Actually, going over that list, I already partake in an alarming number of those activities. There are no Barca loungers in Fort Awesome, and I don�t clip coupons, but I do clip interesting news articles. I have a big pile of them. And there�s no greater pleasure than a hot pot of Red Rose tea and my daily dose of Passions. And the other day, I found myself wandering around in the Dollar Store and suddenly, I was confronted by a crap-load of wool. Like, a wool wall. And I thought to myself, for no particular reason: �I should get some wool.� See, my Grandma Margaret is a genius with the knitting. And the crocheting. And the quilting. She made me a pair of fingerless gloves for Christmas with no pattern. Usually, she gets me some cheap perfume-y bath basket from Super Store. I hate those things. I mean, I like smelly bath shit as much as the next girl, but I�m a discriminating bather and once you�ve had Lush, you just don�t go back. So rather than force her to purchase me something that I will never, ever, use, I decided to ask her to knit up some fingerless gloves that would enable me to operate my camera outside in the winter. And she came through in fine fashion, with a pair of grey wool pauper gloves that I love dearly. I�d like to be able to do something like that. I�d love to know how to knit. It would give me something to do while clucking my tongue over Tabitha�s acts of eeeeeville.
So you can see that I have the interests of an eighty-year-old woman. I like to bake pies and pet my cat too. The Old Lady evidence is piling up. Just this evening, I was watching TV with my folks, arguing my piece for the Blair Witch Project, which my mom has never seen. But my dad had already seen it, so we settled on The Antiques Road Show. After witnessing a boy scout memorabilia collection and an old mechanical car toy, I realized something: I had seen this episode before. Not once, but twice! My GOD! OLD! Soooo OLD! I�ve tried to watch the cool-kid shows. I understand the snark potential in Joe Millionaire and the Bachelor, I really do! But it�s just that there�s usually something better on. I mean, it�s a short flip from FOX on 36 to Animal Planet on 35. I�d rather watch actual monkeys on Animal Planet than the supposedly teenage apes on American Idol.
So when my friend Lor called on Wednesday night to invite me to the bar, I had to bite back my natural response of �But it�s community bingo night on teevee!� Instead, I reached for the first excuse that came to my head.
�I hate people, Lor.�
Okay, it�s not an excuse, it�s the bald faced truth. If I could just exist on my own terms, only talking to people I want to talk to when I want to talk to them, things would be perfect. But I�m forced to interact with people whenever I venture out. And so, to make things easier, I stay in.
Going to University for four years with a close-knit group of like minded people following similar career paths who don�t run away at the prospect of an argument with an opinionated girl (too opinionated, but they don�t tell you that) is enough to spoil a person. Mingling with the unwashed rabble is pure, unbridled torture for me. But Lor managed to cajole me into meeting her at Dillinger�s, the hang-out of choice for townies. Decorated in a roaring 20s style, with the images of famous gangsters imprinted in the frosted glass separating the bar area from the VLT�s area, with a neon form of the namesake Gangster himself illuminating the window, it would be classy. But the ultra-cheesy CanCon rock blaring from the tiny speakers sort of kills the mood. But whatever. I so didn�t want to see anybody I knew from high school and have to explain my woe-is-me tale about being laid off and not doing anything purposeful in my life right now and bleeh-blah-blah-cakes as they nod their stupid, gainfully employed heads in faux sympathy. But people generally kept to themselves.
I was also afraid to meet Lor�s boyfriend. Usually, when I meet the boyfriends of my highschool friends I, um, hate them. Too often they�re fat, brutish boors who crush beer cans on their foreheads and respond to light teasing about anything with �So?� or �That�s gay.� Usually within five minutes I�m thinking to myself �Jeebus, she could do better than this oaf.� Oh, but thank God! Lor�s boyfriend Blair had a sense of humour. And the fact that he was already pissed didn�t hurt. He bought us round after round of exotic drop shots. Gladiators, Dr. Peppers, shot rocks, and Irish Car Bombs. Thank God I can hold my alcohol. And thank God my house is only a few blocks away from Dillinger�s. We talked of his deep and abiding love for the music of one Britney Spears (Lor told him I reviewed CDs and he asked my honest opinion and I said I hated her less than Avril Lavigne, and that really, against my better judgement, I kinda don�t mind some of her songs.) He, being quite a bit older than us, regaled us with tales of old bar regulars after we witnessed a spirited argument about Canadian football vs. British soccer between a British guy I went to high school with and the old, drunken man wearing a soiled 1989 Grey Cup championship shirt. I won�t repeat Blair�s story because it involved incontinence. And I was delighted to find that we had Trading Spaces in common, so we also talked about Crazy Hildi and what designer we�d have do our house. (I�d want Vern to be decorating my place, but I�d totally dig working with Doug, whom I think is a snarky delight.)
So anyway, I went out and I had fun and came home at around 11:30 feeling tired and old and reeking of smoke and despite the good company and the alcohol, I kind of wished I had stayed in with a good book and a cup of tea.
Geek Link of the Week: Stupid Movie Physics You know how in Armageddon a Texas-sized asteroid is headed toward Earth at 22,000 mph and the only way to save humanity is to land a ragtag oil rig crew on the asteroid�s surface, drill an 800 foot-deep hole, plant a nuclear bomb on a convenient fault line, and split it in half, all of which has to be done in a mere 18 days? Yeah. These guys say it can�t be done. And you think I�m picky!
Reading: The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. It picked right up and damned if I�m not blazing through it. Very �Old Man and the Sea-ish.�
Re-Reading: Jacob Two-Two meets the Hooded Fang by Mordechai Richler. I forgot what a good children�s book this is!
Watching: What Not to Wear. I wouldn�t mind a $5,000 shopping make over, but damn! Those people are ruthless! And Wayne? Kurt Cobain called me from the grave. He wants his plaid back and he says to get your hair cut, you damn, dirty, hippie.
Music: Sarah Harmer You Were Here.
Pssstttt....Geek Chic just turned over its 50th entry and I didn't even know it! Wow! It feels like only yesterday I was slamming my car into a deer and working at a job that I hated in a city that sucked my soul out through my nose! This is perhaps the most fun I've had writing, so I just wanted to thank everybody for their e-mails and guestbook entries and spelling corrections. Really, this is such a surprise and...oh! I promised my diary I wouldn't cry! Damn it! I've just got this small list of people I have to thank or else I'll forget...No. Not really.
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