Monday, April 2, 2007

Dork Like Me

3 Days to Harlot

My weekend?

Let's see...

I went to a (pretty bad) music festival at the very local Oriental Theatre Friday night with Kelley.

In all fairness, we only stayed for the first band and the music was just irritating. Also? Nobody who gripped a mic that night had the slightest stage presence or poise or any idea what they wanted to say. And they all thought they were funny. Don't you hate it when people think they're funny? (*ahem*)

It was like a high school talent show, only more so.

Fortunately, they had some cute purses and jewelry, so the music was forgiven. I met the Vamp Bags girls, Deanna and Tara (Kelley already knew them. Kelley is SO *connected*). Deanna and Tara? My kinda chicks.

There's going to be a full-on accessories festival at that same Oriental Theatre next Saturday.** Kelley and I are going, of course. I may pay loads of money for a cute purse before the onset of the next work week.

[SUMMARY: Cute purses are a force for good in the world.]

After giving up on the music portion of the evening, we headed, of course, for Favourite Bar. The Boy was there, talking to Male Lady and Sex Toy.

[SUMMARY: My world is getting wayyyyy too small.]

Kelley and I took our drinks out on the patio, where it was cold, but relatively Male Lady free.

The Boy doesn't quite get the Kelley not speaking to him thing. In his *hammered* state Friday, he kept talking to us like nothing was up, which caused Kelley to get madder and meaner. I get it. If you tell someone you're mad at them and they kind of pat you on the head and say, "So what do you want for dinner?" it's condescending. Discounting.

On the other hand, I really think The Boy just doesn't get it.

He's not trying to piss Kelley off further. He doesn't want her to be mad at him. He just doesn't get it.

He's all bewildered and oblivious because he can't quite grasp how frustrated Kelley is with his lack of balls. He compounded it by not picking up the little signs (like "I've had it. I want a break. Have a nice summer."), then adding shit to shinola (yes, I know that doesn't make much sense, but if you haven't figured out by now that I'm an exercise in style over substance, you're missing a very important aspect of my personality) by ignoring the very direct direction, "Please get out of my face. Go back inside. Leave me alone. No, I won't move over for you. No, you can't sit down here. Go back inside!"

You know how a rattlesnake rattles to warn you you're about to get bit?

From there, it devolved into a vitriolic spew in which the Male Lady became a wildebeest (no news to y'all, that's a gnu), the wildebeest was The Boy's little girlfriend, The Boy was getting his dick sucked by a wildebeest...

[SUMMARY: Stupid boy.]

Is it too bad to feel sorry for The Boy? Just a little? I think Kelley's more hurt than mad, but you know strong chicas who think they don't cry over boys can't just be hurt; we gotta front bitchy to maintain our reputations (my sister-in-law would laugh over my use of the word "we." She watched me launch a veritable snotfest one night over The Boy, but you know what I mean).

I spent all weekend fighting the urge to call that little red, blinking beacon of a number stored in my cell phone since the Passive Aggressive Phone Act of 2007.** Part of me wants to hip him to the idea that he can't just pretend nothing's wrong and wait for it to blow over, he's gotta do something ACTIVE. He's gotta FIX it.

Sheesh. I still miss The Boy. I'm getting overer him all the time, but...

[SUMMARY: Stupid girl.]

Sex Toy? A little flirty Friday night, but backed off. Could be punishment for the turn-down on Thursday.

Kelley and I went shopping, wine tasting, dinner, then Favourite Bar Saturday. Sex Toy was very cuddly and I got a nice back rub and some purr-worthy fondling out of the deal, but Kelley and I left and were home in bed by 9:00 (not together, mind you. We were being good girls, not porn stars), so... I may have to rename Sex Toy "On Hold."

Still looking for the Jason Hot Tamale hookup.

[SUMMARY: Stupid sexless girl.]

Remember how I left my camera at Book Club? Here are the pictures I took. I know they're old news, but I'm projecting. See, I like blogs that have pictures so I can put faces and places to the words I'm reading. Therefore, I think *you* want photos so you can see who and where and what I'm talking about.

[SUMMARY: I think you want to be me. Allow me my delusions, please. It was a partly stressful, wholly sexless weekend.]

Anyway, when there are babies on the way for Book Club members, we have a potluck dinner book shower, wherein everybody brings a kids' book for the mother-to-be. I like the tradition. It's clever and useful and fun. This was Tani's book baby shower:

Tani and Annie, of Pomegranate Martini Shindig fame

Mira, who thinks I'm a complete idiot, and my sister-in-law, who probably doesn't

Ashlee, who's cool and Julie, who's cool -- and getting married in August

I had a picture of Jeanne with Katy-did, but I was apparently caught in a localised earthquake and the camera shake was fierce.

On a brighter, knittier note (and with better pictures), I cast on for my first 5280 sock (and learned how to add buttons to my website! I think! We'll see when I try to add the 5280 button to the side bar!).

Knitters: I used the COOLEST cast-on ever. Check out the Magic Cast-On from Judy Becker on Seamless, no grafting, cool, cool, cool, *MAGIC.* Did I mention no grafting?**

Of course, I just got the hang of the Kitchener's stitch, which puts it in that category with Stupid Blanket and ex-boyfriends as something I got in touch with just in time to miss it.

My First 5280 Sock, by Fisher Price (a/k/a "Sparkle Socks")

Another April 1 happening: I joined (because I'm such a joiner) Run-a-Go-Go. I consistently walk a mile a day, easy, so I'm setting my goal at 200 miles between April 1 and July 4. I have a cool (when I say "cool," consider the source) ticker with bats that I'll post when I actually have something visible ticked on it.

You want to be me in all my blogdork, joiner, bandwagon glory.

Dontcha wish your blogdork was a dork like me?
Dontcha wish your blogdork was a joiner like me?


[SUMMARY: Even when I get in touch with my inner Pussycat Doll, she's a complete frickin' dork.]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Oh! And DISCO NIGHT on Friday. Kelley called last night and said she isn't planning on going out Friday, but can probably be persuaded. I must remind her of Disco Night.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): That would be The Boy's number. The one he told Kelley to give me. Just in case I outclevered myself on that reference.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): How much more a dork can one be than to get one's panties all moist over a cast-on? None. None more dork.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Up until some time last week, I thought that song was called something like "Hot Like Me." Forgive me, Robin Antin, I know not what the hell I do.

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