Flashback to February 1st of this year. Took a rare hiatus from my typical Friday-night activity of, well, sitting around, to perform a much-dreaded perfunctory social assignment.
"Should" is such an ugly word.
But it was because of this word that I found myself on a Green Line train en route to the Mad Hipster's girlfriend's (roommate's hairdresser's brother-in-law's) "Mardi Gras Margarita House Party."
Goodness! Socializing with hipsters is dizzying. And it's not for lack of trying: "Oh, I love tofu! What's that you say? No, I am not a vegan... not even a vegetarian. Bikes? I ride mine to work, sometimes... Sorry? No, it's not a fixed gear. Um, I'll pass on that can of PBR. No, I have not heard of The Obscure Pretentious Theory or whatever indie band played last week at the Black Cat..."
It was then that I caught the attention of a non-indie friend of the Mad Hipster's sweetie. Charm is a bittersweet gift.
Cut to yesterday, when even my epic reluctance could no longer stave off the inevitable awkward lunch that typically follows a sly, Facebook-fueled invitation. Ahh, Facebook. A quicker and more devastating social lubricant than tequila shots -- tastes vile, and you know you'll regret partaking, but startlingly difficult to pass up.
Cut to a disappointing Thai spot, of my regretful choosing. I discovered that the smell of curry can't spice up stilted conversation; the taste of coconut milk can't sweeten my instinctual apathy. Even the peanutty deliciousness couldn't quell the guilt at being unable to pinpoint a "good" reason for my disinterest.
Sigh. It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.
4 years ago