Third time's a charm.

So, last night, I returned to the Joe's on Juniper trivia team, and, though we had changed our name, the results of the game were inevitably the same.

We won. I've been with the team on three occasions at this point, and we've won on all three occasions.

(The thing is, I think, that I know some answers in categories that other members would doubt. And the things I don't know are stuff that other members of my team are sure of. Stating this aloud, though, it sounds obvious, not profound.)

So, last night, before I had too many glasses of cider, I was treated to jokes about how selfish it was of me to abandon the team to go to London last week.

And there were LOTS of jokes about my cosmetic Shoreditch-hip glasses - which Ian the Teen dubbed "toupee glasses" when he found out they "didn't do anything."

The funny thing about last night was that, wearing the glasses, people whom I'd met before didn't know who I was.

I walked past one of my teammates, whom I met before, and I looked him straight in the eye. But he said later that I only looked vaguely familiar to him.

Another teammate, Jim the Smart One, talked to me for three minutes, answering questions about how the team did last week, before I said he was looking at me like he didn't know who I was.

He admitted he didn't, and I took off my glasses.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

That's when I started drinking the cider.

(Miss Gibson would - and did - say that cider is what Americans drink when they want to come off as trendy and European. I just so happen to like cider.)

And, while I was drinking the cider later in the evening, one older, gay member - who was joking about with me - put salt in my last glass everytime I got up. And I didn't notice. Until there was lots and lots of salt in it, apparently.

"If you're trying to prepare me to taste something salty, it's not going to work," I told him, in my drunken, mistaken attempt at subtle flirtation. (Yes, when I'm drinking, THAT'S subtle. Sad, huh?)

My friend Jonathan the bartender, who doesn't work there but works at Burkhart's, was there, too. But he was at a different table. And, upon finding out from my team member that I was ogling people who walked past the table, he came over and told me to have some scotch. And I told him to stop it, for the Scotch Test - wherein scotch leads me to kiss someone - only works at Burkhart's.

At one point, our waiter Jeff - the one who told me that I was scowling at him a couple weeks ago - kept coming over and talking to me. And touching me on the shoulder. And stealing glances and smiling at me.

"Is he flirting, or is he just typical waiter-flirting?" I asked the guy who put salt in my cider.

Well, basically, I concluded Jeff was kinda flirting with me, right around the time that I decided that Jeff's dumb blonde routine was too RAIN MAN for an adult to find overwhelmingly attractive.

"Does he really think that's cute?" I asked the guy who put salt in my cider.

The table kinda mocked me last night. And I kinda deserved it because I sorta had too much to drink. But I'm invited back next week.

And I'm having tea.