Work it, girl

It’s been a very lazy weekend, but I did manage to get out this evening. I grabbed my New Yorker and went to Cafe Luna–half-price pizza on Sunday nights!–and had a great dinner on the patio. With the tasty pizza, constant people-watching, and cute Duncan Sheik-like waiter, I can’t say I was concentrating much on the reading.

Ever eavesdrop on conversations you wish you could jump into? Usually we wish people would just shut up, but once in a while you find some actually interesting people, like the group of women at the table next to mine.

“Are you familiar with the National Gallery?” one asked.

“No,” one other replied. I wanted to chime in, “Hey, I am!” But I didn’t. They continued to discuss the merits of various museums: the Met, Guggenheim, British Museum, and so on.

It’s like the time when, on an Amtrak train to New York City, the woman seated in the row behind me struck up a conversation with a guy across the aisle from her. She was a grandmother who’d returned to college to get a degree, and he was a college student as well, around my age. Then the man sitting between them got into the conversation too; he was an American history professor whose current research focused on indentured servitude. It was like, an intellectually sparkling dinner party right there. At the train stations approaching Manhattan, we started seeing billboards for Broadway shows, and my fellow passengers’ conversation turned to musicals. “Have you seen Mamma Mia? How about Les Miz? I’ve seen it like, five times,” the younger man said.

So, of course, I wanted to turn around, pop my head over the seatback, and be like, “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhearing…” But anyway.

After dinner tonight, I walked up 17th Street. The weather was fantastic, and mmm, all the boys were out and about. I love it. I didn’t exactly launch into “Musetta’s Waltz,” but with all the sidewalk cafes filled with people, when you walk down the street, you can’t help but feel all peacock-y. You start doing that “I’m too sexy” walk, where all the world’s a runway, and all the men and women merely models. (I’ve been watching Fashiontrance on the Style Channel.) Sashay, chanté… work it, girl! Or uhh, maybe that’s just me.

So here I am back at home, getting settled for a new episode of Sex and the City. Fabulous. By the way, I’m reminded that when I started with Movable Type a while ago, one of the entry categories I came up with was “queer.” But now I’m thinking, wouldn’t that just be the entire journal? Heh.