Overheard

Overheard at Manx while enjoying the best brunch in town:

Guy-Sitting-in-Booth With Girl waves to Guy-Behind-Bar.

Girl-Behind-Bar to Guy-Behind-Bar: "Are they boyfriend/girlfriend?"
Guy-B-B: "Yes, unfortunately."
Girl: "Why 'unfortunately'?"
Guy: "'Cause I hate her."
Girl: 'Wha...?"
Guy: "I just hate her."

***

Simple. Straightforward. Honest. And goddamn hilarious as far I was concerned yesterday, enjoying my Good Peep breakfast while sitting at the very-same bar, reading the paper. And I thought about posting it here, for no other reason than I thought it was funny.

And then I came home today after work. And it suddenly occurs to me that this very snippet of overheard conversation ties neatly into my own life.

***

One of my darling roommates is dating this... woman. I met her as they embarked on their second date, shortly after I arrived at McLeod Street. Upon meeting this... woman, I had an intense visceral reaction. I disliked her. For no apparent reason. Strongly.

It's an uncomfortable feeling because there are very few instances in my entire life when I've felt this way. Sure, you can get to know someone and legitimately think, "Man, this person is pretty stinky." Or even still, you can glean an impression about someone through their encounters with others and reasonably think, "Seriously, that person sucks balls." But when gut-reaction results in strong dislike, it feels just plain old mean.

No biggie, right? I was doing well, behaving nicely, keeping it in check, and posturing enough pleasantries to get by. But a few weeks ago, after listening to Roommate-In-Question go on about "issues" with this... woman and that he was going to have to have "the talk" with ...her, a moment of weakness took over and I proclaimed my instinctive aversion. I know!! Thankfully R-I-Q is very understanding and appreciated the frankness. Phew!

But, for some reason -- reason being R-I-Q is the Ultimate Nice Guy -- R-I-Q can't fully bring himself to giving this... woman the boots. And so I'm stuck feeling this retched animosity (wait, is it still animosity if it's one-sided?) every time she's in the house. She's just so... rotten. The only thing I don't actively dislike about her is that she looks like a porcelain doll. Right down to the mouth. It's kind of cool, in a weird sort of way.
See? I have actually been trying to find positive traits. What does it say that the porcelain-doll-thing was the best I could come up with?!

This... woman had just arrived as I came home from work. I decided that tonight, not tomorrow, would be the ideal time to do laundry. All of it. Plus an extra cycle in the dryer to ensure that my socks were fully dry. Stupid Gladstone and your stupid 30-minutes-for-a-dollar dryer cycles! What can a 25 year-old Harvest Gold dryer possibly dry in thirty minutes? Nothing. But oh! tonight my disdain for the lackluster quality of my local laundromat was like cotton candy and chillin' there with the surly Asian laundress -- who, clad in slippers, feels it necessary to physically nudge me out of her way as frequently as possible no matter where I situate myself -- was welcome relief to remaining in the presence of...her. Her, of The No-Personality. Her of The Condescension. Her, The ultra-Suburbanite (and Ottawa Suburbanite is on a whole different plane than your run-of the mill variety), Car-Driving, Make-up While-Wearing-Sweats, What-Do-You-Mean-"No-Meat-&-Potatoes" ...woman.

So much venom, huh? And you're thinking, "Ali! The cattiness!!"
Pfft. Yeah. So?
"Is it really necessary?"
Yeah-huh.
"Really...?"
Yup.
"Oh my."
Believe it.

***

K, new rule for the blog: no more posts immediately after reading David Sedaris. He's allowed to bring out the bitch 'cause he's funny and, you know, David Sedaris.

Repeat three times:
I am not David Sedaris.
I am not David Sedaris.
I am not David Sedaris.