I’m sitting in a Marriott while Kristen plays a corporate holiday party. It’s the danger of the carpooling. We’re going to go see our friend Joy Ike after the show, but in the meantime I’m frightfully aware of the presence of money. Lots of people are talking about their representatives, and there are a lot of suits, and there’s the constant smell of cheap perfume that’s PROBABLY actually the smell of expensive perfume and I simply don’t like being here.
Now – part of it is possibly sour grapes. Before my wedding I wasn’t very conscious of feeling poor, but in preparation for and since the Nups, I feel like it’s rubbed in at every turn – and I’m judgey and I’m angry and I feel like all these people must look down on me and yet – sour grapes? I can’t help but think all of them would be fascinated by what it is that I do.
There’s one other woman in the lobby working on her laptop and she’s got some sort of foot pedal plugged into it and I’m DEATHLY curious as to what it is, but you just don’t approach random people about their devices in public… the last time I made the mistake of that I was shopping for a Windows Surface and when I asked a woman about hers she responded “it’s just a fucking laptop” and pointedly put a pair of headphones on… because, you know – men are never NOT hitting on you…
(Yeah, I know that’s more a comment on the world than it is a comment on me, but it STILL means I don’t feel comfortable going up and asking what the thing is – and I’m TRYING not to give sidelong glances…)
Neither here nor there. The environment also reminds me of the group of people that I had to wait for at Teavolve a couple of days ago – large men in suits like all these people around me – who provided me with this charming insight: “You know that show with whatsisname, Bourdain? Yeah – like he shows it like it is, like – it’s amazing. These places just have NO regulations. I mean, we built a factory where he ate that stuff and we just load six year-olds down with fireworks and no-one says ANYTHING!”
Yay child labour. Yay grumpy.
Lemme add one more judgey sentiment : these women in the tiny sparkly dresses are probably NOT these men’s daughters…
