So I have the last season of Angel and the first season of Buffy. For over a year now, I haven’t been able to figure out in which direction I want to collect: Do I start with Angel and go backward, or start with Buffy and go forward? Because of this, I haven’t collected at all. This problem resurfaced today when I went to Best Buy with a gift card I received and left empty handed because my brain is incapable of making these life-altering decisions. Nevermind that two seasons will overlap - this is the first time I’ve ever even considered it.
Welcome to the metaphorical microcosm of my world.
This girl I used to work with brought her baby up for everyone to see today. I told her that it didn’t look nearly as retarded as I thoug—oh I mean he’s lovely, really. We laughed.
Sometimes when I’m angry and I have no cleaning supplies (my vice), I’m forced to have mental conversations with the objects of my affliction. With ample time, I’ll daydream and envision scenarios and arguments - especially arguments - because in the heat of the moment, I have a tendency to freeze up and go blank and even stutter. So I practice arguments before they happen so I’ll know exactly what I’m going to say. And then the situation fades away and there is zero confrontation. And so then I lay into myself because I’m a masochist and sometimes suffer from low self-esteem.
Yeah. Last Thursday was my company’s Xmas party. I only went because I had nothing better to do. See there’s this new guy at work that I really think is hot - we’ll call him Andy because that’s his name. And it’s not just his hotness, I feel like he and I have this strange inexplicable connection. I see him making the same gestures I do, things like that, and the eye contact is constant and timed perfectly. And I’m pretty sure he’s a royal homosexual. It’s just a feeling I have.
I was hoping he would show up to the Xmas party, and by some coincidence we would end up sitting side by side and then we would fall madly in love and I would go home with him and we would make out and lay on his bed and talk until the wee hours of the morning until one of us would say “omg, it’s 5am” and then we would laugh and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
I should be euthanized.
I thought all was starting to go according to plan. I sat alone at a table, while a co-worker and his family sat opposite me. I knew Andy was there because I had been watching him in as uncreepy a way as possible. When all of a sudden… he’s walking towards me… he gets closer… he’s almost here… OH GOD, he grabs the seat beside me and sits down. But he didn’t look directly at me or say anything, and as he sat, he twisted to turn slightly away from me.
Strange.
It’s not like we haven’t met several times before, although our lengthiest non-work related conversation took place in the restroom, but it wasn’t weird or bad.
After a few minutes, I became acutely aware that his left shoulder was cold and that he was serving it to me on an icy silver platter. WTF? I was slightly heartbroken, but still naively optimistic, I figured I should say something.
Me: “So, how’s it going, Andy?”
Andy: turning slowly, looking surprised. “Wha… how… how am I doing?”
Me: surprised that this was confusing, but smiling. “Yeah.”
Andy: turning away from me and looking the other direction. “I’m okay. I’m just… not good… in things like this…”
Me: “Me either.”
We both laugh ever so slightly.
Fin.
And that was that. I got up and moved shortly after and ate dinner with a group of people I’m more familiar with and then sat with another department for the rest of the night. I also got the impression that he was, in fact, good, “in thinks like like [that].”
Unless he meant sitting beside me, of course. The bastard.
So that night, I swore off him for good. I make every effort not to see him, which isn’t hard considering it barely happened in the first place. But now that I’ve decided that he is not hot, not gay and not for me, he’s everywhere I look. All day today. Everywhere.
I just want to be normal.
As if it wasn’t bad enough being born on a cusp, entirely fucking up my horoscopes, tonight my fortune cookie contained two fortunes. I can’t deal with this crap.
A couple of weeks ago, I met my boss’ hot gay nephew. I’m thinking “this is not good.” Obviously he was not introduced to me as “[my] hot gay nephew,” because that would be gross and also weird. But he made my color-coded gay alert level rise to a throbbing red. And I found him on Myspace where all was verified. That’s where I found out that he’s only 17. Yeah, even worse. Legal, sure, but I’m not interested. I do loathe my boss, though, so I’ll never say never.
Then later today while I was shopping at Kohl’s, which I hate, I met this guy named Cale. I figured that with a name so distinctive, I could easily stalk him on Myspace. And a narrow search provided 3 results, one of which was him. Turns out his three favorite things are girls, beer and Jesus. The trifecta.
I see the future, and it involves me and about two dozen cats.
Texas is in the Southern Hemisphere, y’all. It was so humid and hot this morning that I broke a sweat and daddy was not pleased because this means shiny forehead ALL DAY LONG. I’m very conscientious about projecting my baldness or its side-effects onto others. That, and I have no patience for the mildly retarded public who have a collective affinity for shiny objects. “I’m down here.”
The bad part about this time of year is having to dress for two seasons every day. Layers are fun, but it’s double the laundry.
Three months ago, I bought my new and first iPod. I said I would let you know when it was finally named. It happened. He is Marco. No particular reason. I was sitting here staring at him thinking how sexy he is in his sleek silicone body glove and the name magically appeared in my skull. That is all.
