Caught tongue-tied in celebrity

After watching Burn the Floor at the Post Street Theater (tickets that Marina won yay!), we decided to grab a quick dinner at nearby Thai Stick. After a sticky situation involving ordering (the server said several things on the menu were unavailable), we were set. I commented how nearly everything was unlike the food I had in Thailand.

As i let my haughty arrogance of a well-traveled tourist played, I spotted a man and a woman sat at a table nearby. The woman had hair, brightly dyed red. Heavy makeup. The color matched one of the dancers…that we could barely see from our Mezzanine seats. I paused for a moment. Marina’s back was to them and I was nearly facing them.

“Is it…” I started.

“Well, she looks like a performer…” Marina responded.

Then a few moments later, the man and woman waved happily through the window. Apparently several diners were joining them. I recognized the newcomer’s hair. It was Jiselle—the San Francisco native. From my viewpoint where I was sitting, she was the shorter dancer, the one that seemed to have hyper energy, the one that had dark black tight curled hair.

The conversation at our table stopped as I stared. They…were…eating. Stuff. They…were…like…human.

I wanted to slap myself. If I was a bigger tweeter, I would tweet this…perhaps in trying to get people’s opinions. But this was silly. They were just the dancers in a show I had just seen. They noticed that I was staring so I tried to look away. And never looked back.

When Marina and I finished paying the check, I decided that I didn’t want to be a fangirl and we walked out of the restaurant without so much a word.

The moment I walked outside…I felt guilty. I should have said something, but the moment passed. Chris admonished me later for being a wimp.

Walking back to my apartment after the bus dropped me off at 11 pm, the street was dark . Walking past a busy bar, a middle-aged man from a group idly chatting on the sidewalk glanced a me. I kept looking forward, not stopping.

“How is your evening?” he asked. “Do you…need any company?”

Internally, I winced, knowing it was the semi-well-dressed-female-walking-alone-late-at-night thing. I murmured “No.”

About a block away, I hesitantly turned around to see if anybody was following me. Nobody on the street. No sound, except the muffled laughter and chatter from the bar. As I turned the corner, I maneuvered through the crowd outside of a popular restaurant next to my apartment. Then opened the door, slamming the external gate closed.

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