Thursday, April 12, 2012

Entry #60 - Perhaps Mr.Collins has a Cousin...

Entry #60 - Diamond Jubilee Edition

Dear Diary,

    As I sit here, staring at a blank blogger template whilst eating Nutella straight from the jar, I can't help but wonder; where in the hell did March (and my self control) go?? Come to think of it, the first half of April is kind of a hazy blur as well. What have I been doing? ....

...well, for the last 20 minutes I have been watching Youtube videos of Eric Northman instead of writing this blog, talk about attention deficit.

Focus, Spinster, focus!

Let's see, I have built an Ikea coffee table, watched "Kindergarten Cop" with Scott, posted 184 tweets on the Twitter, made pancakes for teenagers from Japan, found myself to be slightly aroused by the Game of Thrones theme music....what else...


Back in February I went to Pender Island for a weekend with Vanessa and the book food club ladies. We went for a number of reasons;
One - we enjoy being ladies of leisure.
Two - the prospect of drinking copious amounts of wine in a hot tub was appealing to all of us.
Three - a show of solidarity with Ashley H-F during her annual "drink til I can't feel anything" anniversary.
Four - The package included a one-hour massage and breakfast. Yes and Yes. Please.

There were a few hiccups getting to the resort in that half of us were in a car that got a flat tire and the other half of the group drove around North Pender in the dark for about an hour before finally finding the place. Eventually, however, we all made it there and proceeded to ingest unhealthy amounts of cured meats and cheeses. After that we all got in the hot tub where we drank wine and talked it out like only six drunk ladies in a hot tub can. We exorcised some feelings for SURE, then passed out in our respective beds.

The next morning, Laura and I headed down to the spa for our massages. On the walk there (and having apparently been born without the capacity to feel ashamed of paying a man to touch me) I prayed fervently that I would have a hot male masseuse. I prayed for a sexy masseuse the way death row inmates pray for clemency; desperately and with a modicum of hope.
When we walked in the spa receptionist saw us and then immediately got what I call "inquisitive eyebrows", that fleeting facial expression that tells you that something is not quite right. After informing her of our names and what we were there for, we quickly found the root cause of the receptionist's quizzical brow - the spa had accidentally booked us in as a couples massage and thus we were to be rubbed down side by side. They offered to prepare the single rooms for us, but after a quick non-verbal exchange both Laura and I accepted the more hilarious option of side by side massages.
After a muffled-laughter filled change into our spa robes, Laura and I headed to the lounge to meet our masseuses. In accordance with the prophecy there is a lady masseuse and a male masseuse, where the fantasy falls short is that the male masseuse is a silver-haired, ever so slightly rotund, mustachioed gentleman named Terry who is probably in his fifties. They give Laura and I the choice of who will rub whom, a sentence that sounds much dirtier than it actually was. As soon as we are alone in the room I inform Laura that Terry is all mine, a declaration which sets of further bouts of poorly muffled spa-inappropriate laughter.
I must admit that Terry gave a wicked massage, and the fact that he accidentally slapped me in the face with a hot/wet towel at one point only served to further enhance both mine and Laura's enjoyment of our services. Post massage Laura and I hit the steam cave together where we further re-lived the glory of her over-hearing Terry apologize for hitting me in the face with a hot towel. After that we just sweated off copious amounts of massage oil in silence til it was time for breakfast. Success.

Aging Gracelessly

On March 7th I turned 29. I don't feel good about it. Everyday I find more and more likenesses between myself and the spinsters in my regency romance novels, with the exception that no duke/lord/viscount/baron/baronet is readily available to fall unexpectedly but madly in love with me. My proverbial corset and chastity both remain woefully intact.
The older I get the less I feel less like a proper adult, a feeling further perpetuated by my choice of "Cruise Ship Formal Night" as my party theme. I presented the summons to my celebration thus:
I was not joking when I said that there would be a non-optional "in the style of the royals" family photo session, as the photo below proves:
I only hang out with the sexy people. 

There were party dresses, big hair, 3 pairs of Badgley Mischkas, white wine sangria, living room dancing, and goody bags that I drunkenly neglected to hand out. The best part of my birthday, though, was the birthday surprise from my Gay Boyfriend, Bryan. Bryan surprised my with a special cruise themed outfit for my party, and it's safe to say it was a big hit. See what I did there?
He had a Little Mermaid towel. Mind blown. 

Nerding Out

I finally got to wield one of those $150 replica Lightsabers. It was every bit as sexy-nerdy-chic as I imagined it would be. I ran into Vanessa's office at work, thrust my smartphone at her and demanded she take pictures of me while I swung it around it excitedly. I applaud her self-control as she limited herself to only a bemused head-shake in response to me climbing upon the stock room table and singing the Star Wars theme music while hitting cardboard boxes with the Lightsaber. That's a true friend; I love you, Mini. Also thanks to Jena, who pointed out that the picture would be way cooler if we turned some of the lights off.  Always thinking, Jena, always thinking. 

The sexy power of the Lightsaber was proven when my friend Sara's son asked if he could marry me when he saw this picture. He's only 7, I'm making a mental note anyway.

Fresh off my Lightsaber high, I received a belated birthday present from one of my spinster's apprentices, Alex (you might remember her from Spinster Sports, a picture which I cannot post here again lest I alienate her completely). This gift was so spectacular and thoughtful that upon receiving it a wee tear sprung to my eye. Alex went to the trouble of making me a case for my smartphone that has R2D2 on it!  GENIUS! My phone is a droid and R2D2 is a droid! Get it!? Not to mention the fact that my phone already whistles like R2 for certain notifications! (and plays the Imperial March when certain people call, but that's another story...).  
"Made for you by your spinster padawan"  - so amazing I will weep inconsolably the day I must get a new phone.

Pride, Prejudice, and Despondency

I've probably watched Pride and Prejudice five or six times since my last blog entry,  I even hit a new low high of watching it with the commentary on. I also recently bought myself the 2-disc collector's edition even though it is almost identical to the disc I already own. I am losing my GD mind.
Pride and Prejudice has always been my beacon of hope. I felt like my Mr.Darcy was out there somewhere, tall, strapping, loyal, filthy rich and secretly in love with me. As time goes on, though, I watch with fewer longing sighs and more shoveling-Nutella-in-my-mouth despondent sighs. I have become the Elizabeth that wryly says "perhaps Mr Collins has a cousin..."

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