2004-10-09 - 12:31 p.m.

Ah, mon dieu! Derrida c'est mort! If only I knew more French, so I could properly mourn the dude! Tout le monde academique c'est pretty friggin sad! Surely, there will be tons of events here at Berkeley to mourn his passing! I'm sure I'd feel worse if I just knew what he'd been saying!

No, it is very sad. The world has lost on of its greatest minds. Had I gotten to know a certain professor at Penn, I might have gotten Derrida's cell phone number. Sadly, it can never be. But I am not here to talk about Derrida. I'm here to talk about myself.

A couple of days ago, before my whole e-mailing fiasco, I went to lunch with Southern Diva at this over-priced but nevertheless very charming coffee shop by campus. Now, bad enough that this place serves sandwiches with brie on them and assorted dessert from around the world, but it is also connected to a classical music store--that's right, just classical--and a bookstore specializing in books written by Berkeley authors and profs (you'd think they'd have Gender Trouble, and you'd be so wrong on that). So, in other words, while your wallet and your waistline may hate you for it, the pretentious intellectual snob that lives inside your head (well, there's one in mine, and one, I think, in most of my personal friends) will be grateful to you for the rest of the week. Also, they have this panna cotta there sometimes that is like eating heaven on a spoon.

So, Southern Diva and I went there in order to indulge our sophisticated palates and partake of some sandwiches, aqua fresca, and peruvian cornbread (to all Mexicans and people who've eaten at my house; it's pastel de helote, and they need to deal with that). We went to the counter, and I clamped eyes on a very, very cute waiter.

Who smiled at me.

This smile had the normal effect that a smile from a cute boy has on me, in that it completely obliterated the entire structure of support I've built around myself for the past decade, annihilating my wit, sense of humor, intelligence, and self-confidence with the force of a class 5 hurricane and leaving me a socially undeveloped 14 year old with an inability to speak at anything like a reasonable volume.

"Um, hi, um, hee-hee, um, can I, um, have a red pepper and brie sandwich, please, and um, uuuuh, a, hee-hee, cornbread, please?"

This is my version of having a moment with someone. Sad, ain't it.

Worse yet, Southern Diva saw. It is a rare thing that this happens in front of people. If anything, I more frequently remember my friends being around me when I was with men I was in no way intrested in, but, in the way of so many straight people everywhere, they tend to give me these horrifying eyebrow raises and maniacal grins as if they can barely keep from throwing me on top of someone whom I'm not even sure I'd like as a friend. This time, however, I was caught full out, an otherwise vibrant gentleman turned to vibrating gelatin.

We sat down and I commented on how cute he was. She said, "Oh, I could see you thought so." She made a comment that made me a little horrified at myself. She said that I put on a "maiden" act, blushing and acting all demure whenever he'd throw a smile my way. I was ashamed to admit that it was true. I was putting on a maiden act! How can this be? How can so proud a whore as myself do such a thing? I can sing "Like a Virgin" with the best of them, but do I really try to come off that way?

I hope not. If so, no wonder I haven't been asked out in a while. But how do you communicate the message of, "Okay, hi there, so I'm REALLY slutty, but I also wouldn't mind, you know, talking to someone once in a while, so can we, like, I don't know, have dinner or something" when you find yourself utterly incapable of saying something other than, "Um, yeah, um, I had the brie, um, 'nk you, hee-hee." Worst of all, what if he says no? I'd never be able to go to that coffee shop again. And I'm sorry, but the risks are far too great for me to gamble away that panna cotta. It has plum sauce on it! I can throw away my dignity and my reputation for love, but don't ask me to put that plum sauce on the line!

See, if the guy wore a sign that said, "I'm just smiling for tips" it would make my life so much easier.

Nevertheless, I am going to cast an eye into that restaurant to see if he's working. If he is, I might decide that I need some pastel de helote. I might need a mocha. Hell, I might just need to peruse the new Bach concertos. And I, being an eighth grader at heart, will glance his way and see if he's glancing my way, and drag people along to spy on him for me, and if all goes well I will actually be able to look him in the eye and ask him if he wants to go out.

I'm in a five year program with options on a sixth or more, so I have plenty of time.

I will also go in the restaurant if they have the panna cotta. I ain't no fool.

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