Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Everybody Hurts...sometimes...

Ugh. I feel like I've been put through the emotional wringer today. Today was moving day for the cute neighbor. All weekend I helped him pack up his stuff, pack up his U-Haul and clean out the empty shell of his apartment, keeping ourselves busy so we wouldn't have to think about Tuesday. But then Tuesday came. Let's just say this hasn't exactly been my best Tuesday.

The Cute Neighbor spent last night here since there was nothing but dust in his apartment to sleep on. Normally, we need separate sides of the bed to sleep, but not last night. In the morning, I went off to work while he went to tie up a few loose ends. On my way home from work at noon, I couldn't stop crying, not because of the cute neighbor, but because a student of mine had just turned in an essay about coming out of the closet to his parents, who in turn told him not to tell anyone about it and have not acknowledged it since. First of all, I was extremely saddened by the fact that they just can't accept their own son for who he is, but I was also struck by the fact that he had confided in me like this, since I certainly didn't know this piece of information before, and I don't know who else does.

But back to the cute neighbor. We had a long, tearful goodbye. The tears were all mine, but at one point, I actually thought he might be fighting back some too. This may sound terrible, but it was slightly comforting to see how torn up he was over our separation. It's always good to know when you feel the same way. He assured me he was just as sad to be leaving me, and that I was the best thing about this city and he would do everything he could to arrange his summer schedule to include a trip east. I'm very glad to know this, but it only made me cry harder.

After he had left, I curled up on my bed and let it out for awhile. I wasn't quite sure how to stop. Even as I write this, the waterworks have turned back on. There just seems to be a hole somewhere, and I'm not sure quite how to fill it up. Part of me feels silly for feeling this way. We haven't broken up, and we still have phones to talk to each other. But it still hurts.

Luckily, the family that I nanny for is out of town this week, so I can house-sit and take care of the cat in solitude. Of course, as always seems to happen in these situations, every song on the radio seemed a little too significant, and got me started up all over again. REM's "Everybody Hurts", Green Day's "Good Riddance," and the one that for some reason always gets me choked up no matter what: "Somewhere Only We Know."

This could be the end of everything/so why don't we go somewhere only we know...

When I got home tonight, all I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and watch the saddest episodes of Grey's Anatomy, but I realized that not only did I not have any food, but I was also completely out of toilet paper, which was bad enough in of itself, but it also meant I had no tissues with which to blow my constantly running nose. I put my sunglasses over my swollen eyes and headed out to the grocery store, passing the cute neighbor's empty apartment on the way.

The problem with going food shopping at a time like this, is that I don't actually buy anything with which I can actually prepare a meal. The cute neighbor took my appetite with him, so I wasn't much interested in anything. Although aside from the much-needed toilet paper, I did manage to buy some wine and coffee heath bar crunch ice cream. I think that will hold me over for awhile. I'm still going back and forth between whether or not I want to be alone to wallow in my sorrow, or if I want someone to come over with Chinese take-out, more wine, and a movie. I just don't know.

I know it will all work itself out in the end. If it was meant to be it will be, etc. etc. But knowing that doesn't make today and probably tomorrow, and most especially this weekend just really, really suck. Luckily my sunglasses are really large and Fenella says I can totally rock the Audrey Hepburn look.

And yes, it will all work itself out in the end. As William Shakespeare once said in A Midsummer Night's Dream, "The course of true love never did run smooth." Damn, that guy was good.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Busted

I was sitting in my living room this afternoon, enjoying the weekend, when all of a sudden my roommate says to me: "I found out something about you this week."

Uh-oh. I try and act casual.

"Oh yeah?" says I. "What?"

He chuckles. I get nervous. He chuckles again. I get more nervous. Trying to sound nonchalant I announce that the guy that played Kenickie in Grease died. He's still chuckling. Finally, he speaks.

"Where do you put your hands?" Huh? Where do I put my hands? I try and think of an incident where perhaps I touched raw chicken and then chopped some vegetables without washing my hands. I quickly pushed that scenario out of mind as I reminded myself that I don't cook.

"Or what was it? WWBD?" Shit.

As the realisation dawns on me that my roommate has discovered WWBD? I frantically think of any blog posts I may have written that include him in them. I don't think there are any. My second immediate concern is that he might have come across it by googling me. He didn't. Whew. There are a lot of people I don't want reading this.

