cabs, crashers, and can't leave

This evening I was a "hostess" for the writer and film documentary dinner. Don't ask how I finagled that, suffice it to say I listened to a Banffian who had control of the volunteer schedule talk for over an hour about his nervous breakdown and got the gig, even though there was already a volunteer assigned to it. I would like to note that my pink long sleeve volunteer t-shirt was taken away from me (full disclosure - it was a bit small) and was replaced with a short sleeve light blue t-shirt (not that I'm complaining, but I was kind of psyched on the pink - I know, I'll live).

The other volunteer, well, let's call him R. He's a Banffian who claimed to be interested in my book, though he never really let me get in a word edgewise about it. We, R and I, were supposed to be taking tickets at the door of the dinner. I was supposed to check people off on a list. The list was incomplete, most people didn't have their tickets, R was letting all the riff raff through because he knows everyone, and at the end I just gave up and decided to let all the crashers in. In between the flux of people arriving I was instructed on terrorism, politics, and gossip about the writers, film makers, and the National Geographic staff.

Then a woman from the Banff Centre invited me in to the dinner because everyone had more or less arrived (Tabin was absent). R followed me (he was invited too, but not necessarily to follow me). We showed up at the bar (R checked out the food first, I was like "tourist!") only to find out they were out of wine (and I was so looking forward to a glass of the cab, which might suck, but which has a cool poster, which I know because I put up a million of them yesterday). Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the hot guy from the wine sponsor, who was making his way over to me. Hooray! I thought. HE can get me wine, and, more importantly, he's hot.

Ah, but R, still mentally entangled in some comment I had made about the middle east, proceeded to get us some water (ech) and then shuffled me off to a corner so he could hear me better. I met a few of the writers in passing as they came over to pay their respects to R. I had my picture taken about 100 times by this photog for what ever reason, while R looked on and said (I swear I'm not making this up) "I'm NOT posing for a photo. This is NOT the way to do this at all! Just circulate and catch us speaking naturally!" Then as an aside to me he said "She OBVIOUSLY doesn't know her job. I don't know where [name redacted] is getting his interns!"

The wine guy approached twice but was turned away by R as I sat there like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet and let it happen. I've lost my game, what can I say...

Then, when it seemed things couldn't get any more bleak (loss of t-shirt, loss of wine guy flirting op, pic taken with old dude that might end up on a web site somewhere) R's wife showed up. Turns out she's one of the people I met yesterday who works at the Banff Centre. She was NOT HAPPY when she happened upon R and I in a "secluded" corner, discussing in what probably appeared to be a suspicious manner the Joseph Conrad book The Secret Agent (thought I was the only one on the planet who read it). She came over, gave me the look, gave R the look, and stormed off. I was like "Dude, um, why don't you go see where your wife went?" and he was like "I have the car keys." Power. Makes the world go round.

The evening ended with R offering me a ride home (I declined because I'm pretty sure his wife wanted to stab me), the wine guy leaving with his friends, and then coming back only to find me STILL talking to R, and then leaving again, and then me finding out R is on the book review committee and (wink wink) if the book ever gets done...yeah, please invite me to Banff again. Time of my life.

I retired to my hotel room, where the thermostat reads 72 degrees (liar), and I tried to change my flight reservation to fly out Saturday instead of Sunday since I have to be at a customer site on Monday, in DC. It was not to be. I now am flying from Calgary to Denver on Sunday, then to Dulles, getting in at 1 am Monday morning, appearing at the customer site 6 hours later. And I have to buy some clothes and shoes since I have nothing work related with me.

Fuck extreme sports. Bring me the skiers. Those bitches would cry after living my life for a month...

Quote of the evening, from Timmy O'Neill: "I didn't recognize you at first because I'm sober."