Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Boo!: It was while I was ripping off a huge chunk of coffee cake to shove in my mouth (I guess the bbq food I'd been eating from 7 to midnight Monday was discounted by the alcohol and pot I'd been consuming for even longer-god I love Memorial Day). I dropped the cake (and anyone who's judging me for eating cake at 10 in the morning can go fuck a muffin) and shook his hand. He walked away after a minute.
Yay?: I look relatively good today, especially considering I've been drunk since Thursday. Maybe the one hour of tennis on Monday fooled my body into thinking it was healthy again. Sucker.
Boo!: After he left, I thought it was safe to take a big ole' bite o' cake. I forgot that he sits ten feet away from me and that we have an open floor plan. Yeah, he saw me. He even came back to ask another question, and I had to nod and make exaggerated eye motions to indicate my answer, since my mouth was otherwise occupied. (Dirty!)
Name Change: Hot, Maybe Gay Guy has been downgraded to Maybe Gay Monkey. He is not hot, I just never got a clear look at his monkey-face.
Name Addition: Snubbee. I walk by his desk when I pass Maybe Gay Monkey, and the times I did that when he was still Hot Maybe Gay Guy, I would be focusing so hard on him that if I made eye contact with Snubbee, I wouldn't be alert enough to smile or acknowledge him. Then I walked past him while crossing a street, and I was trying so hard to figure out if it was him and if so, why he looked so much better outdoors, that when he smiled at me my face remained blank. I decided that I would be super-friendly if I ever got a chance to actually talk to him. I ended up next to him at copiers a few times-he would make conversation, and I would freeze up because I didn't want to be rude. Too much pressure. So now I've pretty much given up on us working out-if destiny wanted us to be together, it shouldn't be this hard! Sob!
Things that were said on Memorial Day and remembered though my drunk haze:
Sister, cracking up with friend: Elsa* totally developed an eating disorder!
Guy, to one-pound puppy, in a baby-voice: Ohh, I'm so gonna kick you, yes I am.
*There's a street gang named after President Martin Van Buren?
Oh yeah, and they're just as mean as he was!**
**How about if, instead of diving from the train, you... I don't know, you slip and fall in some mud and... ruin your pants?
The very pants I was returning...
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Small nervous guy, to me and roommate: My friend dared me to talk to you because I'm afraid to talk to human beings.
Tall obnoxious guy, to me, after small nervous guy left: Did you just get shot down? Want another drink?
Tall obnoxious guy, to me and roommate: I live on [somewhere] and [somewhere]. I have a terrace. And an air mattress. I use my pump on it.
Me, to tall obnoxious guy's friend: If you're going to have a wingman, try to get one who's not such a complete jackass.
Roommate, to me, about tall obnoxious guy: He's like Will Ferrell.
Tall obnoxious guy's friend, about tall obnoxious guy: He's Will Ferrell's brother.
Guy walking down residential sidewalk, to me and roommate: Can I buy you a drink?
Friday, May 25, 2007
I wasn't drunk. Sure, I had been buzzed earlier in the night, and had steadily kept drinking, but I also had pizza to soak it up. But the real reason I wasn't drunk was because I was sitting down and didn't realize that I was, indeed, drunk. When I finally stood up and left the bar, I realized that the trip home was going to either suck hard or be mildly entertaining. If I had known just how much it was going to suck, I would've taken a cab instead of worrying about my temp budget.
I rather steadily walked to the subway and made my way down, impressed with how not-drunk I looked. Then all of a sudden my mind turned from "lalala, nobody can tell I'm drunk" to "fuck I want to vomit and go to sleep I want to vomit and go to sleep vomit sleep vomit sleep fuuuck." I glared around at the few people in the station and almost yelled at some rowdy kids who were giving me a headache. The train wasn't coming. After five minutes I slid down to the (disgusting, natch) floor, closed my eyes, and willed the stupid assholes to RESPECT MY HEADACHE. That did not work.
The Subway Gods were not respecting my headache that night.
15 minutes of barely being able to keep myself from lying down on the floor later, I got on the train and of COURSE ended up next to a guy with headphones on who started "singing"/wailing/screeching as soon as the doors closed. I glared at the world in general. When he didn't stop, I turned and sent death stares at his head for a full 2 minutes. Head. ACHE. SHUT. UP.
