A Bad Joke, A Future Christian Rave, A Future Book Awards Gala, A Bad Day In Retail, And Doozer

Just to get this out of the way.... My favourite joke is only my favourite joke because I can never remember them, and this one I do. Also, when my little cousin told it to me five years ago when he was four, his delivery was hilarious.
Why do women wear make-up and perfume?
– Because they’re ugly and they smell bad.

I have a busy weekend ahead of me. The first thing on the agenda is getting together with the Fiery One and his co-workers for drinks in about 45 minutes. I am not supposed to indulge in the beer part too much, though, because the Fiery One has come up with one doozer of an activity for a Friday night: we are going to a Christian rave. No, really, you read me right. We are going to a Christian rave. There are supposed to be the usual Djs and roving lights and whatnot, but there are also supposed to be ballet dancers dancing interpretively to the music. I always think of interpretive dance as being what my elementary school music teacher used to encourage us to do. She would dim the lights in the music room and play something like Adam Ant (no kidding) and tell us to “move to the music... feel our bodies... be aware of the space and our relation to it.” I usually just lied about on the floor and watched the light bulbs buzz and struggle with the lowered electrical current. I am curious about this mixture of the ballet and interpretive styles being used to demonstrate a depth of Christian faith. I do hope the Lord has a sense of humour. For $10, it is difficult to buy a better or more unique form of entertainment.

Tomorrow, we have tickets to go to the Saskatchewan Book Awards. I have been told that it is quite an upscale affair, second only to New Year’s. This sort of thing always makes me nervous, because I feel all sorts of pressure to adorn myself with the proper upscale accoutrements, which has always felt highly unnatural to me. I do have an appropriate dress this time round, thankfully, so on to the next stress – mingling. There are cocktails beforehand, which I like, especially since they’re free, but I am usually the one that can be found loitering next to a plant wondering if it is just silk or a remarkably well-kept fern. The Fiery One’s presence should help this situation out, because I can at least look engaged in the festivities when I’m standing next to and talking to him. Now that I think of all that, it should go quite well, because after that there is a sit-down dinner, which is easy, because everyone is busy with food, and then there are speeches and readings and awards, which takes care of having to find anything to say to anyone. Oh, I’ll be fine. Always the worry with things like this, but anxiety about an event is almost always worse than the event itself (except for the time that I went to a Pat Metheny concert, and half-way through I went to the bathroom, broke the toilet, caused a flood, had to find my way back to my seat with my heels squooshing full of toilet water, and dragged my friend out through the lobby where we could hear the rushing of water still going on in the ladies’ washroom).

This, a regular occurrence, happened at work today (I just have to snark a teensy weensy bit):
Customer: Having one of those days, eh?
-- This, after I have had difficulty getting her purchase into the bag, dropped a second bag, dropped her debit card, and fumbled with the pen.
Me: Yep, it seems like it. (big smile faked)

I hate this kind of response to my usual physical ineptitude. It is not “one of those days.” This is my life, people, and I feel like bludgeoning you with my stapler when you grin at me and comment on my comical clumsiness. Customers are always joking with me about how it must be “one of those days,” and I am always agreeing that, yes, I am having “one of those days,” but the truth of the matter is that one-of-those-days is my life. I am like this more often than not. Just once, I would like to reply "no, I am not having one of those days. I suffer from a debilitating neurological disorder," which would make that person feel truly awful for having mentioned it. (I do not suffer from a debilitating neurological disorder, by the way. No offense to those who do).

“Doozer” Facts and Links (and sorry ahead of time for the lack of factoidal goodness):
* There is a weblog called Doozer’s Den, and another called Doozer’s Domain of Stuff.
* Doozer is a punk rock band.
* Doozer is also really hi-tech.
* In the show “Fraggle Rock,” episode 36 was called “Doozer Contest,” and the Doozers sang this song, and they looked something like this.
* One of the clan tags for some game called “Savage Caps” is Doozer.
* According to UrbanDictionary.com a doozer is “[a] person (usually a good friend) that does someone else's dirty work for them and/or tells someone bad news even though it isn't their responsiblity to tell them.”

The Torture Of Attaining "Beauty", News, Personal Ads, The Shaggs, Half Of A Rhyme, Icky Words, And The Penny

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