Big Mouth Monday

You know when you forget to run what you’re thinking past your ‘outside’ filter and all of a sudden you’ve said something stupid? That keeps happening to me.

Sunday night: I’m at the Fringe to see Sandii, who is in town for a few days. So glad to see her! And yet, it’s Open Mic night, which means it’s too loud, because the Fringe is a small room and everyone who straps an instrument on wants to be Heard! And! Discovered!

There’s a guy who always shows up for Open Mic. I don’t like him, because I find him both fake and reprehensible in both his public and private lives. Anyway, without fail, at Open Mic, he does ‘Watching the Detectives’ which I love, but he does it wrong. He can’t sing. He can’t play. (When I can tell, it is really bad!) His rehearsal strategy consists of getting high and then diddling on the guitar until he convinces himself he is a genius.

So last night, when he shouted, “Want more?” I stated, “No!”

Into an engulfing silence. I hit the perfect lull in conversation.

I turned to Will on my left and in a loud voice, said, “No, I think there are only 12 species of bats in British Columbia!”

Will, who is a biologist, and knows full well that there are 16 species of bats in BC, carried on the argument for a while. But, really? I could have edited that robust ‘No’.

Then today, I’m lugging summer tires upstairs at Commit, up to a space I have never been before. Basically, it looks like a B movie haunted house. Fading light going up the stairs, pitch black at the top. I’ve got a tire clutched tight in each arm, so no way to steady myself. Good times. One of the body shop guys is behind me. I slip on some oil, squeak, and right myself before continuing up the stairs. “It’s ok,” he says. “I’ll be here if you slip.”

“You’re kind of bony,” I say.
“Yeah. I want a fat guy if I’m going to fall on him!”

Um. Charming. Not.

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