That did not work. At the next stop I tried to switch cars but ended up making a fool of myself. I was in the last seat of the last car, and there wasn't enough time to get to another car, so I walked out and walked back in about twenty feet from where I'd started. At least the guy got off before me. (Selfish!)
Walking to my transfer, thinking I was finally safe, I realized that The Subway Gods were not to be fucked with. They had upped their game and were trying to kill two me's with one cheap trick: High-pressure water cleaning. Floor covered in water, virtually guaranteeing that I would slip and fall and crack open my head and die and get eaten by the subway rats? Check. Loud, pulsating, inescapable noise to which I must walk nearer and nearer? Check. Seats covered in water, forcing me to stand, and thus continuously hop from foot to foot to keep from killing someone, thus further increasing the chances of me falling, cracking head, dying, rats? Check.
Then T.S.G. decided to not only cause me bodily harm but to creep me the fuck out. I got on the train after 20 minutes of fucking water blasting-who knew the subways even got cleaned, ever?-and sat down in the closest available seat. Which happened to be next to an old man. Who happened to go "mmmm" when I sat next to him. I spent the rest of the ride straddling two seats with the ridge hurting my back/ass because I was not about to let my body/clothing come in contact with his.
The beginning of the night: I sprayed myself with pepper spray. Giggity giggity.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
My foot was COVERED IN BLOOD.
Freaking HELL. I obviously knew the shoes hurt, but I didn't realize they had torn chunks out of my skin.
I fucking hate being a girl. Especially one who's never going to get laid. Ever.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Completely irrelevant aside: sometimes my key doesn't work for no reason, and then I have to hope someone's home or go down to the lobby and wait for a maintenance guy to let me in.
Last night, my key wasn't working. I honestly don't think it was because I was drunk as fuck, although I could be wrong, but I never am so that's not it. Since it was around 5 am, I wasn't planning on a roommate being awake, so my only way to get in was to walk and do things. I instead chose the intelligent multi-pronged strategy of mumbly cursing, jamming my key into the hole while mumbly cursing, sitting down and staring at the door, crying (!), hoping that nobody would walk down the hallway and see/kick me, and lying down and passing out. While still crying.
I "woke up" around 6, still in the hallway, still crying, but with the added bonus of a dry, cracked throat, stomach pains, a headache, and a desire to kill everyone and everything. I crawled over to the door and sat there "thinking" about whether or not I should knock. I actually considered going back to "sleep" on the floor for a while before I realized that I did not want to do that and definitely did not want to go to the lobby, so I forced myself to stop crying, or at least keep the racking sobs to a minimum, wiped some tears off my face, and rang the doorbell.
PuppyRoommate (the roommate with a puppy, not the puppy who's my roommate) let me in. At least the crying kept her from being mad at me, because who's gonna have the balls to get mad at someone with tears running down her face? Only I could do that.
My boss has walked by my computer at least 3 times in the past 5 minutes while this page was open, and I didn't even have the energy to try and hide what I was doing. I have things to do. I don't really care. I just almost threw up on my keyboard.
And yes, when I woke up in my bed an hour later, I was still crying. I wasn't actively crying when I "walked" out the door another hour later, but whenever I tried to form words, they came out as pained yelps/sobs.
Good times. And by that I mean I want to die.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Anyhoo, I had to start off taking the subway further into Queens, which is when I encountered my second small problem. I'm so used to taking the Manhattan-bound train to work every day that I automatically got on it. Which was wrong. I sat down, realized my mistake when the announcer told me (and everyone else) that the next stop was Grand Central, heard the right train leaving the station, swore loudly, and jumped out of my seat. I waited another five minutes for the next train, then another fifteen for my transfer. 15 freaking minutes. What the fuck.
I walked into the bar, saw Guy #3 sipping a beer, and apologized for being late. I could have told the truth, which would have made me look neither stupid, mean, nor lazy, and said that I didn't realize the transfer was going to take so long. It's a true excuse, which is rare for me-I'm quite used to lying to get out of things. Instead, for I am a moron, I told him that I got on the wrong train. Great, that doesn't make me sound like an airhead at all.
