My recent attempts to assert my own preferences have been going pretty well. I'd prefer not to eat pork, thanks; I'd prefer not to sign your silly contract for the work I'm doing for you for free; I'd prefer not to leave the house. Thanks, but no thanks. It turns out that if you're not emotionally invested in telling people no, you can get a pretty fun anthropological kick out of watching how they take it.
I feel bad about saying no because I've spent a lot of time trying so hard to be accommodating of the inexplicable preferences of others, and I still feel like it's rude to inconvenience people when your preference is equal to theirs, but I have picked olives out of enough dishes after having them sneered at, and dammit, I get to say I don't care for brussels sprouts. Because I don't, I never have, and I have eaten enough of them to be sure. I'd prefer not to have more, thanks. Imma leave that right here on the side of my plate in a tidy pile, okay, thanks.
I'm still wondering why so many of the foods frequently served at parties give one bad breath. Any ideas? Hey, I'm about to talk to you really close for a while, how's my stinky cheese breath? Do you like these cocktail onions exhaled upon you? Mmm, spicy sausage with garlic on a little toothpick breath.
Fortunately, it looks like it might get concluded before the end of the year, which is good because I am tired of having Laurie Anderson's Example#22 running through my head all the time. PAY ME WHAT YOU OWE ME.
**In my many trips to many, ever so many bars, I have formed some opinions that now seem so obvious to me that I am always a bit floored when the bar owners don't share those opinions. Stuff like... it's a good idea to have a variety of wines in stock. Two of each color, say. It's a good idea for nobody on staff to spend any length of time standing at a table chatting. It's a good idea to check the bathrooms regularly for supplies and messes. Clearly just my opinions, here.