He found it because he glanced at my computer once and saw the title. He likes blogs so googled it, only to discover the truth. He's promised not to tell anyone and he's also said he won't read it any more (I have my doubts about that one). I don't mind that much, it's just a bit strange him knowing about it.

I decided to blog about the incident so asked my roommate to choose his pseudonym. He's decided on Rufus.

And as I told Rufus, he needs to at least get it right. It's what do you do with your arms.

Friday, May 27, 2011

First and Second

Two weeks ago I was at a bar, celebrating (yet secretly crying on the inside) the last day of work for my good friend/co-worker, K$.  We were a couple beers in when we started talking to the guy sitting next to me, who I had noticed had previously been sitting on the other side of K$.  He was fun, a big guy who had the personality of a teddy bear.  If he were standing outside of a bar, I would immediately given him my ID, he looks like a bouncer.  After K$ left, I stayed and hung out, we exchanged numbers, and I met him out later on in the week.  I realized the reason why I liked him the first time, he thinks I'm funny.  (I like people who think I'm funny).  But that's about all I like about him.  He's kind of old, he smokes, and he tells really boring stories.  But he does think I'm funny. ..

It was pretty clear he was trying to date me.  Ugh, why does he have to try to date me?  Why can't we just get drinks every once and a while after work, at the bar he gets free drinks at?  He can laugh at everything I say, get me drunk, and then not try to kiss me.  That would be perfect.  My outings with the bouncer reminded me of something: I like when guys take me out, laugh at my jokes and tell me I look pretty.  It reminded me I do want to date, I just don't want to date him.

So I reactivated my OkCupid account, updated it, and then promptly ignored it.  After all, I've been busy, looking for a new job is like having a second job.  However, I logged on one day and stayed on (mostly because my friend called and I left it open) and low and behold, guys started messaging me.  One guy in particular actually got me responding.  Financial Frank works on mutual funds downtown.  I have no idea what that means, but I've wanted to date a rich guy for almost forever, and the financial district is a step in the right direction.  More importantly he seemed to have quite a personality and actually made me laugh.  He also lives in my area.  I suggested we meet for drinks.  He suggested we have a phone date first (seriously? who does that? who actually likes talking on the phone?).  I talked to him that night for an hour and a half! I don't even talk to Violet for that long! I don't even know what we talked about!  He did explain to me why he likes to talk to people on the phone first (it involves a smelly girl with a lisp) and it's a pretty funny story.

On Wednesday we finally meet for our drinks.  Things went well.  Not gonna lie, I got a little drunk.  Tipsy drunk, not "I'm going to make bad decisions" drunk.  He paid for the beers and we start walking in the general direction of our houses (turns out we live close, like, really close).  At the corner where we are to go our separate ways, he kisses me.  Damn, he's a good kisser.  He decides he'll just walk me home, I let him.  We walk through the park.  He kisses me again.  Before you know it, we're full on making out under a tree in the park.  Not just under a tree, up against a tree. It. was. hot.  We recompose.  This is ridiculous. We're making out in a public park.  There's roaming hands involved.  What are we, high schoolers?  We walk the remaining block.  We talk on my front steps.  We make out a little more and say good night.

I come into my house feeling slightly mortified about what just happened.  I don't usually kiss a guy on a first date.  Not because I'm against it, but because I'm so damn awkward that I don't know what to do and end up giving him a weird hug while mumbling brainless pleasantries like a fool.  But that was not awkward, at all.  I'm in the kitchen, my face still red, when my roommate Bernard comes in.  "So, who ya makin' out with on the porch?"  He had been sitting on our balcony, observing it all (luckily he couldn't see the park from there).  I felt like I had just been caught red handed by my father. But then, unlike my father, Bernard proudly says, "Look at you, gettin' ass on a Wednesday."  And yeah, I was kind of proud of myself too.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

The Chop

Hair.

So much about us comes from our hair. It's a source of pride, frustration, embarrassment, and individuality. It can dictate our moods, as it's impossible to be in a bad mood when having a great hair day, but will send your day spiraling in a heartbeat on a bad one. It can also send people in a panic to find a gray one, or when it starts to fall out. Nothing defines your appearance more than hair. It's the first thing people mention when describing someone else. One thing is for certain: there's a lot of emotion tied to our hair. Women especially.

I have very thick, very dark, curly hair. And before Friday at noon, it was long. Really long. The amount of hair on my head was pretty amazing. It had gotten to the point where it was more than halfway down my back. On the rare occasion that I wore it down (because wearing it down was a pain in the ass) people stared at it, asking, "is all that yours?" Yes, it's all mine.

