Journal, Loch Ness Monster

12/22 Met Neil O'Neill at Brazilian artist Zoravia Bettoil’s Solstice party in San Francisco. No idea if he’s interested in me but we have a raucous time together. He made a fuss over my princess dress, sneaking surreptitious glances down the front. I snort, “Are you admiring my pearls?” Someone was taking a photo of me. He came over and put his foot on my chair, draped my arm over his thigh, under his kilt, holding onto my wrist. My face was flaming. He’s gregarious, charming, works the room with an ease I have to admire. I’m suspicious of making a conclusion that he likes me, but he seems to be as drawn to me as I am to him. He’s nice-looking, a bit short, has a paunch (like Waldo). I gave him a photo from Thanksgiving. He exclaimed “I’ve got to lose 20 pounds! I’ll use it as a dart board.” Self-effacing, self conscious, genuinely sweet. I made the mistake of reaching for his kilt button he held up for me to read. He slapped my hand, I’d fallen for the age-old gag, lifting a man’s kilts. I was so embarrassed. He said something about pulling the knife from its sheath, how cold it was to slide back in, and how the sporran hid a baby Loch Ness monster. I fairly shrieked with laughter. He observed, “Note the terror, combined with interest.” If he wasn’t so attentive to so many people, I’d say he’s definitely interested in me. “Hard to say,” Verona opines.