Human life.


There are far bigger problems than being a spinster or having a hangover or both, but that’s the reality I face this morning. Really, really excited about proofreading when the light is burning straight through my eyes to my brain. The following is a mess, possibly due to alcohol poisoning.

The wedding was lovely. A bit unconventional (ceremony outside, no procession, reception at a gastropub where the ceremonial beer on offer was 7.8%, but the food didn’t come out at all until most people in the cinema party were two drinks in at least), but it totally worked, in that there wasn’t the stuff I find difficult like receiving lines, nor four hours of speeches, and plates of rubbery chicken and lukewarm vegetables from a central kitchen. The bride and groom were happy to forgo dancing (they hadn’t planned on having any at the party, but a couple of kids decided to do it anyway), and had a room to themselves to get away from ‘making the rounds’, eat their dinner, and talk about their honeymoon for a little while.

When I was a little kid, I didn’t dream about my wedding much. I wonder if that’s more common than we’re led to believe; I don’t remember talking about it with friends, even. There was a board game we had (I cannot remember of the name of it, though, which is driving me bananas) where you drew cards to find out different aspects of your life (home, career, etc.) and one of the cars was a ’57 Chevy, so there was a brief time when I wanted one for my wedding, in lieu of a limo, but that’s about as far as I got with plotting nuptials. Typical me, not following through on things, even hypothetical ceremonies 20+ years in the future, from an early age.

But why worry about weddings before one has found a suitable spouse anyway. Also, I don’t feel like I’d need a wedding ceremony anyway; my family is so tiny that city hall would do. Or, y’know, I’d just do the long-term shackup.

Speaking of which, atypically, I tried to talk to strangers of the male persuasion a few times last night. I did not choose wisely. Maybe they were fine human beings, but I did not get that impression based on attitudes to Red Bull ingestion, vegetarianism, partying all night on a Sunday, and the phrase ‘fuck the police’. I was terribly amused by the deer-in-the-headlights looks I got when one guy heard that I was the bride’s boss, though. Maybe he thought I was a cougar. Nope. I just need to learn/remember how to talk people and, as this was the Last Great Social Occasion I have planned for the summer, this was the time. But no. I had to fight so hard not to be contrary for the sake of being contrarywanting to prove the person to be incorrect. Not ideal. Not my crowd, obviously, either.

Jackie has suggested that I might have to move to find my crowd/a suitable partner, ’cause Ottawa ain’t cutting it. She might be right.

But yeah, it wasn’t my best effort anyway and these experiments did not last long. I spent most of the afternoon getting afternoon drunk* with people from work, nearly all of whom left earlyish, like I did. (Seven hours of social stuff, even with alcohol is kinda beyond my limit these days). We had fun. Got some good gossip. Had a good veggie burger. Stumbled home (the reception was seven blocks from here, hurrah!). Drank more than a litre of water, felt sorry for myself, fell asleep, and woke up with a raging headache. Sometimes hoppy beer is just the fucking devil.

I feel better today, thanks to the spinster support network** on Facebook last night. Now my biggest worry is whether or not I really fucking broke my car yesterday driving three burly men (and one non-burly woman) to Rockcliffe Park. It is making some even more expensive-sounding noises now and I don’t have the money to fix it.

For now, though, this far-too-healthy smoothie and coffee had better kick in soon. Publication deadline is looming and I need to get my head on straight.

*It’s been a long time since I could say ‘It’s only 4pm? Uh-oh. How many is this? Four? Five? Oh, shit.’

**BTW, my aunt was in town last weekend and she confirmed that I’m not crazy: as a divorced/single lady, invitations to things drop the hell off. Single women are considered a threat to almost all marriages/partnerships, whether you are in your thirties or seventies. What the FUCK, society. We don’t have a partner, and now we don’t deserve to go to a bloody dinner party? As my aunt agreed, we wouldn’t want to be married to your husbands anyway! (Please note, my married friends are by and large actually lovely, but my greater circle of friend/acquaintance has dwindled over the years as everyone settled down and I did not. Have I mentioned that my cousin’s wife actually said ‘Yeah, I think if you don’t make the effort at college or right after, you won’t ever get married’. Thanks, jerk.)

2 thoughts on “Human life.

  1. Erica

    For what it’s worth, the awesome single men I know (who do exist, though not in Ottawa, of course) are a lot more socially inept/awkward/shy than you are. I still daydream about hooking you up with my old pal from my teenagerhood, an astrophysicist post-doc at Princeton who is equally smart and possibly equally enamored of British comedy and indie film as you are. But then, I fully believe that people should complement, not replicate, so maybe you’d be better off with someone who is your opposite.

    Also – Mark’s aunt got married (for the first time) in her early 60s. Just saying. There’s no time limit on love.

  2. Jackie

    Even when you’re partnered, the social opportunities drop right off as you age. You just don’t notice it as much.

    I never dreamed about my theoretical wedding either. In fact, if I tried (because of course you try, when everyone around you is talking about it), I couldn’t even conceive of it happening, never mind what it would look like. My dad was a contractor, and in the 70s and early 80s it was customary for him to get tons of gift baskets featuring bottles of hard liquor. My parents didn’t drink and always said they were saving it all for my wedding. Even as a kid, and through my teens, I laughed and told them they were going to have it forever.

    Then my brother hit his teen years. Between him getting into it and replacing it with water, or stealing it and trading it for drugs, he put a good dent in it. 🙂

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