I had been growing it long for two reasons. One being that I'm too cheap and lazy to get it cut on a regular basis, but the other reason being that I had the intention of donating it ever since my mom lost her hair to chemotherapy several years ago. I knew how emotional it had been for her to lose her hair, and had I had enough at the time, I would have cut it off right then and there, but I didn't, so I let it grow.

For the past year or so, I've been talking about chopping and donating it "soon." Even though I knew I wanted to donate it, I'd grown rather attached to my hair. It was my thing. I know it sounds silly, but I was actually worried that if I got rid of it, I would lose my one distinguishing feature. Without it, I would just blend in with every other girl. To help my decision-making, I asked the cute neighbor if that was in fact true. He told me I was indeed being ridiculous, and mentioned that people (men) were too busy staring at my legs, ass, and boobs to notice my hair. He's so romantic.

On Friday morning, I woke up determined to cut my hair. I'm not sure why Friday, but I tend to make big chops during times of really big change in my life. This year certainly qualifies. First the cute neighbor is moving away this week (maybe it was a preemptive chop, in preparation for the loss of a man?), then I'm moving to Europe for grad school in the fall. I'd say it's a year for new starts. And thus, new hair.

I told the hair dresser what I wanted. She asked if I was sure. I told her I was. She reminded me that what I'd told her was longer than the 10 inches required, so I didn't need to go so short. I told her to do it anyway. She put my hair in a ponytail. Then chopped it off. She cut off an entire foot of hair from my head. A foot of hair!

I exhaled. I already felt much lighter, like I wasn't being weighed down by this thing hanging down my back. No more would I need to pull my hair out from under me while laying down, nor would it get stuck behind me when I was sitting down or in my car. When she was all done, there was still a lot of carnage on the floor beneath me. She picked up my ponytail and put it in a ziploc bag for me, and told me I was doing a good thing, so I shouldn't be sad about losing my hair. I almost cried.

My roommate's jaw dropped when she saw it. "I can't believe you went so short!" she said. But nobody was happier about it than the cute neighbor. He was good not to say anything about it, but the sheer mass of hair on my head was always in his way. When I slept at his place, I slept with it up so as not to suffocate him. He tells me it looks better too. This morning, when I put my hair up in a pathetic little ponytail while making pancakes, he asked if I missed my hair. "Not yet," I said. "Do you miss my hair?" Without hesitating: "Nope."

Now that the really hot weather has set in, I don't think I'll be missing it anytime soon.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Don't you dare call me a Twi-hard

You guys!

I've been home a week since my trip to the Pacific Northwest and I haven't even told you about it yet?!  It's ok, I haven't unpacked either (I'm an adult, I do what I want).  It was a very grown up trip, might I say.  I was going for an interview, ya know, because I'm a grown-up.  I brought my laptop, which I actually did work on. I brought a dress, which I actually ironed in the hotel.  I brought heels, which I actually wore.  I brought hair products, which I surprisingly used!  I also brought my mother.  Don't laugh.  I really like my Mom. Even when she drives me absolutely mad.  It was mother's day weekend,  how awesome a daughter am I?!

We spent two days in Seattle.  I loved Seattle.  Would someone please get me a job in Seattle?  (Preferably as a wedding planner or back-up singer?  I'm really good at upholstering things too, if that helps.  Like, super good.  Seriously, Violet and I have agreed that upholstering may be my only true talent).  Unfortunately, the job I was interviewing for was not in Seattle (nor did it include upholstery), but it did give us a great day to drive around the Olympic Peninsula, where we stopped on several rocky beaches and hiked in moss covered forests.  And stopped in two little towns of Port Angeles and Forks.

First off, let me say, I promised Violet I'd never go to Forks without her.  But once we decided to do the Olympic Peninsula drive, there was no way to not go through the setting of the Twilight Saga.  Secondly, I'd just like to say: Bella is a whiny bitch.  Seriously, Bella.  This place is gorgeous.  You're a fool.

Port Angeles is lovely.  I found some sea glass on the rocky beaches.  The ferry to Victoria was in the port and the paper mill was...well, smelly.  But apparently I could have seen Bella's prom dress in the shop window and eaten mushroom ravioli at the Italian restaurant her and Edward went to.  As we made our way to Forks, my mom asked why Forks was chosen.

