December 15, 1999.

Like the nerd I am, I rushed out this afternoon to get the third issue of Gloomcookie on its release date. Upon reaching the store, I discovered that I'm not as much of a nerd as all that. See, I tend to get my comics at this large warehouse-y store in the industrial area of town. Every time I go there, I try to make small talk with whichever guy is behind the counter. I'm as personable as it's possible for me to be without alcohol. And I always get nothing in return.

I mean, they ring up my purchases competently enough, but they successfully resist all of my attempts to determine if they have social skills. The Boy says it's my gender. Women are still strange aliens in most comic book stores (although the guys at the Beguiling are fairly evolved. At least they don't look freshly tasered when I ask them a question other than "how much?") And I physically don't fit in with most comic book characters...so I guess I don't register on the internal radar. Usually it amuses me, but sometimes I have the urge to scream: "I'm marrying a geek who was just like you! You don't have to be so socially inept to effectively role play! Loosen up, moron!"

But I never do. I'm just happy to be able to get my shrink wrapped Sandman volumes in a convenient location.

Thanks to those who came to my pity party yesterday. It does make me feel better to know that I don't need a pretty award graphic to have sensitive, intelligent and devastatingly sexy readers.

And if you didn't write, you're still invited to my birthday party. Just don't let your mom buy me a toothbrush.

Looked at an invitation catalogue tonight; mostly to get ideas. I fell in love with a couple samples against my will: they've got this translucent flowery paper, see, for 300 bucks. But I'm pretty committed to making them myself. Not because I don't want to spend the money - well, I don't, but that's not the reason. The reason is that I'd like to use paper from the Japanese Paper Place, which is a whole other dimension of sumptuousness. I want people to pull the invitations out, feel the paper & just sigh.

Helped babysit with my mom this afternoon. One of her nursing friends was at her grandmother's funeral, so we were watching the youngest until the reception. Kevin is a very fussy baby. He cries & cries & cries & spits up & cries & stares at the ceiling & refuses to sleep & cries & spits up some more & then falls asleep just when you've given up hope. In this case, he finally fell asleep five minutes before his family walked in the door.

It was a funny sort of experience. I've been waiting to see this little baby for a long time, but I didn't have that much fun. I mean, a baby is a guaranteed good time for me no matter what, but I felt pretty quiet inside the whole afternoon. I didn't especially want to have a baby right away, which is my standard reaction. Instead I just rocked him & tried the "Om" chant & did a German dance when he was in his swingamajig and absolutely nothing else would make him stop crying. Although we never did find any ABBA. (Hey, it sooths babies. I don't know why either.)

Some heated-over bits of merriment from last Saturday night:

The Boy & I were naturally the centre of some attention. After we'd gone over every wedding plan already set, the talk sprinted away to other matters (like the creation of a one-act play from English phrases in a Chinese-English phrase book.) But the tone for the evening was set, and the Boy and I went out of our way to put the mush back into engagement. It was when we were simultaneously licking a frosting beater and giggling that Dirk decided to take matters into his own hands. This involved blowing cigarette smoke into my face...until I sat up & girlie slapped his ass back into the stone age. Well, off the mattress, at least.

Another focus of talk was the fact that St. Jack had walked into Tea on Friday to find two complete strangers discussing St. Pete's sex life. I'm told that Pete's sister called him from Montreal ("so, I hear you got laid") two days after the...er...event in question. My news never travels that fast...even the bad news.

Finally, one of the things I really miss in my current suburban situation is witty and cruel rejoinders. The great thing about long-time friends is they know just where to insult you to get the most rueful laughter from the house.

"Oh please, Dirk. Tell us about your trip to the brewery."

- paris, deadpan, following a request from saint stephen for a story we just heard

"Tell us on the doll where Paris touched you."

- dirk commenting on my friends' plan to round up teenage escorts for our wedding