Following in the footsteps of this centuries RadFem, The Duchess herself, Karen Owen of Duke University (the chick who wrote The Fuck List) I have decided to collect my own data. Not in that way, you sicko, it will be a sort of homage, if you will. Now I've been going out a lot recently because, let's face it, MissBleecker needs to get her party on, work hard, play hard, another rule to live by! I'm sure by now your begging me to stop blabbering and explain exactly what I'm blabbering about, and I will. As you can tell it's called "Interactions With An Anonymous Stranger Who Will Remain Nameless" (I couldn't think of anything shorter) it will (hopefully) be an ongoing series of posts dedicated to all the randos I encounter out in the world: people I will never see again, a chance encounter that would normally make no difference in my life if I'd decided to not glob about it, a person that will never ever read RadCooks, but a person that you might know or might possibly run into one day. It began with an idea of writing about men I'd meet, that would try to pick me up (and fail) but I might consider expanding it all people, we'll see, wherever the wind tends to blow this post. But we will begin this series with a pickup, a dramatization of my adventure last night, and to you, Anonymous Stranger Who Will Remain Nameless, thanks for the interaction and have a good life... wherever you are! It all began last night, a Saturday, not unlike any other Saturday before it, I was going to watch a friend's band play at a loft party in the Village... *Ripple* *Ripple* *Fade* *Fade* We walked up to a black door and entered, climbed the three flights of rickety stairs to the noise and various smells above us. A jacked out Jersey Shore wannabe was running the entryway, "IDs, $10," he repeated. In return for the party fee we were each given a gold wristband, which would be added to my left hand collection of random bracelets I would be given. When we walked in it was a bit dead, we found our friend, who would later be playing the Casio in what I would refer to as a Kings of Leon/Rock band but trippy. "I'm glad you guys didn't come earlier," he said as he surveyed the crowd, still forming in the late evening. And so we did what any 20-somethings would do as we waited for the festivities to start, we went to the bar. As I approached the bar, which, let's say just for the record, was not actually a bar, but more like a folding table from K-Mart covered with copious amounts of Cuervo Silver, Svedka, various mixers and Red Bull (which I normally hate but had been craving all night.) As I was standing by the bar, somewhat detached from my circle of friends I felt a presence lurking near me, I turned and saw a man checking me out, "Wanna hook up?" he asked me rather curtly. I just looked at him. He chuckled, "I'm just kidding." "Would you be kidding if I'd said 'yes?'" "No, honestly I wouldn't have. Because I don't know you and I don't just do that. Now maybe if I got to know you it'd be a different story." He extended his hand, "Hi, I'm AnAnonymousStranger." "I'm MissBleecker." "Nice to meet you," he said to me with a relaxed grin, "That's step one." And then he was gone, but it wouldn't be my only interaction with this AnonymousStranger. Read more after the JUMP! Me and my girls were on the prowl, standing in the middle of the crowd, which had been increasing in size steadily. We were scoping the talent from all angels, waiting to find the one to call dibs on. And then I saw him, he entered the room with a confident swagger, he knew where he was going and who he was looking for and nothing else was going to faze him, the best I could describe him as would be a Sexy Hipster Groucho Marx. He exchanged words with the DJ. "Is he with the band?" I conferred with my female compatriots. "He might be." Could it be? An aura of sex-appeal and a musician? I should have guessed. Our drinks were waning, the band was about to go on, and with the promise of an open bar we decided to refill our solo cups. We approached the bar, worked our way through the crowd, and who would it happen to be behind the bar, serving up drinks besides my very own AnonymousStranger. He noticed us waiting, pointed to me with a sly smile, as if he remembered me. "Hey you," he flirted. "Hey. Vodka Red Bull." Side Note: I know I shouldn't be drinking Vodka Red Bull, it's really bad for a person, I won't do it again, I promise. As he poured my drink, he tried to strike up conversation. "See, I remembered you." "Oh yeah, what's my name?" "I have no idea." "Oh, too bad. I guess we won't get to step two." We got our drinks, found a place on the floor and eagerly awaited the band to start. And I'll have to say, they were pretty fucking good. But somewhere between the blood-pumping Red Bull, the bass and the lack of air, I needed to take a mini-break from the party, so I ventured towards the stairs only to find that there was a super chill after party one floor up. And so I changed venues with a flight of stairs; I went from smokey, crowded musicfest to blue lit, air-conditioned, leather sofa, hookah smoking chillstation. And it was exactly what I needed, but I eventually felt as though I should return to my friends and the music, so I descended from the more comfortable haven. As I was looking for my posse I found my Sexy Groucho Marx and found myself following him (I know, right) which was fine, because he eventually led me to my group. Shortly after, we decided to leave and as we were on my way out I spotted my AnonymousStranger trying to mac it with some ladyfellow. I patted him on the shoulder, said, "Have a goodnight." Bumped him with my hip and never looked back.