I have made friends over computer avenues before. I mean, I went to JournalCon for goodness sake. I made close friends with a woman in North Carolina through an Internet quilting group a few years ago. Before that though, I met several people I could call friends on local BBSs, including one I would eventually marry. I am so geeky. Not all of these friendships panned out. In fact, the only one that is maintained on any level is my marriage. Some might see this as a convincing reason not to make friends or lovers over the Internet, but I tend to believe it's the natural progression of human relationships and probably no more unsuccessful than conventional friend-making.

Meeting a friend through my journal outside of the whole Con setting was a different experience for me. Liz reads my journal, and I read hers. We knew things about each other beyond what's revealed on forums, message boards, chat, and emails. We decided we wanted to meet each other based on our journals and subsequent emails and see if the electronic friendship translated to real life.

Plans weren't looking good for this weekend, so we were already looking to next weekend to grab a cup of coffee. I did invite her to see John's band on Friday night but as plans solidified for next Saturday, I figured Friday was out. I still planned to go. We had a sitter, and I hadn't seen the band in a while. I changed clothes to go out only to end up putting jeans back on. I was feeling particularly fat that day and comfort was priority one. I didn't need to be constantly tugging my pants up all night long, and that turned out to be a wise decision when I saw the environment.

The place was your standard local hangout, though much nicer than the one in Bellevue that had dog poop in the corner. Somehow I always manage to go to the shows at the hole-in-the-wall bars. This one had a decent menu and no animal excrement. Those elements combined with a growling stomach made me order what turned out to be a gigantic hamburger. Of course, I wolfed down almost the whole thing and settled in for some eardrum abuse.

I was used to people walking past me, because I was on the end of a table right by the restrooms. One person walked past but then stopped and bent down beside me. I was shocked when I actually recognized this person to be Liz, and she got a most genuine reaction of surprise and happiness, which I later worried seemed a little too eager and fake. I made introductions between her and my in-laws and later, John. We fell into easy conversation, and I was relieved we weren't just sitting there stirring our drinks, trying not to make eye contact.

The opening act started not long after she sat down, so conversation was limited to quick chatter between songs or voice-damaging yelling during the very loud performance. I like the opening band, but this particular set seemed a bit repetitive in style, and I was distracted. I suggested we go into the next room that was located to the side of the massive speakers where we might be able to talk more.

Now let me just say, Liz is the kind of woman who would get lots of attention anywhere she goes. She is absolutely beautiful. In this particular environment, she was even more noticeable amongst the high, bleached hair and heavy eyeliner of most of the other women. Before we moved, I think I caught every single band member wondering who this new friend of Cindy's was and why they hadn't seen her before. Interestingly enough, I wasn't intimidated. I liked her, and she had a way of making me feel comfortable. I must make it very clear though, she is far from the big geek she claims to be. She is charming, smart, and witty on top of being stunning. I wish I could be a geek like that, but I'm just your run-of-the-mill geek.

From our new location, we had a better view of some of the more entertaining patrons of the bar. One man from a table full of drunken men came and asked us to dance while wiggling his ass each time he said the word "dance." I just shook my head, trying not to laugh, while Liz told him we were busy catching up and didn't want to dance. He went on to bother my father-in-law by asking, "Can I ask your wife to dance?" FIL told him, "You can ask her, but she won't." This hurdle did not hold the guy back, and he proceeded to be turned down again. I don't know how many times the poor guy was turned down, but he never bothered asking the frizzy blonde with a bad sense of rhythm and seemingly uncontrollable hip action. She ended up getting really cozy with the golf video game, which we found even more amusing than her crazy dance moves.

It was still loud in our new location, but we managed to talk between laughing at the various shows put on by other patrons. As the time got later, we both got quieter. I was just tired, because I never go out late anymore. I hoped Liz was tired too and that I hadn't revealed myself to be a pathetic bore. She is an early riser and had to get up the next day, so she left sometime after midnight. I returned to the previous front and center location where everyone in the bar could see me yawning so big it's a wonder my head didn't turn inside out.

I was stuck there until the band was done, though they were entertaining. Even though the crowd dwindled to what could surround the large bar, all were whooping, cheering and screaming for encores by the end. The owner liked the band so much she offered them the first possible opening on her calendar and went to see them at another bar the next night. One particularly enthusiastic man who shared the music with whomever was on the other end of his cell phone, approached the guys afterward, claiming he was from "MCI Records" and got their information. If his record label wasn't enough to know he was full of shit, his mechanic hands with permanently greasy nails were. The drummer joked later about getting free long distance with that record deal. Liz missed the best part of the performance from both the band and the crowd, but I would have missed it too if I had the chance.

The rest of the weekend was so busy I haven't had a chance to think about my meeting. I sit here with the first few quiet moments to myself, with the kids in bed and John at his third gig of the weekend, and I wonder, what did she really think? I honestly don't know how close I come to my journal persona, because what I write is very much me, but how I am in person might not always be the same, because writing and being are such different forms of expression. Did I talk too much? Did I not talk enough? Do I come across more fun and outgoing or more reserved and shy? Is that the way I am in the flesh? I never really thought about it much, even when I went to JournalCon. People there didn't read me, so I didn't have to worry about it. I knew she did. I can only hope I translated myself well enough that she wasn't disappointed in the everyday version of me. On the web, I can be selective and edit. In life, I am what I am. People are so multi-faceted, and no one ever knows every angle. I don't even know all of my own. I suppose that's what makes life interesting, but it also makes it frustrating too.

As far as I'm concerned, I have a great new friend who doesn't live hundreds of miles away or shares the housewife title. How could you not like a person that spins fire as a hobby? She was doing it Saturday too, but I had to miss it because I had no sitter. Hopefully that opportunity will present itself again, because we'll keep getting together.

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One Year Ago Today:

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