I sat down without even taking off the long-sleeved shirt I threw on at the last second over what is rapidly becoming my fall-back "cleavage-y and relatively nice without being overdressed or seeming like I'm trying too hard and yay I won't have to visit the dry-cleaners" top. It stayed on the entire night, which means I can wear it when we go out on Wednesday, but then I'd have to do laundry. Every silver cloud...
So we hung out for a couple hours. Nothing special, but probably good for a blind date-there were only a few minutes of boring work-talk, he was nice enough, and I got to drink margaritas, for which I'm always grateful. He talked a lot, though, and I like being the person who makes other people laugh, not sitting there and faking an extra level of enthusiasm for stories that I could've told better. (I'm not vain, simply the best at everything, ever.)
A little after midnight we walked outside and thought about what else there was to do. He mentioned that his apartment was nearby, I said I needed a lot of sleep. I went in for the friendly hug goodbye, forgetting (again!) about kissing, and (again) was reminded. I kept laughing and pulling away and pretending to bite my nails to block off my mouth, because it's kind of tacky to make out on a sidewalk, no? Also, his invisible stubble kept scratching my face. Also also, when I started to move my hands down his back, I realized it was kind of... lumpy. Which isn't attractive. Yes, that's shallow, but it's not like we had some amazing connection, and do I really want my first (fully conscious) sexual experience to be with someone I don't want to see naked?
Keep in mind that the only reason I'm not a virgin is one comically disastrous night almost 2 years ago. So there are a few different things to consider here:
-This could just be a first step into dating and casual hook-ups, something at which I can later look back and laugh/cringe.
-We could always do it in the bathroom of a bar, which wouldn't require nudity... Maybe I'm really dirty, but that sounds kinda hot.
-If I don't want to see him naked, why would I get naked with him?
-Oh, but what if he's awesome in bed?
-His stubble hurt my face and he didn't HAVE visible stubble-how does that even happen?
-So what if he's bad in bed? At least then he won't ruin me when it comes to other guys, and it's not like I have anything to compare to it.
-It's not like I'm in perfect shape-maybe I'm being too picky.
-I don't know how to give head, which might be a problem and is a little hard to casually slip into conversation.
-He could be my practice sex dummy since I won't feel as embarrassed or shy as I would with someone I thought was smoking hot.
There might be more things to consider, but I'm at work and should probably start doing some. (BUT WILL I?)
Oh, and HAH I met this guy through craigslist. Don't judge-I was bored, all of my friends with whom I can go to bars and pick up guys are leaving for the summer, and I need some way to fulfill my personal pact of 6 men before June.
"Record Numbers on Anti-Depressants."
"All in favor say moo!" (About dairy farmers.)
"Oral Sex Can Add to HPV Cancer Risk."
I went to the full page, to see what else they thought I should know about. There were stories about milk ads for weight loss, a lethal fish virus, mandated HIV tests in NJ, cancer patients protesting lost medicine, fish oil for Alzheimer's, a skin patch for Alzheimer's, bird flu, TB, reducing colon cancer risk, and, of course, "Bruce Bowen Knees Steve Nash in the Groin."
Thank you, Google News. You are clearly more concerned about my health, safety, milk and fish consumption, and everything groin-related than I am.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Faaaaantastic. You should know that I have a pathological fear of bugs that climb into my skin while I'm asleep and proceed to bite the fuck out of me. When I heard about the bedbug epidemic that swept through NY a few years ago, my first reaction was to freak the FUCK OUT. Well, after I asked, "Wait, bedbugs? They actually exist?" But after that, I was afraid to sleep for days. I was in California at the time.
How did it get here, into our brand-new building? Interesting question. Apaprently they can travel on old sheets. Guess who just spent all day moving all of her things from school to her apartment, including a pair of sheets that haven't been used or washed in half a year and two blankets? Yeah.
Good news, though! ActressWaitress said that what she saw was clear with a red dot in it. After some hemming and hawing, I looked up bedbugs on Wikipedia. Yay, no bedbugs!
Bad news? Bedbugs look exactly like the one bug that I cannot-CANNOT-fucking deal with. The bug whose name I refuse to type because I can't even look at or hear the word without picturing it. A year ago I found one outside my bathroom, and even though I threw many heavy books at it and it FINALLY DIED, I did not sleep that night. At all. Now everywhere I look I see the bedbug, and by association, that other thing. I had to look up a picture of a puppy to get the image out of my head. I'm not kidding, and it didn't work. I'm probably going to delete this post if I ever accidentally read it because GROSS.
