG, @ayeshamus, @melissasantos, and @djcleav.

I also met @DiMambro's non-Twitter friend, Mike, with whom I had a brief, but exciting, conversation about Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and the protagonist, Roark, being the archetypal INTP. Mike felt compelled to let me know he was straight for some queer reason, and I asked him if he was a professor. "No, I own a construction company," he said.

Later in the evening, he came back to the group to report that there was a 27-year-old (female) virgin in the bar. This seemed to be of great intrigue to the other male Tweeters for some very non-queer reason.

It was a fun, fun night, and right at 2:00, eight of us ended up hopping the R-Line over to the intersection of Glenwood Avenue and Hillsborough Street, right there at the Snoopy's. Half of the group started walking toward the IHOP, and the other half walked with me to my car, which was just around the corner at Flex.

I drove the Nematomobile over to IHOP, blowing my horn at the other half walking when we passed them, and we secured a table for eight with them arriving shortly thereafter.

For the most part, our meal was uneventful, with the biggest challenge being keeping @PrachiG awake until his food arrived.


@ayeshamus and @melissasantos caught a cab from there, and the rest of them piled into the Nematomobile to be transported to the Fayetteville Street Mall area, where we all said our goodnights.

Good night, Mary Ellen. Good night, John-boy.

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