Material World

Is there a parallel Universe where performing repetitive Sun Salutation sequences at 7am will make my woozy boozy head stop backstroking through last night’s martinis? If so, I’ll be needing directions there, please.

*breathe*

Chaturanga? Are you kidding?!? Chat this…

*flips imaginary bird*

*exits yoga*

Luckily, I have a meeting of the minds at the local coffeehouse this morning, which coincidentally, is where I am now. I’m early; I always am. I don’t know if it’s because I need to stake out my space, or because I think being late is truly the rudest and most avoidable of all behaviors.

*casually looks around for points of interest*

It’s the usual morning crowd of singles with nowhere to be and no one to miss where they aren’t; the pompous politicos spouting Obama rhetoric loud enough to ensure everyone can hear how analytical and superior they are; the obligatory family of four trying to look hip instead of desperate – which makes them the saddest of  the table hoarders.

Ah, there’s my date.

Later. No material collected at the coffeehouse. Moving on…

Hopped up on 3 espressos, I’ve completed my weekly shopping and am now heading to meet another girlfriend for mani/pedis. The salon should prove to be a good source of material.

*looks around*

Yep. It’s suburban housewife day at the nail salon. Pretty sure my girlfriend and I are the only two here who have ever used Fuck as either an exclamation OR a verb.

*sips pinot grigio*

These women are forking over $45 for their 5-11year olds to get a pedicure. Apparently there’s no recession happening in beauty! Cripes, no show here, people. Let’s move along. Luckily there are still friends to meet up with for cocktails later, and interim places to gather material before the end of the day. Surely something will present itself.

Later...

This is one mighty dark bar. I’m okay with that; I like a dark bar with a low ceiling. I arrived very early in hopes of squeezing in a few minutes of observation time. I’m trying to look past the quintessential stereotypes automatically created by the location of this establishment. I wonder what I look like typing away and sipping my vodka in the corner. 

There is a full compliment of patrons at the rail. Small clusters of men holding bottles of beer who “casually” scan the room for eligible women, and laugh in that jocular way they do after someone just tells a bawdy joke. On the corner are four older, more weathered men who I would guess are either hiding from their wives, or have sat on those stools every Saturday night for 50 years discussing whatever it is that old men discuss over their short glasses of brown liquor. Maybe both.

*sips vodka, eats olive, calls that dinner*

When did it get so loud? Ah, it’s started to rain outside. Is that woman a hooker!!! Outstanding! Things like that never happen in this neighborhood. Okay... who else do we have here... The single but coupled contingency include the standard first date couple; last EVER date couple; and the “why am I on this date” varieties. There are tables of four paired-off; girls chatting with girls, boys, boys. Why does nothing besides the hooker strike me as interesting?

*turns attention to Those Girls*

Often overly made-up, sporting reality TV hair-dos and generally inappropriate attire, as the evening progresses they’re going to be a mess. I love Those Girls. They have no idea how they present. They are not bound by age or martial status. Those Girls run the gamut from One Night Stand Girl, to Desperately Seeking Marriage before the Eggs Dry Up Girl; Supportive Married Friend of Singles, to Loud-Mouthed Tired of Being Married So Pretending Not to Be for a Night. Those Girls are the same everywhere with the only real variation being in their regional sense or fashion… or lack thereof. Normally I could find some material to mock here, but tonight I just feel… bored with them.

It’s hard to believe that I’ve gone through an entire day with no real material to show for it. Sure, there are still a few hours left in the night for something of interest to spark a rant. Maybe a boy will do something stupid, or one of Those Girls will fall off her thigh-high platform boots and chain reaction of events will unfold. If not, I'm going to be forced to reevaluate my definition of interesting.

*waves to friends*

Guess I’m going to have to take this night into my own hands. Oh crap! That hooker is actually my neighbor!

*closes laptop*