"It has the most clouds/rain in the US.  Vampires can't go out in the sun, they sparkle."
"Sparkle?! I thought they shriveled or exploded in the sun."
"No, Mom.  That's in made up stories....Where's LaPush on the map?  ... That's where the werewolves live"
"I thought Twilight was about vampires?"
"It is,  but it also has a pack of werewolves.  They're enemies, obviously."

Somehow this conversation made me feel ridiculous.  I'm 26 years old.  A little too old to be heading to the  setting of a fictional love story about vampires and werewolves,  that's clearly meant for tweens.  Oh, and I'm with my mother (being with Violet would have made it ok).

But I forgot about that, because the drive from Port Angeles to Forks was gorgeous, windy road, mostly right along a huge lake. Why didn't Bella mention is was so pretty (because she's a whiny bitch, and ok, also because Stephenie Myer had never been there when she wrote it).  It's picturesque Washington state.  We stopped for a short hike to a lovely waterfalls, among huge pine trees and moss covered logs.  Ah, Olympic Peninsula, you make me want to literally hug a tree.

Forks is nothing to brag about.  After quickly stopping to get gas on the outskirts of town, it took all of 1 minute to drive through it.  We didn't go to all the tourist spots that a pamphlet I picked up had told me about.  We didn't see "the Cullen house", Bella's truck, the high school, or Dr. Cullen's reserved parking spot at the hospital.  Ya know why I didn't go see them? Because these people aren't real!  I did however see the grocery store where Bella shopped, the outfitter's where Bella worked, and on a unrelated note, a logging museum.  No, Forks is nothing to brag about, but Bella, I still say you're a whiny bitch.  Sorry, twi-hards.

The Final Countdown

Two weeks and counting. And then the cute neighbor is just... gone. Driving off into the sunset in his U-Haul. Two weeks. Then I'm going to be left behind to try to figure out what it was that I did before he was in my life. I mean, how am I going to spend my Saturday mornings if not sleeping in with the cute neighbor, then cooking breakfast together while listening to NPR? I think I'm going to be running a lot.

Two weeks ago, the cute neighbor and I were at least able to go on a mini-break together. We got out of town for a long weekend camping at the beach. I wanted to use this opportunity to cross something off my New Year's Resolution list: skinny dipping. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but if I died tomorrow, my biggest regret in life would be not going skinny dipping. I'm not sure why, but skinny dipping seems to me a symbol of living life to the fullest, so to speak. Nakedness, water, the most natural of elements. So yes, on this trip I was determined to go skinny dipping.

Skinny-dipping on the beach, however, is not as easy as it seems (does it seem easy?). It's something that kind of needs to be done late at night, when the air is cooler, and the water dark and slightly scary. The beach closest to our camping spot (and thus within walking distance late at night after drinking beer around the campfire) had a big, scary-looking sign posted informing us of the high levels of bacteria found in that water and STRONGLY CAUTIONED us not to swim in it. The last thing I want to do is bathe my naked hoo-ha in high levels of bacteria.

Second, I was hoping to include the cute neighbor in this skinny-dipping endeavor. I mean, why wouldn't I? However, without my even mentioning skinny-dipping, the cute neighbor informed me that the ocean is the last place he would ever want to go skinny-dipping in case the fish mistake his dingus for bait. Hmm. Excellent point.

And thus, no skinny-dipping. But I WILL do it. I'm bound and determined.

Aside from the shattered dream, the cute neighbor and I had a fantastically awesome weekend. We rode bikes on the beach and went kayaking, and he didn't even get mad at me that my right arm is stronger than my left so I kept making left turns and he had to work harder to correct it, or that I flung mud all over him when we were going through really shallow water.

It really hit home when we got back and I told my roommate all about it, and she said that's so great that we'll at least have that last nice memory together. That made me sad. Obviously I don't know what will happen or how it will end, but she's right. We'll always have the beach.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Three's a crowd


Has anyone every wondered why there are 4 ladies in Sex and the City? Because three girls together is carnage.

Of course, there are exceptions to this rule and I can think of two. Me, Vi and our friend Clem - we are the three musketeers. And Elle, Serena and Margo from Legally Blonde. That's it. However, me and my two friends are a completely different story.

On paper, the three of us should not be friends. We're completely different in personality, likes and dislikes. Our fashion sense differs wildly so there isn't even the option of clothes swapping (that and we're all completely different sizes). Yet, by some great mystery of the universe the three of us have been friends for a number of years. We've been on holiday together, had drunken nights out together and generally been a close unit. But there is always drama. Always.

