This post is a warning to guys who have ever complemented a girl on something they're wearing. Again, the names are changed to protect the conversants (except me). . .
Marie: "Eliza, I really like your belt!"
Eliza: "Thanks, Marie."
Trent smirks, remembering the time he complemented Eliza on the same belt. He couldn't recall if the complement had ended awkwardly as his attempts at complementing people (not just girls) usually did, or if she had actually appreciated the complement. In any case, he at least felt vindicated on his fashion sense which was typically, at best, dubious.
Trent: "I think it's a nice belt, too."
Marie: "Yeah, but you like belts."
Trent: "What?"
At this point, I decide to admit guilt, hoping to be ironic. You see, I knew that I had complemented Eliza on at least two of her belts and assumed Eliza remembered this, but Marie should have no clue abotu any previous belt incidents. Maybe she was just tyring to make a joke. I thought I would respond with a joke, but instead it blew up in my face.
Trent (jokingly): "How did you know I like belts?"
Marie: "I do have a roommate."
Trent is totally perplexed now. Had he been discussing belts with yet another person, a person who was actually Marie's roommate? Ohhhhhh yeahhhhh . . .
Trent: "Ohhh yeah. She told you about that?"
Marie: "Yeah she's really self-conscious about it now. She said you commented on her belt one day, and then the next day she didn't wear a belt and you commented on that too."
Awkwardly, the subject was changed. Trent learned not to discuss belts ever again with anyone.
Not Mariah Carey but Tori Amos. Not Joni Mitchell but Ani Difranco. Not Jane Austen but Charlotte Bronte. Not Margaret Mitchell but Kate Chopin. Not Jeanene Garafalo (sp?) but Kennedy. Not Pat Benetar but Liz Phair. Not Bachelorette but Joga. Actually, I'm not sure about that last one . . .
I think I have given up on the quest in any active sense, and have settled for a St. Pauli Girl poster given to me for free by the inhabitants of an Austin townhouse. The only problem will be finding room for it and my poster of the Milky Way. I don't think it's a problem that I don't like the brand of beer or the girl on the poster. I still find it oh so appropriate to display in home or office, though I'm not sure which yet.
A black not a pink high-collar sweater.
The titular subject will not be discussed as it is self-explanatory. I could describe how I had the Best Canada Day Ever. How the Matthew Effect was brought to light to explain the usurping of one scientist's accomplishments by another. I could describe how it all went down. How when there was no one left standing when the waves hit the shore, when the cell phones hit the ground. But if I told you about that, then there would be nothing left to say. So I'll say nothing.
