November 16, 2006:
The Last Spinster
I had this crazy idea I would try to go a whole week without complaining. Sadly, I only made it until I encountered another human person with ears. I think instead, I’ll see if I can go 24 hours. Starting….NOW! Oh, wait, no, starting in a little bit, because I just spent a freaking HOUR on the phone doing a telephone survey about a god-awful show I agreed to watch and give my feedback because I was feeling expansive and amused last week when they called to ask me. I should have known it was a bad idea when they stuck me in the 35 - 64 age group. The whole thing was just a vehicle for them asking me a zillion mind-numbingly similar questions about the commercials tucked everywhere into the excruciating program. On second thought, maybe I do belong in the 35 - 64 age group, since I’m clearly susceptible to the telephone ploys they use on seniors…. They even tried to get me to watch it AGAIN during the survey. And the poor telephone survey lady was so painfully slow and dim that I didn’t have the heart to just hang up. But maybe that was just a ploy as well.
Hm. I think not complaining will probably require a vow of silence/staying off the computer. Hm. Maybe I should give up now.
Last weekend, I went to Rebecca’s bachelorette party in Miami. It was very fun, highlighted with much drinking and eating and watching a Duran Duran photo shoot (followed by Rebecca propositioning/threatening John Taylor), but it was way too expensive for me. I’m more at the Dexter/CSI Miami lab tech bracket of Miaminess, whereas the other girls were pretty much at the Nip/Tuck bracket. (And who’s a big TV dork?) I think I was the most conservative, and Rebecca and Katie paid for the bulk of the cabana (yes, we were Cabana Ladies–but no one humped Patrick Swayze), and Suzanne treated me at the fancier dinner, but I still spent enough to buy a mid-range washer and dryer. Ouch. But considering Rebecca and Katie probably racked up a whole Showcase Showdown each, I got off easy.
Because I am dense, it didn’t even occur to me until I got home that maybe the weekend was really just supposed to be for the luxury crowd, and they just invited the poor relations to be polite. Which would actually make sense, since it’s nearly 6 months before the wedding, and since the original date they had planned was a month earlier, clearly not really a bachelorette party, but a general girly getaway. And that date was the same date as Yarn School. Oh. My. God. Holy Shit. Yikes, I’m thick. How embarrassing. Whoops.
Rebecca’s nuptials (which will be in Costa Rica, yay!) will mark my rise to power as the last remaining spinster in my crowd. (I think. Am I forgetting someone? My intimate crowd anyway.) So that’s kind of weird. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have really pegged myself as the last spinster standing. It’s not that I’m all fired up to get married; I’m all but legally married as it is, and I don’t need a judge and a ring to validate it. I’ve always been an advocate of “Nobody owes anybody anything” as a relationship mantra, and something about a ring is a little too much like an I.O.U. You should do the right thing in a relationship because you want to, not because you’re bound by law and the State of Texas and Jesus and the bible and all that.
That said, I’m more than a little bummed about missing out on all the presents and the big party and post-party vacation; and “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” sound so unimpressive once you’re in your 30s. But I don’t really want to marry until I’m financially stable, and who knows when that will be. And I’m afraid I’d become all preoccupied with losing weight and being a skinny bride and become a bitchy nightmare makeover victim.
Oh! Speaking of being preoccupied with losing weight (only in the abstract, of course; in practical terms, I’m utterly uninterested) and also being preoccupied with hypnotism–don’t you think I should get hypnotized to love exercise?! Can they do that? Trick me that I love exercising? That I’m all sporty? And would I have to edit all earlier references to my distaste for movement in order for it to take? And while they’re at it, how about making me think my tubby figure is plush and feminine instead of hail-damaged and porcine and grotesque? I just love that idea! In fact, I’m starting to think it might be worth the sleeper agent KGB brainwashing risk factor. So I get distracted with a few subconscious counter-missions. So what? At least I’ll be fit! At least I’ll look cute in jeans!
On the way home from Miami (which included a 13-hr vacation at the Miami airport, as I was flying standby), I got to see my folks for a few days, which was very fun. My mom and I ganged up on my dad, as usual. Actually, I only punish him when he’s being a meanie to my mom. I’m a daddy’s girl at heart, but when he’s being a turd, I have to take my mom’s side, because she’s the perpetual underdog. We went out for scrumpy Mexican food as a family unit, and the next day mom & I had a big Girly Day with a massage and Target and dollar store hog heaven, but the sequel to Girly Day (pedicure + more cheap shopping) was cancelled when her car started leaking coolant. My dad’s all fired up to learn how to cook now that they have the fancy schmantzy dream kitchen, but I don’t think a man who wipes down the stove and sink like an OCD victim can really have a cook’s heart.
And then I got another little Girly Day with Kelly Sue in KC, including Costco, Home Depot, and a ridiculously yummy lunch at, what’s it called? Mixx, maybe? Something like that. Stupid delicious. Plus I got to see Matt and Captain Applejack and Pablo and the new and improved alter-ego Supersweet Honeypie Ham (versus Evil Attack Ham, the old version). Then I got home to my sweetie and the school. Happy, happy!
