17 November 2008

NaBloPoMo: CLA EPIC FAIL

I sort of half-heartedly mentioned that on Friday I was going to the CLA Annual Conference and Exposition. I woke up on Friday morning and my throat and lungs felt like I'd been up all night smoking, except that I hadn't. I went to my CLA volunteering thingy, and out to dinner with some SLIS folk, and it was fun! And I was excited! Honest!

Then I drove to San Francisco, and I went out with Julia. Some guy accused us of wearing pretend-glasses so we would look smarter, when actually we both just can't see. I opted to take this as a compliment. As in, Oh you are SO unbespeakably gorgeous, you must be wearing glasses to play that down and draw attention to your BRAIN. I don't think that's how he meant it, but whateva'. Then we went to this really bizarre club that I've so far had a terribly difficult time describing. There was an overabundance of apparently heterosexual men in v-necks, mouthing song lyrics and dancing with....each other. But they....weren't gay? It was weird. Also this guy asked me how old I was and I said 26 and then he...walked away. Like get out of here you bar hag, you're too old for this young, hip, happening scene. And then I FELT like an old bar hag, (maybe it was the blush??) and Julia kept scolding me for opening conversations with cute boys with, "So do I look like a dried up old hag to you??" She says this is NOT a good opener.

I woke up Saturday morning well before I needed to leave for my CLA thingy, but with no voice at all, which wasn't really going to work very well for speaking, and meeting people. I called in sick to my volunteering gig and told myself that if I regained my ability to speak I would head down there. Instead I went to Denny's. And watched the USC/Stanford game. Turns out? This was the same weekend as the USC Weekender, which would explain the general popularity of Julia's tattoo. We tried to go a lot of different places, including a bar where the bartender actually REFUSED to sell me alcohol, because he "didn't have time for me." So. We left. And ended up back in Julia's neighborhood, at this bar where the bouncer stood next to us, stared off into the distance, and listed the cities he has been to, in an endless monotone run-on sentence.
"I went to L.A. in 1993 Philly's pretty bad I've been there but I've been to Pittsburgh and it's worse but I've been to New York once too..." We left.

The alarm went off on Sunday morning and I yelled at it, but we did get up early enough for me to live my life. I was still sick and froggy. But less so.

Gabriel got back from his dad's with a haircut and a fish named Joe.

I went to lunch with Keith! And it was fun! And great! And hang out with me more!

The moral of all of this is that I'm not allowed to go to any more conferences, because I'm obviously really bad at the actual going bit.

Today I'm sick, but I didn't want to call in because I didn't think my work would believe me since I took a long weekend. And I have over 200 unread entries in Google Reader. I'm considering just marking all as read and starting over tomorrow.

7 comments:

  1. And here I thought you were just too hungover from a long night in the City to bother coming in to CLA the next morning, oh so bright and early on a hot day in San Jose.

    That or I somehow annoyed you so much you didn't come back. I'm glad the world doesn't, in fact, revolve around me.

    Anyway, nice meeting you Friday.

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  2. Wow haircut and a fish. That's a good weekend and fortunately not a puppy or kitty. Fish is a great start.

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  3. A Fish named Joe.
    A mom named Grace
    A weekend named sick and no voice.
    A reader named Google...
    Ok, I'll stop...

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  4. Glasses to look smarter? The nerve of that jackass. Hey, maybe he was picking up on you? Men DO make passes at girls who wear glasses.

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  5. This so reminds me of me at your age, no seriously!

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  6. 200 unread blogs?! Good lord, woman, how many of these things do you read?!

    I am sorry you are sick. I hope you feel better soon.

    And you look far from a dried up old hag :).

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  7. I had a bartender refuse to sell me a fru-fru drink in Vegas once (at Bellagio...I mean, COME ON)- apparently my government issued identification wasn't the right kind. Oh, did he get an earful in my head!

    Flocker.

    I think perhaps you had some weird bar-voodoo this weekend. You know what they say...try try again.

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