November 28, 2005


I had a few posts in the works for today. I write my posts usually a day in advance, usually, and I had a few little vignette sort of things prepared about this weekend, post Thanksgiving. They'll probably come later in the week. Even though this post could really be posted whenever, it's going today.

There's a sketchy Chinese buffet about a block from my place here in Madison; I suppose a case could be made that "sketchy Chinese buffet" is redundant, but I'll let it slide. I love this place. It's the kind of place where you have to ask for chopsticks, they don't just hand them out, the kind of place where the muzak version of "Tears in Heaven" plays on repeat, where there's always a Chinese New Year banner hanging, 365 days a year. It's a beautiful thing.

However, after dragging all my friends there last year, they've all sort of fizzled out on the place. When everyone (myself included) is starting to feel the "Freshman Fifteen," a buffet dripping in butter, grease and MSG isn't the cool place to hang out as it once was. Goddamnit, we're all sophomores and juniors, why are we getting soft around the middle already?

Few of my friends will go there anymore. Last year I used to go with my roommate every weekend, our little tradition, but now he's much more into the various football games that dominate weekends. (I just watch the local Badgers and leave it at that.) I've taken to bringing all of the guys I've dated, or tried to date, for a meal there. It's a little out of the way, so no one's ever heard of it, but it's wonderful and they usually enjoy it, and there's always that little clinch of cute flirting while trying to align your fortune cookie to your current date.

None of my friends were home last night in time for dinner, or if they were, they weren't in the mood for a big meal. I went to the place alone, and who is there, surrounded by all of his friends?

Oh, that's right, DPB, aka the guy I liked the most until I came on too strong and scared him off. (That's my theory on what happened, at least.) And here I was, eating alone, dressed sort of frumpy. Murphy's dating law. Or Murphy's law of exes. Something like that.

I plopped my coat down on my seat and made my way to the buffet, and watched as every single head turned and looked at me and made little faces of disgust.

Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.