Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Too Soon.

Over the weekend at a work-related team building exercise (thank you, coworker A) I had fun. Maybe that’s because we were exercising our team building skills at the Portland Beer and Wine Festival and the only thing it had to do with work is that I met some coworkers there. Actually…we started there. Around 2:00pm. And ended at a seedy Karaoke bar The Galaxy (I KNOW!) around 11:30pm. That’s 9 and ½ hours of beer/wine tasting…outright drinking…and wailing House of the Rising sun to a roomful of sketchy characters (who were surprisingly supportive of my “skills” as a chanteuse).

Oh how I laughed. And laughed. And then laughed a little more. On Monday evening, Marie and I attempted to recall what was so funny. We tried to remember conversations, jokes told…etc. Of course alcohol always helps make that jump from giggle to guffaw…but even without it, my friends and I laugh a lot. So much so, that when I’m introduced to new groups of people, I often feel the lack of gaiety instantly. You know, some people just aren’t laughers. Or they are, but they’re just not funny. Or they’re neither, in which case…boooo.

Anyway. I had completely forgotten about an instance at a large round table where our group (trying to fight off drunkenness by stuffing down some festival fare) insulted a member of The Greatest Generation beerfest volunteer brigade so badly that he left the table without finishing his pizza. It went down something like this (as far as we can remember):

A, T, MM, B & Marie all sit at a large round table. There are three seats left. A dude of about 70 sits down with two pieces of pizza (I think) in one of the empty seats. I roll up with my quesadilla and sit next to him. Eat, eat, chatter, chatter:

Me to MM: Have some of my quesadilla. It’s fucking huge.
(hands plate to MM)
MM: I’ll have a little (or something like that)
Me: It’s good. It has sour cream on it. Sour cream makes everything ok.
MM: Sour cream does make everything ok.
Me: Yes. That’s what they told the Jews as they got on the trains.
(T then snapped a pic of me pointing a plastic fork emphatically at the air and the old man looking at me like I’m the devil)
Me: Too soon?

And that’s not even when he left! He stuck it out until Christians vs. Mormons were brought up and then he politely said “Excuse me” and took his still mostly full plate away.

Poor man. It’s a good thing he didn’t hear the “Jesus is bacon” convo later in the evening.

My point is…I didn’t even remember the particulars of this little interchange until Marie reminded me on Monday. We’re always overly amused by our own banter and always vow to write shit down…blah blah blah. Actually…one of our favorite phrases is “that’s going on a t-shirt”. Which is how my poor friend Kellie ended up with one that identifies her as a“Willowy Whore” and ty gets to walk around with ‘I am diseased” on his chest. This is as close as we ever get to writing this shit down.

What’s amazing about the timeliness of not-new realization is that I got a Dictaphone for my birthday. It’s snazzy and I haven’t yet figured out how to use it…which is why I haven’t. But Saturday is National Turn Your Lights Off Day or some hippie shit like that, so Jen (who would recycle clam shells if she could only find a facility to take them) is having a get together. Who knows what shenanigans we’ll get up to in the candlelight…but I’m bringing the Dictaphone. We’ll see what comes of it. It’ll be gold, whatever it is. Even if only to us.

But you unlucky bitches will have to suffer through it thanks to a little something I like to call “reciprocal linking”.

Rock.

13 keep(s) me blogging:

Jen said...

Where the hell do you get a dictaphone? Isn't that something that secretaries in the 50s used? No matter, at my hippie loves earth party I am going to say some of my best shite ever. EVAR. And it will all be recorded for all to hear. Like all six of us. Kick ass. And I am so not letting you near me when I am old, because of course I will be old before you will. I shall eat my pizza and drink my gin in the confines of the assisted living center by myself thank you very much.

Gorilla Bananas said...

Man, you girls are like the Marx sisters! I'd like to direct you in a movie - we'd call it Fuck Soup or something.

Sam, Problemchildbride said...

So many dignities have been lost at bars called The Galaxy. Every major city has one. You phone them up the next day looking for your lost dignity only to find it cannot be located. You suspect the barman's pocketed it. Have you seen how fucking dignified these barmen look, despite working in a place called The Galaxy? It's beyond all non-thieved reason.

The Future said...

I need to know who got you a dictaphone and why? Why could you possibly need this vs a nice little, pocket sized, earphoned tape recorder (like mine)? Am I missing some hidden, grand use of this antiquated device, doubtful.

Kara said...

jen - there's prolly a newer, hipper word for it nowadays...but i can't be bothered.

goranas - the mental image that goes along with that title suggestion have me close to banning you from this blog for at least a week and a half.

sam - the barman ingests the left behind dignity. it makes him look younger...the way children's souls do for witches.

mummy - dad gave it to me. it done had belonged to jerry, so i technically inherited it unbeknownst to the great man. oh well...i'll do good things with it. like cure cancer.

Jahooni said...

Okay... when are you doing that again because I want to be invited! ;)~

Jahooni said...

i was saying happy "hump" day! ;)~

Robert the Skeptic said...

I suggest you keep the Dictaphone on at all waking hours... who knows what genius or inspiration it may capture at some unexpected moment. Look what this line of thinking did for the career of Richard Nixon. Well, everybody remembers him, right?

Kara said...

jahooni - oh.

dad - i don't have that kind of battery power in my life.

AxAtlas said...

Upload/Post whatever you record on your dictaphone.

nic said...

I demand said recordings in mp3 format so I can listen to it on my iPod again and again and again.

Also.
It's incredibly cool that your mom and dad read your blog. *sniffle* I only wish that my folks were that cool.

Rachel said...

so, whats on YOUR t-shirt?
"Will sing for beer" or something like that?

Orhan Kahn said...

Sour cream fixes everything? I love it.

And it is o true if you're not a luagher or funny then what use are you, unless you're a doctor or something like that.