benjamin franklin can kiss my grits. also, there are probably typos here.

by Charlotte

If you were to ask me on Friday what the best part of Saturday would be, I would have probably said, “Meeting up with the marvelous bloggers at Lauren‘s thingy.”  Sorry, ladies.  You guys weren’t it.

I was lured to a random hibatchi restaurant on a sketchier stretch of the Harlem/Morningside Heights border.  Which, y’all, as someone who narrates her life in terms of food, is not exactly my favorite idea.  It was one of those painfully interactive places where you have no option but to glare at your server.  (Just me?)  In any event, after an evening of polite refusal I ended up with two filled squirt bottles of sake pointed at my face.  I demurred, and my hibatchi dude insisted, “More sake, more baby.”  You guys.  I have now found my response to every. single. question.

“Would you like fries with that?”
“More sake, more baby.”

“What are your feelings about the sequester?”
“More sake, more baby.”

Naturally, it is also what I will be saying the next time a strange man offers to buy me a drink.  Actually, I might modify it to, “More sake, more baby?”  Because I feel that the question mark adds a particular dignity to it.  As we all know, I ain’t nothing if not a lady.

(In case you were wondering, my old catchall response was, “That’s not Aretha.”  As in, “Want to go the movies?”  “That’s not Aretha.”)

So I made it through today without making a single dick joke.  I patiently await my medal from polite society.  I said a snarky thing once (probably more, but once by my charitable count).  Got accidentally abandoned with Gaby when in search of walrus fabric (and zebras, just generally).  I bought three cuts of fabric.

If I were a better person I’d list everyone’s name, link to their blogs, and be all individually gushy gush.  (God, I feel like I should change my tagline from “A sewing blog without the sewing” to “Do we really even pretend to care at this point?”)  However, I’d like to just make the observation that there seems to be the sewing community and The Internet.  As in, the sewing community is a warm, welcoming enclave in the sea of big bad.  Everyone I met today (erm, yesterday) was so smart and funny and engaged.  Also, because I’m shallow, I’d like to point out that everyone is really pretty.  The aggregate level of attractiveness really turns the sewing hag caricature on her head.  All lovely.

I should show you fabric pictures or my Meringue (which I found folded up with blankets and covered in lint.  Who wins at life?) but I am dog tired.  (This might have something to do with the fact that the bartender did not know how to make a Manhattan, so she just kept giving me three fingers of bourbon with a maraschino cherry dropped in.  In case you were wondering, she is my soulmate.)  Hey, who said I was a good blogger, anyway?

Enjoy the almost-spring.  I’ll be doing it from the library.  The edge, it’s where I live.