Work Product, Example No. 15

(linked for bigness...and AWESOMENESS)

The First Annual Foofy Wine Party was, I should say, a whopping success. Jackson got half naked, Graham, Jessie, Andrew and Jackson squared off in Franzia Pong, I nursed a bottle of Possman's Apfelwein, Amy was absolutely blasted, and by the end of the night everyone went home happily besotten.

At work on Sunday I was playing my uke in the booth when this guy wandered up to me and started an odd little conversation:

"You play uke?" he asked, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. I glanced down at the finely crafted instrument in my hands before answering.
"Yes."
"Excellent," he responded, squinting his eyes at Tobias Funkulele, Jr. imploringly. "You gonna play me sommat?"
"Sure," I shrugged, launching into the recently learned 'Elephant Gun'. The stranger began tapping his foot in time, deeply inhaling his Camel and exhaling with a sigh. I finished the riff after a few repeats and stared back at him from my plastic chair.
"You from Washington?" he asked, opening his eyes and studying my features.
"No sir," I responded.
"You sure? You look like you're from Washington," he coughed a little.
"Nope, born in England, raised in California," I grinned, half wanting him to wander off, and half wanting to buy him a coffee and learn exactly why I looked like I came from Washington.
"Welp," he glanced to the left and nodded to someone I couldn't see, "You sure do look like a Washingtonian...mebbe even a Seattle-ite,"
"I...thank you?"
"Demm right it's a 'thank you!" He stuck out a calloused hand, fingernails stained with what looked like dirt and oil. "'Name's Ryan."
"Britta," I shook his hand firmly.
"Nice meetin' ya." And then he wandered off as quickly as he'd arrived.

The OC Marketplace is a fascinating study of the human race.

A Deal-Breaker, for sure.

I once went on a date with this guy and things were going great until we got back to his place and I saw that his CD collection featured Sublime, Creed and ICP rather prominently. I then had to form a graceful exit strategy claiming "womanly" things. He called me a week later and I let him go to voicemail.

(from Dustinland)

For awhile I felt bad about this until I realized that Music Nerds can and should only date other Music Nerds. It's a safety thing; god forbid you begin to get a little personal and he decides to play "When You Look Me In The Eyes" by The Jonas Brothers in place of anything by Zero 7, M83, or even Prince (all of these acceptable choices. Nothing kills the mood quite like a tune produced by the Mouse).

To further incriminate myself as a Music (Snob) Nerd, there are certain friends of mine at whose parties I always arrive with a fully charged iPod; spending the precious early moments of socialization and imbibery by lurking about the speakers in the corner waiting for that perfect moment to unplug the Pre-Made Party Playlist and usurp the offensive musical power with my own carefully constructed list of tunes. Catty? Very much so, but one can only handle so many exclamations of "OHMYGOD I loooooooooove this song." Before an even-worse-than-the-original-although-I-never-in-a-million-years-could-have-dreamed-that-was-even-possible rendition of The Pussycat Dolls' "Don't Cha" is performed to the delight of nobody.

I consider my actions to be of a great boon to society and ear canals across the board.