This post sucks

"Like with all fieldtrips, we ended up being there about an hour too long." I summed up after detailing my weekend activities to Cary (not her real name - thank you) at work.

"You always do interesting things." She said. "My whole story was about the dogs fighting and reading a book."

"Sounds like a good weekend to me. You're plan was to relax."

"Yeah, but you guys always do something different and exciting. I'd never think to do that."

This statement isn't all that new to me. Before the great purging of our office our weekend update pow-wow's were more than just two women, and usually at the end of it my stories were met with shock and a little admiration. However, it was mostly women who were decades older than me and had children my age. Me being prone to indulge in some stereo-types when it fits my mood expect older suburban Marylanders to have boring weekends.

But Cary is 27 and single and drop-dead gorgeous. She's one of those girls I tend to fantasize about being. The perfect blonde who kept her looks and her popularity long after high school. Followed the straight and narrow, has a college degree and you know a job despite layoffs.

And she thinks my life is exciting. After I detailed a bus trip where we went around Pennsylvania drinking beer. Good beer, but still. It was beer on a bus, that's all.

It's odd feeling like I am somehow the bad girl amongst my fellow East Coasters. Growing up on a little island, with a father everyone knew, I rarely got into trouble. Actually I never got into trouble. During my prom I was invited to the infamous "after-party". But my date was gay and we both had to wake up early the next morning to do a mime show (I kid you not). Now as an adult a typical night for me is still staying home and watching t.v. Or playing on the internet. I do get drunk in public often. Usually the drunk in public thing is followed by flirting. That's about it. Oh, and dirty jokes, and swearing. But all and all it's tame. I'm really a pretty normal good girl.

Debauchery is such a word that deserves a little more...sin. Wild parties where you drink unidentifiable liquid in opaque cups and take unidentifiable pills from the sleazy guy with the silk shirt. Go home with an equally unidentifiable man or woman (or both) and wake up blissfully ignorant of why there is a picture of Hecate painted in red nail polish on your wall. That's debauchery. That's interesting. A story about how you found your underwear in the back of a white hummer limousine - now that's exciting.

Not a Thursday night spent at the pub.

So my status as the Bettie Page is completely unwarranted. I not only feel bored, I feel boring. My stripper exercise classes and my yoga just feel like normal things to me. Even dare I say a bit fad-ish. It smacks of suburban boringness dressed up. Like a housewife wearing heels. Ain't nothing to write home about.

Or write in a blog about.

Except that somehow all my friends tend to want to live vicariously through me. They want to hear all my dumb little stories. I guess when all their stories are about how they took out the garbage a day early and the racoon got it, my story about how we watched a spontaneous Argentine parade after the World Cup game seems somehow cool. At least to them.

Cary, who I secretly envy, envies me. And I think I'm boring. I think she's boring too, but at least she's blonde and boring.

Are my expectations too high or are the communities expectations too low? Do I just live in a boring place where anything out of the ordinary is strange and exciting or am I really the bad girl I've secretly always wanted to be?

Does this post sound too much like Sex and the City?

Maybe, instead of me actually being interesting and intriguing I'm the ordinary girl who is pegged as different because I am quiet and have red curly hair. Will the admiration and compliments slowly wear off and eventually turn into mob cries of "Burn the Witch!"?

At least then I'll have a really exciting story.