There was one occasion where I had to physically put myself in between the two of them and pull them apart (I'm not that strong). There's been other occasions where I've been in floods of tears after an argument and another occasion where we've not spoken to each other for hours. See? Drama.

My theory to why this is (apart from alcohol) is because there's three of us. Four girls together? If there's a problem, you tend to go off in pairs. Five? Two and three. Six? You get the idea. But three? Three inevitably equals a pair and someone left on their own. They feel ganged up on by the other two and somewhat isolated. A feeling I've become well accustomed to.

This past weekend, me and my friend Elsa (the one getting married soon) headed up to see our friend Rae (the one who isn't getting married soon). The evening started out fine. Drinks were drunk, old stories were laughed over, wood was chopped (Rae lives in the country). Basically, all was going well. Rae's housemate was also there and he was partaking in the fun as well.

At some point during the evening, he put his arm round me and I shrugged away. It was no big deal but I didn't want his arm round me. I said nothing. I walked back into the living room where Elsa asked if he was coming on to me. I said no, I just shrugged away. The next thing I know, Elsa's told Rae that he was coming on to me. Um...what? Then, the next thing I know, Rae is having a go a me for saying that he was coming on to me, something which I never said. I insisted I never said this while she basically took her housemate's side and Elsa sat there getting away scot free. She was the one who said something in the first place, and, something that wasn't even true.

Tears were shed (by me) and I was not happy the next day either. I felt ganged up (again) and we only cleared the air a few hours later. As I had predicted to the White Horse just before the weekend, there was going to be drama.

And drama there was. And drama there always is and three girls together is never a good idea. I remember when I was younger, about 6 years old, me and my two friends had a falling out and our mum had to sort it. I remember the mums commenting that three girls together was going to result in problems. How is it mothers know everything?

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Happy Mother's Day!


Happy Mother's Day to all of you whom it may apply to, and Happy Mother's Day to you future moms as well. I was about to sit down and write about my weekend trip last week with the cute neighbor, but then I changed my mind and decided to write about moms instead after reading Tina Fey's Prayer for my Daughter. I have the World's Greatest Mom, even though I haven't exactly gotten around to sending her a card yet. But I think this is a good start.

Dear Mom,

I may not seem to have always appreciated how awesome you are, but 28 years and 2 different jobs as a nanny have really given me some perspective on that subject.

First of all, I want to say thank you for not hiring a nanny to raise me. No, really. I really appreciate the fact that you weren't more concerned with climbing any ladders and were happy to come home before 7pm and have dinner with me. I know we weren't the wealthiest family in town, and I know that we couldn't afford the "cool clothes" and lived on a budget, but you know what? That's ok. I may have acted like a brat about it when I was a kid, but now I realize that I'm better off now. It was better to have had my parents around than to have had whatever was the latest fashion in 1997. I would have only regretted it anyway.

Speaking of which, thank you for never buying me the Nintendo or GameBoy I so badly wanted as a child. I must have asked well over 800 times between 1st and 6th grades, and every time you told me to go read a book or go outside and play. Now I am a very active former librarian. Go figure.

Thank you for insisting that the entire family sit down together every day for dinner. Even if we had to eat at 4:30pm or 9pm, all 4 of us had to be present. It's why Grayer and I are such stable adults (don't laugh) and the kids I baby-sit for (who eat dinner with me, their nanny, 5 days a week) are already in therapy, and most likely will be forever.

And I may have been embarrassed by how loudly you cheered at all my softball games, but it really meant a lot that you were there. For every single one of them. I noticed, and I certainly haven't forgotten. Same goes for volleyball games, swim meets, tennis matches, band concerts, and church plays.

I also may make fun of you for practicing your ballroom dance steps in the kitchen with dad, but the truth is, if I ever find Mr. Right, I certainly hope we will still be dancing in the kitchen after 30 years of marriage.

And finally, when people tell me I'm just like my mother, I think "That's really not so bad." You really know what you've been doing all these years.

Happy Mother's Day!

Monday, May 2, 2011

Well, I sure didn't see that one coming...

I had agreed to go out for a drink with The Highlander tonight for two reasons. 1. I like to do charity work, and 2. to inquire about obtaining his cat for my roommate, who needs a cat to keep her cat company when I move out. I had a few expectations going into the meeting, namely that he would have done absolutely nothing in the year and a half since I've seen him and be kind of sad and lonely. However, before I went out, I scolded myself for having such a low opinion of him and decided that maybe the reason he's moving to New York was that the internet dating site he was working so hard on had really taken off, or that he had met the woman of his dreams and was moving to New York to be with her.

