Crush With Eyeliner

Sunday was The Viking's birthday, and in keeping with the philosophy that life's not fair, there was no Kickass Karaoke at The Rivoli that night. There is no more loyal KAK devotee, and nearly no better singer, than The Viking (seriously: The White Stripes. Cream. Radiohead), and it's such a shame that we couldn't all sing together that night, me and my karaoke buddies. Last year The Viking accepted karaoke challenges on his birthday. I got him to sing REM's "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" then. This year, I was going to have him sing "One Way Or Another," my signature song, because I know he can do it, and because he's told me that he thinks that a guy singing that song would sound like a stalker and he's right, and so because he doesn't want to do it is exactly why I want him to do it.

So instead I went to The Banknote with Maria.

I got there before her, and Martin, the bartender, says to me, "You're all dressed up tonight, what's up?"

I was wearing black jeans and a sweater, but I'd washed and combed my hair, and was wearing mascara. Lesson learned.

I tell him my date for the evening is Maria, the chicken wing girl who's recently lost her mitten. She promised to bring The Mitten along, so he could have a beer with us.

Martin asks about Maria, and I tell him she's the one who was here with me a couple of weeks ago, who reviewed the chicken wings. I tell him about her blog. He tells me he doesn't do that Internet thing much. I tell him a little bit about blogs, and how Maria writes about knitting, and chicken wings, and lost mittens. He says,

"She must have a lot of time on her hands."

I say, "Most bloggers have real jobs, and only write online as a hobby."

He asks what she does. I tell him she has a degree from the London School of Economics and works for a market research firm.

He seems to have difficulty parsing this information.

"What do you do?" he asks.

"I write about The Banknote, mostly," I tell him.

"No, I mean, in real life."

"I teach marketing."

"Where do you teach?" he asks, so I tell him about the university I work at now, and the one I worked at before that, and about the first one I taught at, right after I left the real world of marketing, in New Brunswick.

"In Nova Scotia?" he asks. "Halifax?"

"No," I say, "St. John. New Brunswick."

A minute later tonight's Murphy Brown waitress is at my side. "Did you ever teach in Nova Scotia?" she asks.

"No, only in New Brunswick. St. John."

"But are you from there?"

"Oh, no. I'm an Ontario girl, through and through." I reply. "My four months out east were a culture shock. They almost stoned me when I told them I'd never heard of Great Big Sea."

"You look really familar," she says.

"Maybe because I'm here all the time."

"Tonight's my first night."

And probably your last, sweetheart. Did you not watch Murphy Brown?

Yeah, I'm three miles of bad road tonight, and Maria's s'mitten.

* * *
Next, Sass gets a chain letter from her friend Angela. Friday, it's another chorus of "Working for the Weekend".