Fuck. That was a big fucking waste of two Tylenol PMs.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
That didn't work out, although I did temporarily fix the noise by removing the bottom of the clunky, ne'er-do-well heel. So I headed out for lunch and marched over to Staples, in the process accidentally snubbing a coworker who I've already snubbed numerous times due to his proximity to Hot and Maybe Gay Guy, and bought myself some glue. Then I placed my broken shoe and heel bit on my desk, poured glue all over them, and shoved the heel back on, because I know how to behave myself in the workplace.
I stood up to test the heel and was amazed at how well it worked. I felt like MacGyver! I looked around my desk, wondering what I could next attack with my awesomeness, and my gaze landed on my stapler. I'm not stupid, though, so I moved on. (Although after writing that, I now keep glancing over at the stapler and wondering where I could bonding glue it without getting me in trouble.) My eye was caught by my notepad-of course! The first page of it got ripped off weeks ago, and I've been trying to hold it on with a paper clip, which is rather unwieldly. So off I went to the happy land of Staples bonding glueing, which isn't nearly as fun to say as Krazy Glueing, and heh, I just realized that I got it from Staples, which is funny since I just gave into temptation and poured glue into a ridge on the bottom of my stapler. Ooh, maybe I could glue staples together... Or my hands... Or YOUR hands!
To sum up, my shoes and notepad now work fine, but I might need to check myself into a support group.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
AwesomeBoss: I don't give a shit about this job other than the fact that I need to do well to pay my bills. I have a passion that I've been doing since I was a kid, and I still do on the weekends. I'll email you the link if you want to see what I really do.
Dropout, laughing with a WTF look on my face: OK...
AwesomeBoss, noting my WTF look: Don't worry, it's not pornographic.
Monday, May 07, 2007
The fucker had SPIT-UP ALL OVER HIS FACE.
THAT'S your screensaver? Pahrdohne my French, but eeeww.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Of course, it probably doesn't help matters that I generally look like crap at work. There's little time for (good) make-up, my pants are shapeless, and, the biggest factor yet, my body/skin are rebelling against waking up early and sitting around indoors all day. So I actually look like crap all the time now-shockingly, the weird hair, ghostly skin, and dark circles under my eyes don't all go away the instant I leave the office.
The point to this, though, is that he just came over and spoke to my boss, and he's British! Wheee! I heart British guys. I would never have expected it from this one-sure, he's really very pale, but there's nothing else suspicious about him.
Also, a hot guy in the office is confusing me-he doesn't look or sound gay, but his work area is covered in drawings of penguins and a picture of Nemo (the fish). Does anybody else find that strange?
Pre-posting update: Cute guy has a picture of his son above his desk, but I haven't seen any pictures of a wife. Not that I peek over the divider every two minutes to check if he's decided yet to turn around and gaze longingly at me. Not at all.
*Australia, Britain-as a scruffy, brilliant, and anti-social doctor once said, it's all the Queen's face on their money.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
I was ten minutes late to work yesterday. No big deal, I think (...hope), but my boss gave me the perfect out and I didn't recognize it. After we exchanged herros (oh herrooo), he asked me if my commute was hard. I shook my head, thinking that he was simply asking about how my commute normally is. I later realized that I am dumb. He gave me the opportunity to excuse my lateness, and I didn't take it.
What makes it worse is that I actually did get held up at the station and miss the first train. I hurried down the steps as the train pulled in, grabbed my pass, swiped it, and hurried my crotch right into the unyielding turn-y thing. I tried it again, sure it was a mistake. It was not. I had "unsufficient funds."
Wait, "unsufficient funds"? Fuck you turnstile! First of all, it's insufficient, and second of all, it's an unlimited pass. That's like if a fat guy gets kicked out of an all-you-can-eat buffet – you really gotta go overboard for "unlimited" to turn into crotch bruises.Oh, but I have a monthly unlimited pass. I forgot that it was May 1, thereby screwing me over. Bitches. They should really put up signs warning people about this. I mean, they constantly tell us not to dangle little children over the gap-how is this any less dangerous (for me)?
(BTDubs, I'm posting from email for the first time, so if you notice that the format's off or anything like that, then you spend way too much time on this blog.)