July 29, 2002 :: 8:21 p.m.
welcome to the alternative reality
Ahem. So let me just start by saying that the walk to my car this afternoon was the weirdest 20 minutes
of my life. We're talking "the world has been turned inside out and we are now in the United States of Abnormality" weird. I was looking around, checking for hidden cameras, because shit like this just doesn't happen to me. Ever. Nor should it, really. I suppose I should explain myself before I confuse everyone, yes? Well here we go, then. I got off work and started walking to City Island, doo doo doo, everything was normal. I get about halfway across the bridge and this black guy stops me. He says that he's "been watching me from afar for a while" - how fucking creepy is that? Yeah, I know. He says that he's a poet, and that he wrote a poem for me. I'm very confused. I do not have a clue what's going on. He asks my name, how old I am. I work at the bagel shop, right? He asks me if I'm attached, to which I reply, "yes, very happily so." Because I am. I don't know. He was a nice enough guy, but I mean... jesus. That's just craziness. So he gave me the poem and we went our separate ways. No harm done, except that now I'm very... well, in the words of Willow, "my world is all askew."
Anyway. I continue on across the bridge, but before I reach the end of it another black guy stops me. Well, he doesn't exactly stop me. He's quite... er... large, and he's on a bike. So he rides up beside me and asks me my name. I ignore him, but he asks again, so I tell him. He's like, "You got a man?" "Yes. Go away." Except the "go away" part was only in my head, because I don't generally like to just be mean to people. Actually, I do sometimes, but only if I have a reason. And though this man was sort of invading my personal space, he wasn't being mean or perverse or anything. Until he told me I have a nice body and big tits. Grr. Here's a hint, boys: That's not a good way to pick up chicks. Eventually Mr. Scary Man rode away when the fact that I was so very far from interested registered in his head. Thank god. There were no more encounters after that, which is also something to be thankful for because I was getting a bit sick of it. Three in one day (the first was in the morning - some hispanic guy at the Pep Grill) is just unnecessary and strange, unless you're drop dead gorgeous, which I'm definitely not. At all. Especially when I haven't showered and I'm wearing my horribly unflattering beige work shirt. I don't know why anyone would hit on me at all, actually. Blindness? Mental deficiency? Desperation? Sick humor?
I don't know. Nor do I care. It freaked me out like a mofo, in any case. I'd be a happy camper if it never happened again. I have my Adam and I love him, so scary black (or white or hispanic) guys need not apply. Ever.
In other news... well, there isn't much other news. Adam came into the shop to have lunch with me, which was very nice of him. Somehow that half hour went by much faster than any other half hour. You know, because I was enjoying it and time likes to fuck with me like that. Joe (my boss, not Joey) tried to get me to come in tomorrow and close for Crystal, because she has to go to the dermatologist, but I wormed my way out of it. I hate closing with a fiery passion and would never do it voluntarily, no matter how much I need the money. Besides, I already work an extra day this week, I'm not looking for another one.
There's a chance that Adam might be able to stay over here tomorrow, which would be cool. I'd prefer tonight, for a few reasons. I have to get up at 6 a.m. for work on Wednesday, and I'm not sure if my parents are staying an extra night or not. But any night is better than none, I suppose, so I shouldn't complain. I should probably call my mom and see what's going on. So I'll do that now. Hold.
Okay, so they are staying until Wednesday. But the waking up at 6 thing is still shitty. I mean, one of the nice things about sleeping over is that we get to lay around in bed until the middle of the afternoon, but if it's tomorrow night then that's out. Mer. Alas.
Well, this little box has been open for nearly an hour... I've spent the last 45 minutes of that hour reading stuff about season three of Buffy, which needs to come out RIGHT NOW. But no, it's not out until January or some other ungodly far away month. Drat, I say.
I'll write later, probably. Cheers.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005