It actually started around 2:30 yesterday afternoon, when I met up with Brian and Ben. These are two guys I knew in middle school, at my old school--Ben was one of my best (well, only) friends in seventh grade. Brian goes here and lives in Bursley; Ben goes to a private parochial college in Illinois and is up here for the weekend. Anyway, I went with them to Meijer so that Brian could return some bottles, and then we went to Arby's for fatty goodness (it's amazing how good mozzerella sticks and curly fries can taste when one hasn't eaten them in yonks). We talked a lot about random and funny things, made a lot of lame "your mom" jokes, and sang along with Green Day in the car.
Our excursion finished, we went to Brian's room and ended up watching Cannibal: The Musical, which was fucking hilarious. The movie was over just in time for us to go to East Quad to meet up with She-Alex and Valerie and watch some improv theatre in the dorm's basement auditorium. The performance was by a troupe called Motoprism, and 'twas fabulous.
Then it was time to gather up the rest of the Mafia group and head back up north. The former activity took awhile; there were a lot of people to hunt down. As a bunch of us congregated in a hallway, some people walked through our midst. One guy seemed curious as to who or what we were; I told him that we were Mafia and asked if he would like to join us. He asked if he needed to kill anyone to be initiated. I said, "No, the killing comes later. Can I touch your hair?" (He had longish curly hair, almost a Ray-fro but not quite.) He consented, and I found that his hair was very soft, and I told him that he was now Mafia.
When the group was finally all assembled, we ran en masse to the bus stop. I felt as though I was in the scene that accompanies the opening credits of Velvet Goldmine, except it was night, and "Needles in the Camel's Eye" wasn't playing. On the bus, I struck up a conversation with the random guy I'd recruited (name: Joe). We talked about music (he likes a lot of good stuff), art (he said Van Gogh makes him cry), and our respective hometowns (he hates his as much as I hate mine), among other things. The conversation never really stopped. We stuck together throughout the Mafia activities, talking of this and that. Somebody initiated a Rocky Horror-themed game (to which my response, of course, was "ZOMGILOVEYOU,"), at which point I learned that Joe had gone to see the movie at the State Theatre this past Halloween dressed up as Dr. Frank-n-Furter (yes, I asked if he had pictures, and no, he doesn't). He also admitted to being attracted to Tim Curry, despite being straight.
After several games, he asked me if any food places on central were open. I named the Fleetwood, and he suggested that we go. We left in the middle of the game, for we had no interest, took the bus to central, got off on State Street, and traversed the long distance to the Fleetwood in the freezing-ass cold, huddling together as much as we could while still being able to walk. When we got there, it was crowded as hell and we had to wait for a table, but at least it was warm. When we were finally able to sit, we got water to heal our throats (our voices both were dying by this point) and breakfast food.
Fragment of conversation:
Him: "I want to go to Greece."
Me (completely mishearing and misinterpreting him because of the noise, staring at my hash browns): "Well, there's such a thing as good grease and bad grease...."
Him: "No, I meant the country."
When we finished, it was past the time when the buses stopped running, so Joe said I could crash in his room. We walked back to East Quad, stopping at the undergraduate library on the way to get warm. We walked up to the third floor, found a secluded hallway containing a table and chairs, sat down, and...started making out. When we left the library and continued on our way, I had a strange, ethereal feeling due to the combination of sleep deprivation and post-snog high.
Upon our arrival at the dorm, he suggested that we go down to the basement because it was the warmest part of the building. We ended up making out again on the floor of the laundry room, and again when we got up to his room. On his narrow loft bed. With his roommate sleeping in there. We contrived to enjoy ourselves anyway.
Then we slept, and in the morning, he walked me back to the bus stop.
Fragment of conversation (we'd been talking about Rocky Horror again):
Me: "I feel a certain affinity towards Columbia for some reason."
Him: "Columbia the country?"
Me: "No, Rocky Horror."
So...yes. We're planning on getting dinner together this evening.
It's all very odd. I'm not sure what my motive was in recruiting him in the hallway; it was probably just, "Hey, that guy looks interesting." We were talking about it at the Fleetwood, and he suggested that it was fate.