Has all the reading made me age prematurely?

On the Metro this evening, while reading "The Cult of True Womanhood" for class and giggling silently to myself, I heard a voice I vaguely recognized. Admittedly, I first thought it was my very married next door neighbor chatting up an intern. Once I actual caught a glimpse of the guy, I realized it was the law student who'd looked me up on facebook, asked me if I wanted to catch This American Life live, never got back to me about the show only to run into me at 2 AM one U St. on Saturday night and never talk to me again after that. D.C. is an alarmingly small town sometimes. While he and the intern were chatting it up I did my best to keep reading and hide behind my hair (owing to magical ever-sagging pants and a noticeable umbrella absence this morning, I was in no position to pretend to be cute in public.) I managed to refocus my attention on the article, again to the point of giggles. I must have looked up smiling because I caught the attention of an older gentleman (40? 45? He had retired Marine hair and wore IT sneakers.)

It is possible that inferred flirtation from my smiling glance upward and immediate diversion. I've read that this maneuver is often adopted by girls who know what they're doing. I most assuredly do not know what I am doing. Two stops later, Sargent Orthopedic Shoes came over to me with his card, scribbled on it a request for coffee.

While I'm flattered and appreciate the balls it must take to do something I'd need an entire bottle of Irish whisky to accomplish, this whole appealing to the Grecian Five set isn't my thing. I'm starting to worry that these men think I am older than I am. Significantly older.

He also has a really ugly business card. Horrible, easily bent card stock and a terrible graphic.

In other news, while walking to the Mason bookstore today, I thought the man in front of me might have been Jason (I really should have given him a nickname.) He was grey in the same places, wore remarkably similar clothing, and walked the same way. By the time I decided whether I was alright with this man actually being Jason, he turned a corner and clearly wasn't.

Ok, scratch that. Reverse.

Last night, on a corner in D.C., standing in front of a mobile curry stand, I met a person I only know through Facebook. It should be the other way around, shouldn't it?

Sometimes I think this contact degree-removal we encounter as a result of being inundated with electronic means of communication (and constantly choosing those safe encounters over the messy, physical in-person ones) will kill us before we run out of oil. Or it'll turn into Demolition Man and we'll only have sex through headsets. That will also kill us off.

(on a tangentially related note, I had been worried that my habit of only picking what I deem to be the most attractive pictures of me for my fb profile was giving the Internet a warped vision of what I actually look like. Apparently, I do look like that. Or enough like that that I can pass for facebook me.)

Now to finish this paper and figure out what I'll read on my break. Eco? Borges? I could go for a little PoMo.

You're right. That does put it all in perspective...

Yesterday, after I incorrectly merged what I thought was a duplicate account (two accounts, same, uncommon name, same field, similar interests. I was 90% sure it was the same person), I was called into my boss's office and told that while this was something that is a giant hassle to correct and I should never do it again, in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a huge deal. This was her reasoning:

We've merged around 18,000 accounts since I [boss] started. This has only happened like four times.

Yes, that makes me feel so much better about my mistake. about 17,996 times better about it. Thanks.