It was brought to my attention this weekend by Marnie2000, that people just come up to me and start talking to me. Regardless of where I am, men and women just approach me and start talking.

This behavior doesn't even phase me, but when Marnie2000 pointed it out to me and commented on how this is bizarre behavior and then said, "it must be exhausting," I thought, you know what, it kinda is...

I don't know why people feel compelled to talk to me. I've been thinking about it all weekend. Maybe it's because I laugh a lot and make an effort to always smile with my eyes. Or, maybe they instinctively know I have a soft spot for people feeling broken. Maybe they think I look broken. I'd like to think it's because I look like I am always having a good time, because really, I am.

It wasn't always like this. I can't remember when it started, but here I am today, the girl that anyone can talk to. This may explain why everyone thinks I should have a talk show?

Perhaps I should explain the incidences that brought on this revelation:

On Saturday, Marnie 2000 came into town and around 1:30PM we headed down to the Cowgirl Hall of Fame for some daytime drinking. Margherita's to be specific, because they make a mean pitcher. Halfway into this pitcher and their famous frito pie, this guy comes over to our table and asks if everything is ok or if we need anything.

Without taking my eyes off the margherita I am pouring down my throat, I swallow and say everything is great thanks, and then I look up. He's kinda got this Fred Durst-meets-Papa Roach thing goin' on, and dangling from the dog chain around his neck is a sheriff's badge.

You can't put a sheriff's badge in front of me and not expect me to make a comment.

So, I smile and say, "Oh, I see they sent the sheriff over. I hope you aren't going to lock us up?"

And he responds, "Why not, it could be fun?" And winks.

I am literally choking on my margherita and he takes this as an invitation, and says, "You're lovely. I'm going to sit down with you," and takes a seat at our table.

Meet Blake, the waiter in training at CGHF, my new best friend. It doesn't take long to figure out that Blake is gay, and before long I'm helping him cruise guys on the corner of Hudson and W. 10th.

Two of my other friends join us and Blake proceeds to hang out with us for the next three hours, while we drink ourselves silly. Blake, is a treat. By the time we are ready to leave, Blake shakes each of the girls hands and then gives me a big hug. Abnormal emotional attachment, also a problem I face.

A few months ago, I had to "break up" with another gay man, explaining that I cannot be his best friend and that I must hang out with other straight people. This resulted in him faxing me a 9 page document consisting of head shots of Barbra Streisand, on which he wrote a note, as Barbra, ordering me to call him.

When this pissed me off, I told him he can't be faxing me at work. So he started leaving me messages, as JonBenet's mother, telling me that I'd always be "Beauty Queen" in her eyes.

At this point, I stopped answering my phone. And then I got a birthday card. From the Mahogheny collection (translation - for black people). The card was signed, Jennifer, Sean and X(the guy). As in Jennifer Lopez and Sean Puffy Combs.

In retrospect, I can see the humor in this, but at the time, the five phone calls a day were overwhelming. And demanding. And time consuming.

But I digress, back to Saturday. After literally making myself sick from over doing the margherita's we decide to try to walk off this gluttony and do some shopping. Marnie 2000 and I walk into a drugstore to buy smokes. I yawn. The teenaged kid with the baggy jeans behind the counter says, "I feel the same way." And then he goes into a diatribe about how hung over he is from the night before. I walk away and mumble, "I hear ya. Been there," and go to examine the display of "Eros" exotic lotion, meanwhile this kid is still going on about his life, talking to my back.

We walk outside and Marnie 2000 is like, "Why was that guy talking to you?" And I'm like,"New Yorkers are so friendly." And she's like, "NO, IT"S YOU. This could be Philadelphia, Chicago, Nebraska, people just talk to you."

Interesting.

Later in the day. On the way home. We stop into another bar. Partygirl needs another cocktail before she heads home to get ready...

An old man comes in. He orders a Jack Daniels, on the rocks. I am intrigued. Bartender grabs a scotch glass. Man stops him, says that's too small, directs the bartender to the pint glass. I am in love.

I am facing the man, talking to Marnie 2000, sipping my Sierra Nevada. Smoking. I steal glances and watch the man attach a Hunter Thompson-esque plastic filter to his cigarette. He turns to me and says, "Young lady, you smoke a lot?" I smile through the cloud of smoke exiting my mouth and say, "More than I should." He laughs.

He starts pulling out funny fake business cards and jokes and giving them to us. The bartender comes over to check them out. This ensues for our entire stay. During which time I find out that the man and his wife lived in this neighborhood for 25 years, before moving uptown. He recently had his cataracts operated on and can't really read yet. We finish our beers and say good-bye.

As we head home around 8PM, exhausted, to shower and change for the night out, I think about all of the different people I've met today. And it makes me smile.

Because it's just another day in the life of a Partygirl.

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