He had arrived at the designated place a bit before I did, and things got off to a generally awkward start, as they usually do with him. We spent the first part of the evening catching up. I found out pretty quickly that he had already given his cat away, which I gave him a really hard time for. He told me it had been a hasty decision to get the cat in the first place, but that when he needed to get rid of it, he should have called me, but as he said, "you weren't speaking to me." Oh, please. As if I owed him something. I also found out that he hasn't done anything with his internet dating site. Of course he hasn't. One thing I've noticed about him is that he starts things and doesn't finish them. And he gets pets and then gets rid of them. I told him not to get anymore pets.

Then things got awkward. He started to apologize to me for how things ended. He wanted to let me know that he has a lot of regrets about how things ended and that I really stand out to him. 'Uh-oh,' I thought, 'would this be a good time to mention the cute neighbor?' Instead, I told him he didn't have anything to apologize about, we just don't have anything in common.

"What do you mean we don't have anything in common?," he asked.
"We don't have anything in common," I said. "Name one thing we have in common."
He paused. "You start."
"Exactly! You can't even name anything we have in common!"
"What are you talking about? We're both... human beings."
I laughed. Out loud. "Human beings? Yeah, you, me, and 6 billion other people!"

This was getting awkward. I mean, human beings? If the only thing you're looking for in a person is that they are a human being, then I'd say you have pretty low standards. He seemed a little flustered, but he continued on: "Well, are you single right now?"
"No."
"Oh." Disappointment? Really? "You have a boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"What do you and this boyfriend have in common?"

Despite how stunned I was that this guy was actually asking me what my boyfriend has that he doesn't, I started rattling off all the things that me and the cute neighbor do together. We watch baseball together, win tailgating competitions together, read the same books, go to the beach and actually have a great time (more on that later), traveling, etc.
"Wow. Well, I guess he has me beat."
"Yes. Yes he does."

I could have also told him that the cute neighbor is a helluva lot smarter, funnier, more interesting, and all around everything that the highlander is not, but I chose not to.

Then he asked me if the cute neighbor was going to London with me. When I explained that no, he was actually taking a job on the west coast, the highlander kept pushing: "See? I'll be closer to you than he will be while you're in London!"

Oh my god. I can't believe this is actually happening. First, this moron wants me to tell him what my boyfriend has that he doesn't. Then, he tries to make a case for himself by claiming that a New York-London distance is better than a West Coast-London distance. THERE IS STILL A FUCKING OCEAN IN BETWEEN! I did not see this coming.

Then he tried to tell me that he's changed ("evolved" is the word he used. Probably because he thinks that using this big word is going to impress me.) and that he's now a baseball fan, and he plays golf, and he goes running. Then he asked me what my favorite baseball team is.

I stared at him. Anyone who has met me for 5 minutes knows my favorite baseball team. I'm not a casual fan. I'm a crazy, screaming, pissed-off-and-in-a-bad-mood-all-day-when-they-lose kind of fan. I asked him if he was serious, then asked for the check.

I went in there expecting him to be sad and lonely, and I found out that he is sadder and lonelier than I thought. I mean, people don't go looking to start long-distance relationships. But hey, we're both human beings, so maybe it could work. Or maybe I would rather spend the evening conversing with a sock puppet.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Thunder thighs

I was on the subway, minding my business, when a guy starts talking to me. Guys never talk to me on the subway.  This was a young one, and not in a good cougartown sort of way.

"Excuse me, do you play sports?"

Umm..yeah I do play sports, I've always played sports.  I don't know why he's asking me this, I'm not dressed as if I was just playing sports.  The sports chit chat continued until my stop comes up.

"Yeah, so I'd love to have your number, I'm really intrigued by women with huge thighs"

As my mouth drops, the doors mercifully open and I make my exit with no more than a thoughtful "huh." Huge thighs? 1.  Learn how to keep things to yourself, you stupid little man.  2.  Learn how to compliment a woman (give you a hint, it should never involve the word huge).  and 3.  MY THIGHS ARE NOT HUGE.  Ok, so they're not skinny either.  They're average, I swear!  Yes, I play sports.  Yes, I've done my fair share of leg presses and wall sits but I am no Serena Williams.  I'm proportional!

I'd be flattered if I wasn't so insulted.  What. A. Douche.