june 4 i'm a bitch, I'm a mother, I'm a child, I'm a lover Actually, I loathe that song, but it fits today. See?
Yeah, it's a shallow victory -- being "accepted" into an Internet community, but I was unreasonably pleased. Read their pages long enough and see how they rake into the ones who don't get accepted, and you'll sense the nervousness. I like most of the attitude over there, and I appreciate that the site exists. (And it's free!) Neat place; I've been reading for some time. Good friend Lynda got accepted first -- she applied first, of course -- so she's a more adventuresome bitch than I.
Speaking of Lynda, she's got an interview callback to be a contestant on Jeopardy. How cool is that? Meanwhile, I've discovered a great new site (far more exciting in terms of journal entries than this one), run by a lass named Shelly. Visit it here and be prepared for some bigtime reading. She's got a fun style and far more tits than I do -- she's put many pictures of her family and home and everything up there, then documented some of her joys and sorrows in a very interesting way.
Went to Jenny and Gerry's U.S. wedding reception on Saturday, and it went pretty much as I expected (I almost bowed out, being a coward, but decided the socialization was a good thing for me). Somehow I was overdressed. I had been instructed to wear a "nice sundress," but since there was no sun and no real heat, I settled on a nice skirt/shirt combo. Turns out I could have come in jeans. At least Jenny (recovering from a recent appendix operation, poor chickie) was dressed a little upscale; everyone else except for a few of the parents came in classic (as mom would put it) "shlub" style.
It was a nice gathering -- about 50 or so friends and relatives who couldn't make the wedding assembled under a tent in another friend's backyard; another friend who just started his catering business provided lots of fab pasta and eggplant; the owner of the house also served as DJ. As to the guests, to a man (and woman) they were married with screaming children running about. The "adults," (and those quotes are necessary) relatively near my own age were so wrapped up in their own incessant discussion about television and funny commercials and movies (need I mention all mainstream and essentially boring as shit) that it got very tiring very quickly. One woman who I've met two or three times before completely walked around me to greet everyone else and never said hello. (To her credit, she did act surprised to see me later and greeted me kindly, proving she was just out of it, instead of plain rude.) Lack of companionship (hey, I couldn't tag after Jenny or Gerry all day) plus being surrounded by general idiocy (I don't mind silly fun, but let's try and at least be inclusive) and I got into a Funk. Not a Big Funk (TM), which can last hours, but a Funk. Sat back and looked mopey for a while. Talk about childishness. But it's like biting down when your teeth hurt. It makes them hurt more, yet is also oddly pleasurable. In any case, shit like this happens a lot in my life. Unlike in the movies, the cute guy doesn't follow you out into the garden when you "just can't take it any more" and you finally discover you've got so much in common. As it was, there were no cute guys not otherwise occupied at this thing, so that wasn't likely to happen anyway.
Fortunately, there was beer. And wine coolers. Two of each later, and I was off in my own world, dancing to Dexy's Midnight Runners and Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, sometimes with people nearby, sometimes not. Fuck 'em. Idiots. Whilst in the midst of a particularly frank/drunk moment, dancing in a group with Jenny nearby I noted, "Never ceases to amaze me -- nobody ever fucking asks me to dance at these things!"
"Well," she offered back optimistically, "you could ask them to dance." Later, though I wasn't all that into it, her brother was looking for wild child Jen (not to be confused with Jenny) to do the dance thang with. He refers to her by her last name. He wondered where she was; a song was coming on that he wanted to dance to. "Well, if she isn't to be found, I'll volunteer," I volunteered. "Ah, she knows all my moves," he said halfheartedly. Sorry, Jenny, it just doesn't happen. I'm not a troll, and I think I'm generally fun to be around (barring Funkdom), but clearly the world is on another plane than me. I read a book when I was younger about a guy who slowly started to disappear; he'd go into a restaurant and nobody would see him until he called out, or something like that. It got worse. I feel like that sometimes. Not very heartlessly bitchy of me, but I sense I sneaked under the door on that one.
