The Meeting

So, I looked online for writer's groups, you know, as a source of inspiration. After very little searching, I found a really nice lady, who shall remain nameless. We emailed back and forth, she seemed nice. In one of her emails she invited me to her home for a writer's meeting, an informal gathering. I thought, why not? It would be worth the price of the wine I was to bring. After being stood up by a certain Edmonton magazine rep, I was still in really high spirits, I was going to be hanging out with writers. I felt like a true bohemian! The house was beautiful, as I drove up, I envisioned well read and spoken artists on the inside, who would certainly offer much wisdom on the fine art of writing. Sadly, my misfortune was to continue.Upon walking through the door I, once again, felt dooped. These people, although I am sure wonderful, looked nothing like the writers of my reverie. It was all women, except for 1 lonely man, who said nothing and sat creepily in the corner, crossed legged just staring. The ladies, half of which, I am sure were lesbians (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that), were a hodgepodge from homely housewives to, well, very lesbian. They kept telling me I was "a breath of fresh air" or "too cute", which is typically very flattering, but they were looking at me like I was a piece of meat and they were voracious wolves. Matters were made even worse by the fact that very little writing talk was going on. Now, I am all for talking about where you got your Crocs from or where the newest dog park is located, but not at a writer's meeting. I suddenly felt less like a bohemian and more like a fool. I needed to leave, but I didn't want to leave my almost full bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, nor did I want to look like a bitch; but, I was absent from a girls night night already in progress, which I would happily miss for something legitimate , but a legitimate writers meeting this wasn't. Yes, I'm sure they are all wonderful writers (in my haste I forgot to ask) but this was, for lack of a more accurate word, lame. As soon as the smokers began to retreat outside, for what was surely was to be a very small window for me to leave, I took my opportunity. I acted as though I was following and head faked them and went for the front door, leaving the Cab Sauv behind. A $12 bottle of wine is hardly worth my sanity or my evening, which could still be salvaged. I said a passing goodbye and before anyone could notice or comment, I was gone. I walked briskly (I don't run, don't ask) to my car, I was free. I needed a drink and I had many, with friends, sans a creepy man or voracious lesbians!

I had been stood up, ogled by lesbians, subjected to the most awkward 40 minutes of my week and wrote 2 good posts... All in all a good day.