It all started when my mom told me I could buy a new sweatshirt, as long as it had my college logo on it.
You see, when my dad had taken my brother and me on various trips to see colleges, we'd purchased myriad sweatshirts from all of the institutions...except the ones we eventually chose to attend.
By the by, this is karotsamused
When my job at the Bookstore at my Hallowed Place of Learning brought me in contact with some sweatshirt styles other than the College Lettered Sweatshirt in Blue And Gold, I found myself a bit covetous of others' purchases. Thus, when I asked if I might purchase a sweatshirt for myself, my mother agreed on the grounds that it was in fact from my place of work.
This week, we're having a 40% off sale. On items that were, last week, 20% off. So that's 40% off things that were already priced at 80%. The hell is that math? 46% percent off or so? I have no calculator. Blargh.
But anyway, I got a sweatshirt. At my Bookstore. For $19.77. NINETEEN. FREAKIN. SEVENTY-SEVEN.
At Bookstore prices, that's a crappy t-shirt.
I love this sweatshirt. It is black, and the hood is big enough, and the logo is not stupid. I bought it yesterday, and after I got off work and had a shower, I decided to wear it to Rune's Family Holiday Dinner last night.
...Now, Rune has a big family. One that has to gather in separate locations at separate times, half because it would be impossible to gather that many people in one place, and half because the two sides would make that one place explode.
So we met at the Gma's, for the Gma's Side Of The Family sort of thing, and the house, normally pretty cozy with five people, was... packed.
There was the Gma, and Rune's parents, and all of Rune's aunts and uncle and their spouses, and their offspring, and their offspring's spouses and offspring. And then the Friends, which consisted of me and this one guy who held the camcorder a lot.
There were two itty bitty half-Japanese babies, and their very Japanese mama (adorably trying to correct her Very White father-in-law's mispronunciation of her name - "Yu - KI - ko." "No. YU - ki - ko." "Yu - KI - ko. Right? I don't hear what's different!")
There were also ... well. They were all about my age, I guess, or a little older, but since one of them asked Rune her age, they probably assumed I was older. But four barely-legal boys, all about six feet huge, and broad as doorways. (Rune says the eldest is about twenty-five. Ha-ha.)
They were all rather sweet, in their weird Barely-Legal Boy way, and apparently I was unconsciously on my game.
See, as soon as I walked in, I think there was the radar ping. Girl-That-Isn't-Family does a lot to make me attractive. XD
I realized I was getting hit on about the time the youngest one told me he was a writer. And that he was getting ready to write his second Album, and was in the process of recording for the first.
Which is no big deal, especially in this area, since the music scene here right now is exploding. But when I brought up a friend of mine, actually a very talented white hip-hop artist, who had recorded his albums and was in the marketing stage, and was finding the most challenging thing was being articulate about his work and making sure he was putting it out in the right places, I got this response:
"Well, marketing isn't hard if you're good."
...I think you really needed to be able to hear it. And see the little face of "Aw, man, she knows -other- guys?"
Boys. He started laying it on a little thick in the middle, and by the end, played Family Man (although this was rather genuine and in a lot of ways he was sweet. I enjoyed his company). He was funny in the Multigenerational Photo they all took - excluding, of course, me and Camcorder Guy (who took the picture).
But after The Boy left, I turned to Rune's Gma and this exchange followed:
Me: *wry* You know, I think he found me attractive.
Gma: Well, dear, I don't see why he wouldn't have.
Me: -! What do you know? You're blind!
On the way home, Rune confessed she wanted to growl at him. I confessed I sat with my ring showing in a very shiny fashion after the hip-hop bit of the conversation.
Heh. I got hit on at the family dinner.