The Two Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Post: The One Where I Came Perilously Close to Being Social and Suicidal in the Span of Three Days… (part three)

Hello, everyone — this is the third installment of my whirlwind weekend report.  Here and here is where you can catch up.  Onward!

I am going to skip over the drudgery that is work because frankly, nothing really noteworthy happens there.

Saturday, however, is  a whirlwind of papers and soft drinks.  Keep in mind that I normally don’t get up before 11:00 AM (I work late nights).  In order to get to the first writer’s group that meets on the third Saturday of every month, I have to get up at 7:00…after going to bed at the earliest of 2:00 AM.  So, there is one Saturday of the month where I am a little sleep deprived.  With this new group, they get together at the civilized time of 10:00, which means I can get an additional hour of half of sleep.  Yes, I am still going to be a little addled, but not that bad if I get to bed at 2:00 AM, wake up at 8:00 to get out the door at 9:00.  A couple of cups of coffee From Dunkin Donuts and I can relax a little in my car.  This group is meeting at a library and is made up of some members from an older group that I still go to on the third Saturday of every month.  It’s 9:45 after I finish my breakfast of coffee and egg…like material with cheesy substance and ham…I hope.  Still a few minutes left after the meal and thanks to the coffee I don’t feel sleepy.

I amble my way up to the library a few minutes before 10:00 and I am met by one of the members who invited me to join the group.  You can infer that I am not really a social person by the title of the post.  Thankfully, this is a group of people I know, so I knew I could relax a little.  The group is nice and they were pleased to hear my latest work (still unfinished! But closer to getting finished than any others I have).  I am definitely going to stick around with this group.  It’s hard for me to break ice with people (or is it break bread?)…which will become apparent in a few minutes.

I head out to the grocery store because I can’t just show up to a party with nothing (even if they say they’re fine with it).  The grocery store I like to frequent had a spirits section separate from the rest of the grocery store.  I found a nice peanut butter pie and paid for it, then jaunting three doors down to see what wine goes well with peanut butter pie.

To answer your question: yes.  A chocolate wine goes well with peanut butter pie if there is no chocolate drizzle. Otherwise, a dark red would work (apparently, the people in the spirit shop know their goods.  Also, did you know that they make pink lemonade vodka?  Do svidaniya, soberity!).  I purchase everything, rather inexpensive as far as wine, vodka and pie goes.  I come back home, putting everything away in the refrigerator and change back into my inside summer clothes: t-shirt and shorts.  The party isn’t until later (I’ve got several hours), so I set aside some clothes for the party.  Nothing bad, really — what I usually wear for work…nice short sleeved polo shirt and the best pair of jeans I own.

Still have several hours.  Time for Borderlands 2!  Saturday is my big gaming day (Monday through Friday are gaming days as well, but not the biggest) and I plunge into it…for a few minutes before the coffee gets metabolized and I almost fall out of my chair.  OK — maybe not fall out, but I got real tired real fast.  So, I crawl to bed and take a small nap.  Coffee doesn’t last long in me.  

The nap is over as I wake up enough time to get a shower (Welcome to Kentucky!) and double check my directions. Dressed and squeaky clean, I get the pie and the wine for the party and make sure everything is clean and fresh.  Getting into my car I turn the engine over and drive off, being guided by my Android phone which thinks that not only am I fifteen feet from my real position, but I am driving on the left hand side of the road sidesaddle.

Go, Android.

Traveling to my host’s place, I realize that I am not only moving laterally towards the east, but upwards in the socio-economic scale.  Seriously.  I’m also driving through the country.  I can tell because I see goats, cows and better cars than what I am driving now.  Way better.  

My Android is as stunned as I am about the new surroundings, since it forgets a couple of turns.  I manage to get back on track and still not lose any time.  It tells me that I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, even when I have to remind it that it is navigating for me and that I only turn when it tells me to turn.  As I travel on, the houses grow farther and farther apart, but still look better than where I am staying now.  I’m not jealous (maybe a little) as I roll through the countryside.  While I take in the sighs, I keep expecting to Take another turn and find myself staring down a checkpoint designed to keep the hoi polloi out from wrecking the property values with their early model cars, their numous kids and basic cable packages (“On this chart, point out the salad fork.  No, you swine — that’s a fish fork!  Seize him!“).

I manage to get to the right place and boy…do I not fit in.  Each of these houses is at least twice the side (vertically) as my house and the smallest one here is about the size of my current one-floored house.  The one the host lives in a a little larger than my house in at least three dimensions.  As I cruise around the block to make sure that I am in the right location, I see some people staring at me.  No doubt they were memorizing the license plate, make and model of the car in the event there was a rash of burglaries later on in the week.

Still two minutes early to the party (“early is on time, on time is late and late is unforgivableas the nuns at school told me…who apparently were never invited to a party.“) and I was trying to figure out if the thin sheer of sweat I was developing was from the humidity or from the panic I was trying to fight now in the pit of my stomach.  I am not really one for new things that disrupt my routine.  Yes, I am a crotchety elder.  I like my beets and strained peas, thank you for getting off my lawn.  I at least wait for a couple of minutes reminding myself that this is also a great way to network and maybe find other people with inroads into publishing.  After all, the hostess is also a reporter for the local newspaper.

I get out of the car, making sure that I have everything and reminding myself that running screaming aback to the car and speeding away is not going to help me either short term with the gawkers running my plates against a database of people known to lurk here or in the long term when I might need my hostesses’ help in something writer related.  I walk up the the front door and knock.

Hopefully tomorrow will be the conclusion of this unpresidented glimpse into my private life, so I can get back to talking about writing.  Thank you for reading (if you’re still here), and feel free to take a look at the offerings that my friends and I have for you.

I hope y’all have a good day.
Sincerely,

Seething Apathy.

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