Realizing that the bulk of my writing lately has concerned nothing more notable than my baking endeavors, the giant bug in my basement, and the mutant rhubarb in my backyard, I tried to compile a list of things I could perhaps tell you about tonight. Here is what I came up with.
- Wine on tap
- Facebook - lied to my mother
- Books & Bars sex book
- 64 degrees in house
- Flickr freaks
- [Name] (redacted)
- Wine on tap - For last weekend's camping trip, I decided to forgo the bulky, inconvenient glass bottles and bring a tasty and economical Black Box instead. For little more than the price of two bottles, I got four bottles' worth of wine, which I figured I would share with fellow campers and have little if any left over. As it turned out, my friend Amy had the same idea, and between her box of wine and the several bottles that other campers offered up on the picnic table at our camp site, I came home with my entire box minus only maybe a glass or three. I have often thought that boxed wine might be a good idea to keep on hand, that if I could pour just one glass from an air-tight vessel that stays fresh for a month or more, I could enjoy wine with dinner whenever the mood strikes, without being tempted to finish the whole bottle in a night or two to avoid waste. As it turns out, wine on tap is not the best idea after all. In fact, it makes it entirely too easy to say, "Hmm. A little wine might be nice right now. Oh look! I have some RIGHT HERE! I don't even have to open a new bottle!" And since the fill level is all neatly tucked away in a bag behind the cover of a cardboard box, I don't have a helpful visual aid to remind me when one glass has somehow become three. Note to self: Wine on tap = NOT such a brilliant plan after all, unless my brilliant plans also include becoming a full-fledged (rather than merely occasional, borderline) wino. (Secondary note: They do not.) Cue the "The more you know" jingle; that's one to grow on, folks.
- Facebook - lied to my mother - My mother has been on Facebook for over two weeks now, and still her only friends are my two sisters and me, which only serves to prove my theory that she joined for no other reason than to
try to become closer tospy on the three of us. Today is her birthday, so I called her to say hello, and in the course of conversation, she said, "What I don't understand is, why, when I look at [younger sister]'s page, can I see the things her friends posted and the things she's posted, too, but when I look at your page or [older sister]'s, I can see only things your friends posted?" There are several correct answers to this question. "Because I have cruelly blocked you from viewing my status updates and links because I don't want you to know too much about my life or to leave mom-ish comments on my page" is one. "Because you weren't supposed to be smart enough to figure out that you saw anything different on my page vs. anyone else's" is another. Instead, I just said, "I don't know; different settings?" and then quickly changed the subject. Yes, I lied to my mother. On her birthday, no less. I'm sure it's not the first nor the last time Facebook will make me do something I'm not entirely proud of. Let's just move on, shall we?
- Books & Bars sex book - I have been meaning to check out the Twin Cities' most irreverent book club for over a year now, and last month, Carrie and I finally went. The book was the one that's been sitting in my sidebar for well over a month now, because despite my being a goody-goody, homework-is-not-optional girl all through my schooling, apparently I have few qualms about showing up for a book discussion only halfway through the assigned reading as an adult. I'm not doing much better this month, as the next event is on Tuesday and I still have well over a hundred pages of Bonk to read yet. I don't read a lot of nonfiction, and Bonk is a particularly unique brand of nonfiction. As I'm reading, I can't help thinking perhaps it's a strange form of erotica that works only on nerds. A science book wouldn't usually remind me that I'm not, shall we say, getting any, and yet last night, before I shut down my computer and went off to bed, I sent Carrie an email to say I was "off to read about sex for a bit and then go to sleep without any, as per usual." I'm more than a little curious to see what sort of discussion this book, um, arouses on Tuesday night. (Come on, I had to go there, right? Cheap joke or not, surely you understand.)
- Digging - Because every project I ever initiate inevitably takes at least three times longer than I originally estimated, I am still digging up the five feet or so of lawn in front of my house in preparation for my efforts to plant something more equity-enhancing there. I really don't have anything to say about this; frankly, it was on this list only because when I am fixated on a project, it seems entirely more important and interesting in my head than it is to anyone else. Moving on.
- 64 degrees in house - I am typing away in my hobo gloves again tonight, because although it is June, it is currently 64 degrees in my house, and because it is June, I refuse to turn on my furnace to do anything about that. I was irked about this for much of the day, until I remembered that I actually much prefer 64 degrees in my house to 94 degrees in here. Unseasonably cold days in so-called summer aren't all bad, I suppose.
- Flickr freaks - I've grown accustomed enough to living much of my life online that I don't typically think too much anymore about posting my personal photos to Flickr and leaving them public for the world to see. If strangers really want to view my boring, poorly executed photo sets from trips with my friends, so be it. But when a grown man with a mud-play obsession marks photos of my friend's daughter playing in a mudpit at a state park as a favorite, should I be a bit skeeved out? And when the admin for a "socks and sandals lovers" group asks that I add my "I rock the socks and sandals" pic to their pool, do I oblige and add the photo, or do I write back to explain that I do not, in fact, lack all fashion sense, and I photographed my feet in socks and sandals only because it was too cold that morning for sandals alone but I was too lazy to return to the tent for proper shoes before we commenced a post-breakfast walk? As with so many situations in my life, I have resolved both of these dilemmas by simply ignoring them. I have to say, though: it takes all kinds. Weirdos abound on the Internet, and Flickr is not exempt.
- [Name] (redacted) - The montage reel continues, but it's sped up to make a loop almost up to the present. At an event Thursday night, I ran into yet another one-date boy. This time, it was the guy I deemed my best date of '08. I actually sort of expected to run into that one again eventually. As I keep saying, the city is shrinking, and he and I have enough in common that we were bound to cross paths again. I did not expect to see him that night, though, and was inexplicably thrown enough that our polite, perfunctory conversation was definitely far from my best work, banter-wise. People, I feel I've lost my mojo. Or rather, what mojo I at one point had. I am reportedly bright and charming and by some accounts even hilarious when I am not trying. When it actually matters, I become that mousy girl from my graduating class who said probably fewer than 30 words all through high school. (Interesting sidenote: That girl is married. The world is a strange, baffling place sometimes.) I've been wondering if perhaps I should contact The Traffic Engineer again. Maybe another dinner with him would press the Reset button and restore my shaken confidence somehow. That's not particularly fair to The Traffic Engineer, however, and actually doesn't sound like a particularly good time to me, either. So instead I'll just hope, as seems likely, that all things are cyclical, and things will align and be set right again eventually. That or it's time to admit defeat and resign myself to a life of plucky hermitude--a life I actually embrace more often than may be normal.