|
|
August 8, 1999.13 more hours to be 22.
I'm glad Xeney's back. This may come as a surprise to those of you who remember last fall, when the asinine politics of online journaling managed to whip up a jihad between me and her when I expressed dismay and frustration at her departure from the scene. Whatever. Nobody's accountable to me (except the Boy, I guess), but that doesn't mean that I can't feel negatively when they do something I don't happen to like. I guess Xeney thought I was asking for an apology. I should be so lucky.
I'm extremely content right now. Somehow, doing nothing in somebody else's home is far more pleasing than lazing around in my own. The thrill of a foreign keyboard, the strange and exotic CD player...life is good. Yesterday the Boy's grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in a slightly northern location. It was a lot of fun; I really like the Boy's family. Maybe that's because I have no baggage around them like I do around my own family. But I rather think it's because they're interesting, nice people who always seem happy to see me. (Even though the Boy's grandmother consistently calls me another name...but she's a cutie pie, so it's easily forgiven.) As with Q & Pixie's wedding, the celebration had a definite Scots tilt to it. Spike, the cousin who played for the wedding, is getting really good on the bagpipes, and her sister has a bunch of well-deserved medals for Highland dancing. In fact, Spike started learning pipes in order to play for her sister, and they performed together for the first time last night. It was cool, in a way utterly removed from any Lord of the Dance wanking. This wasn't the only performance part of the night, though it would've been enough to impress me. The Boy's grandmother is an accomplished pianist with musician friends and relatives; for awhile there was a piano-violin-trombone-trumpet-clarinet-bagpipes jam on. It was the kind of thing you itch to join in...I wished for a bass for the Boy and my brother with a pair of brushes, but knew that there was nothing I could play to keep up. I play 4 instruments badly and my voice is a take-it-or-leave-it alto; I've long given up good music as a path to artistic transcendence, but that doesn't mean that I don't feel a primitive urge to be a part of the spell. The party was held above a defrosted curling rink, which was a bit of a disappointment. The defrosted part, I mean. Q & I made a point of prowling about to see if we could get a few frames in during anticipated boring parts, but for some reason, they chose to defrost the rink in the summer. Makes no sense to me...summer's just the time you'd want an indoor curling rink. But unfortunately, I don't control the world. Yet. Did I mention the baby? There was a baby there, one who was only a few days old when PS & Q got hitched in September. As is my goal in all such situations, I managed to abscond her for a five-minute walkabout before rejoining the party (I'm not quite over myself, I suppose...I still need to be in a place without witnesses when I make foolish noises to babies). En route I wandered by some other relatives, who commented knowingly to the Boy that babies are a contagious disease. I thought that there was little point in telling them that I've been playing this game ever since I was old enough to be trusted with an infant...they're just being nice & making conversation after all. Not everyone wants to delve into my motivations...unlike you all, I suppose. Upon re-entering the party, I had the amusing task of handing her off to Q, who was being sorta-heckled by Scout about his baby handling potential. He came through fine, although she did catch sight of his face at one point and rear all the way back in comic baby surprise. It was so cool; a whole body wow! And all it took was the sight of Q's face to totally knock her off her ass. As I've said, a fun party but exhausting. Thus I was less than impressed with the Boy waking me up at quarter to 7 the next morning because he was bored...it was exactly as if Ceilidh had been present. Pixie swears that she heard me talking in my sleep at this point, but I'm pretty sure that I was awake & hissing, "go to sleep! Even Pixie & Q aren't awake this fucking early!" Note for later: I am very bad tempered when my sleep is disturbed. But on the upside, this amusing anecdote marks the first time attending a family function that the Boy & I have been allowed to sleep in the same room...albeit with Q & PS in the other bed. I guess they thought that the chances of sex were minimized by the arrangement. For all I know, they were right (I was asleep for seven hours, concerning which time I cannot comment on the activity in the room...) I haven't been on a co-ed sleepover in a long time. I find it's a better experience if I don't have to sleep on a hardwood floor with 7 friends. The motel experience was also exponentially improved by the proximity of the Captain Fantastic restaurant. For some reason, this name utterly delighted us, and we spent as much time as possible ordering "fantastic" entrees. Unfortunately, the fantastic experience didn't include a bodybuilder in blue tights slinging hash with greater than average style. More's the pity. "That peanut butter's been rubbed against your sister." The ride to & from Lindsay was absolutely brilliant...we had only one tape, and it was "Louder Than Bombs." The car filled with the undulating melodies of the Smiths, and we sat back & sang along softly. It was a beautiful teenangst moment, minus the angst. I felt sorry for Q, who hates Morrissey & got to listen to 3 non-consecutive hours of the man...not to mention the Boy's accompanying kazoo on the trip back. As for myself, the former Smiths hater, I've been singing "Half a person" since. (call me morbid, call me pale...)
Friday was also special, for totally different reasons. Unbeknownst to me, Q & PS arranged for a get-together dinner and a movie with Scott, Stacy, Dav & Isa (a very nice bird who lives downhall from Froghopper Nook with her new husband). It was a plan very disorienting & lovely in execution. Lovely because people who come out with delightful gifts to wish one happy birthday are more than welcome. Dizzying because I hadn't expected so much attention to be focussed on me this early in the week, and because I'm not used to someone anticipating my desires in this fashion. Whenever I have a gathering, I have to do the work on it myself, and I'm used to it. So I'm afraid I didn't blossom under the surprise...I had to get used to the idea first. Curse this suddenly occurring nerdy awkwardness! I thought I'd parted ways with it forever! I dunno. I don't know what to say. I was amused & surprised the whole night, especially during the large stag party cake discussion (during dinner the girls pledged to jump out of a cake if such a structure could be obtained). Once again, a case of not backing down in the face of a ridiculous dare. But more than that, I was perfectly serious. I helped friends invade the Varsity office in little dresses & masks in order to feed the Arts editor cheesecake...I don't have that many issues with jumping out of a cake along with friends...even if the croissants are used as proposed. Other than that, I bagged a bunch of pink accessories, swooned over Tom Waits & got drunk off of one martini. Sweeeet.
|
