Reading is Fun-damentally Embarrassing

In my quest to function like a normal 20-something with no kids, I decided to make some friends.  People my age with no kids generally have fun things to do.  Fun things, that happen with friends.  Involve wine.  End up as fantastic black and white photographs on other peoples' facebook pages.  And make for great conversation:
"Yes, while jet-skiing in the Alps last year, I decided Buddhism was the way to go."
Right?

I joined a book club.
Not a BOOK CLUB, like my sister is in.  That's headed by a woman who get e-mailed a list of questions and book suggestions.  They pay to be a part of that club.  It's like a dollar for showing up, not finishing the book, or whatever.  It's not expensive or anything.  It pays for the "club membership" and snacks, I guess.  It's like a national organization of a book club, and that's okay.
But my cheap ass isn't paying to read a book.  That's what college was for.  So, I found a book club on craigslist.org.  Hey now, if I can go on a cruise with !!!!!!strangers from the internet!!!!!! I can certainly meet strangers at a bar and talk books.  It's practically college all over again in that respect.  This was two girls who said "Hey, we like books and would like to have a way to relive that aspect of college.  Let's meet at a restaurant or bar and discuss books."
I missed the first meeting.  On Friday-ish, an e-mail was sent out to say the first meeting was the following Sunday.  I don't check my e-mail.  It's filled with electronic bills and coupons for places at which I do not shop.  It's cool, though.  That was just a meet and greet and decide on a new book meeting anyway.  One of the girls e-mailed what the book would be, and I apologized for missing it and promised I wouldn't be such a geek the next time- in those exact words.  "Won't be such a geek next time."  The book turned out to be Kathryn Stockett's The Help.  It was a chick lit book about women's lib and civil rights.  It was okay.  It didn't move me or change anything about me.  In fact, it sort of wasted my time.  But it wasn't bad.  I'd recommend it to people I didn't take as serious readers. 
A month later, second meeting.  Same restaurant same/different people- I wouldn't know, I missed the first one, right?  I gave myself extra time to get to the restaurant/bar it was at.  (Side note, it's a gastropub that gets fabulous reviews and DaVinci and his friends drool over the place.)  I didn't get lost, so I was there about ten minutes early.  The gastropub- 'cause that makes it sound fancy in the pants- was empty.  No, not entirely empty.  There was a bartender. 
"Hey, you mind if I sit here for a few minutes?  I'm meeting some people here, and I'm a little early."
"Sure" ...pause, staring... "Are you with the book club?"
"Yes!  You know them?  I haven't met them before."
"Oh, they're real nice.  The girls who organized it are in here quite a bit, and asked if they could have the meetings here." ...pause, staring... "Aren't you a bit early?"
"Yeah, I didn't want to get lost.  I live across the river, and gave myself extra time."
"I thought the meeting was at five."
Pause for my blank look.  I could swear the e-mail said four....  Hmmm.   Uh, um, well.... Call DaVinci.  Yep, because of the football game, they pushed it back an hour.  They notified me through e-mail.
I was an entire hour early.  Awesome.
 
The girls were fine.  We're not on the same page as far as approaches to literature, taste, or even class (they don't seem uppity or snobby, I'm just a little ghetto-fabulous).  But it's a book club.  With people who read.  Except me... who doesn't read e-mails.
I'll stick it out.  We're reading Jane Austen (vomit in my brain).  It's literary discussion with adults.  None of which have kids.  And maybe I'll finally understand feminism... maybe.  I promised myself six months of this.  If it doesn't work out at the end of six months, I will have stayed with it long enough to make it not about them or the books they read.  If it does work out, I've made some friends.