Mutual Admiration Society

I neglected to tell you that I had a very festive St. Patrick’s Day. I confirmed via caucusing with the parents that I am ¼ Irish prior to heading out in my “Everybody loves an Irish girl” tee shirt, not to mention the gold and green windmill antlers I attached to my head for the entire evening. With the exception of when I forgot they were there and swatted them off, just like six or seven times. It was that kind of night.

Not too long into the evening, I noticed a guy looking at me off and on from the next pool table, but he was wearing a wedding band, or at least it appeared to be, so I was pretty sure the attraction lay with the antlers. After a little while, he approached.

“Is your name Kris? With a K?”

We’re all familiar with reports of near-death experience, when memories of grandpa pushing kids on the big oak tree swing in August and the birth of a first cat flash through the mind of the dying. A similar thing happened to me, only in a split second I thought, “Surely I’d remember if we slept together or made out in the bushes by the Row or if I dressed your college townhouse with smashed pumpkins and Tang and Soft Scrub!” (Which, I might add, is not recommended for writing profanity on houses or front walkways, particularly at those town homes owned by friends’ parents, given the bleaching effect it has on apparently most all external household substances.)

Turns out we didn’t at any point engage in heavy petting; he revealed himself a fellow DC blogger (can I say who you are?) who recognized my antlers ginormous chin from my sidebar photos. After feeling a) relief that I probably do remember most men with whom I make out, and b) 2.4 seconds of I’m a God damn blogging diva, bitches! I for all intents and purposes attacked this wonderful man with paws and questions. Where had he been? What had he been up to? We had essentially known each other for a year prior to this meeting. Friends, in a strange way, who just haven’t seen each other in a long time. It makes perfect sense that most of us who frequent the same blogrolls are of like minds, but it really is something that when you meet these crazy cats in person, the awkwardness of other first meetings simply does not exist. Like minds, I guess.

And then there are the interesting minds. Yesterday, I received the following email (can I say who you are?):

My new To Do List:

Find address of certain DC Blogger.
Amass small collection of Precious Moments figurines.
Ship perfect gift to DC.
Wait outside someone's apartment until package arrives.
Shriek in horror when certain DC Blogger appears unimpressed with and perhaps even frightened of package.
Dye hair blonde; get a razor bob; adopt two cats; move in next door.

And these are the emails that make you wonder, “Are we bloggers really all that like minded after all?”

And you realize that sometimes, no, you aren’t like minded. Instead, you are quite possibly separated at birth.