Oddities and Ends
I have come to the realization that I don't give a damn about John anymore. I can't muster up even the slightest interest. He's absolutely boring. Nothing he does is fascinating. That didn't take very long and I'm completely surprised that it happened so quickly. I guess what helped was when I told him how I felt about him. He could have said, "I don't feel that way". He could have said, "Now I don't want to talk to you again". He could have said, "You're just one fucked up bitch". He could have said all three of those things. But no. I was met with silence. He said nothing. He got up and disappeared. For the longest time I wanted to kill him. Now I just don't care where he parks his ugly carcass. He was never smart. He was funny, but his jokes were crude and stupid. I met a few decent guys since then. Hoopdy boy was top on my list...because anyone who's younger than me, is just as sarcastic and silly as I am, and uses the word "hoopdy" was cool in my book.
And then I met The Geek.
But that's too harsh a word for it, really. I know way too many geeks, and not all geeks are alike. This one has struck my fancy. I'm not going to ask him about what he's writing in his little calculator diary, but I have very strong suspicions that it has to do with me. So what should I refer to him as? Trenchcoat? He does wear one (black, of course) but that really doesn't cut it. The Eccentric? My god, I know far too many of those. I suppose I could use his real name but that's out of my comfort zone here on the web. (My real name is Sporkey. Really.) It's more fun and spylike to use pseudonyms. Aahhh....Mr. Blond. Now that amsuses me. But don't tell him that. I wouldn't want to insult him or anything. [Insert giggle here.]
I really like him. He's very intelligent, he's really nice and a bit sweet (but don't let that get back to him that I said that), and he has the proper amount of evil and smart assness (don't tell him that, either - I don't want to leave the impression that he is evil enough). So yeah, I'm smitten. I don't have have enough guts to find out how he feels about me, though. After getting the brush off from John, I don't want to tell anyone a thing about my feelings. What John did really stung. And I don't want it to happen again. But the damnedest thing about this is I think he likes me too -- more than I really realize. He does these incredibly fucking adorable things to me, which in turn makes me like him even more, which pisses me off because I have no idea how much he likes me and I'm too damned chicken to ask. So now my situation is upgraded to a quandry. He says things that make me suspicious enough to make me believe that he likes me. It doesn't help because I'm attracted to him also. I think he's attracted to me but I can never be sure about these things. (HA! goes the little voice in my head. He kissed you, dumbass, so, like, he did that just for shits and giggles?!?!) And I'm afraid it won't last...like I'll wake up and it was only a dream or a hallucenation or something. I just don't know.
Did I ever mention that I hate being a girl?
Wednesday, July 31, 2002
Tuesday, July 30, 2002
Some Bits of Uselessness
Some people are smart. Some people are really incredibly smart. Some people just think they're smart and use every opportunity to try and shove it down your throat until the idea of slapping them upside the head with your beer mug seems perfectly normal. Oh, that is, of course, after they've made comments about the appearence of your hair color and their lustful desires. And then everyone wants me to believe women have come far in society? "Here hon, let me get that for you." Grrrr.
Some people are smart. Some people are really incredibly smart. Some people just think they're smart and use every opportunity to try and shove it down your throat until the idea of slapping them upside the head with your beer mug seems perfectly normal. Oh, that is, of course, after they've made comments about the appearence of your hair color and their lustful desires. And then everyone wants me to believe women have come far in society? "Here hon, let me get that for you." Grrrr.
Wednesday, July 17, 2002
And the Saga Goes On...
So not only does Bar Mouse leave Classic County early to go see about a boy, she's been spending a lot of her time with said boy. And Bar Mouse really has to cut down on that. That's not good for her mental health at all. Maybe if she convinces a good friend to come with her, her friend could give her an idea of whether or not taking up the boy's time is a worthy endevor. Hmmm....
So not only does Bar Mouse leave Classic County early to go see about a boy, she's been spending a lot of her time with said boy. And Bar Mouse really has to cut down on that. That's not good for her mental health at all. Maybe if she convinces a good friend to come with her, her friend could give her an idea of whether or not taking up the boy's time is a worthy endevor. Hmmm....
Tuesday, July 09, 2002
Thursday, July 04, 2002
Well, Then
Here's how my night went (and why I'm mad):
In the coffee shop:
I walk up to the coffee shop. Miss Kitty and my friend are sitting outside talking. Miss Kitty didn't want to go in. My friend wanted to talk to a guy that was out there. I go inside, get my coffee, and read the newspaper. Miss Kitty comes in, gets a coffee, sits down with me. My friend decides to come in, then goes back out (because the guy is there), then comes back in, and then sits around waiting for a chance to talk to the guy alone. (That, of course, doesn't happen. He leaves before she gets the chance to talk to him.) Then she sits elsewhere and when 10 pm rolls around, she asks if I want to leave to go to the Hipster Bar. (I was going there and she wanted to come with.) I told her I'd leave in a little while. I wanted to listen to some music and maybe write a little. She comes back. We leave.
In the Hipster Bar:
We're sitting at the bar. I buy her a beer. I try to make conversation. She's not talking...she's looking out for the guy who she wanted to talk to. She talks to him and says what she has to say. She finishes her beer and then leaves and goes to the coffee shop. I am now sitting alone. I am mad at this point. At least have the decency to talk to me. Grrrr. And if you're looking out for someone specific, then go to the bar alone. Don't go with me and pretend like you're going to talk to me. I hate that. She comes back and orders another drink. I've had a beer, two shots, and am on my second beer. Some guy tries to hit on me. I go hide out by Mr. Owens. At this time, she left the bar to go to someone's house to talk to them. She comes back, plays pool with Mr. Owens, takes a few sips out of my third and fourth beers, pulls out a book and reads. At some point, I asked Mr. Owens if I could hang out with him for an hour or two because I was a bit tipsy. He says yes. And then, as we leave, she decides she's going to hang out, too. I've had enough by this point so I go to my car and go home. Better he deal with her. I didn't want to. All I wanted to do was sit around with him and talk to him. I'm sure she did, too, but she doesn't talk much and I don't like that. It makes me mad. She rankles my nerves all the time. Yeah, I want to get laid too....Yeah, I want a boyfriend....Yeah, I get depressed. BUT I DON'T MAKE A SHOW OF IT! Grrrrrr. More and more, I'm agreeing with The Artist: women are selfish assholes. Don't go around trying to get laid and when you can't, don't act as if you suddenly want to hang out. Makes me ill. So at one point during the night, I took her ring and gave her a little on-the-spot reading of herself. Maybe I'll creep her out enough that she won't want to be around me. Hehehehehe. Yeah...creepy...I can handle that....
Here's how my night went (and why I'm mad):
In the coffee shop:
I walk up to the coffee shop. Miss Kitty and my friend are sitting outside talking. Miss Kitty didn't want to go in. My friend wanted to talk to a guy that was out there. I go inside, get my coffee, and read the newspaper. Miss Kitty comes in, gets a coffee, sits down with me. My friend decides to come in, then goes back out (because the guy is there), then comes back in, and then sits around waiting for a chance to talk to the guy alone. (That, of course, doesn't happen. He leaves before she gets the chance to talk to him.) Then she sits elsewhere and when 10 pm rolls around, she asks if I want to leave to go to the Hipster Bar. (I was going there and she wanted to come with.) I told her I'd leave in a little while. I wanted to listen to some music and maybe write a little. She comes back. We leave.
In the Hipster Bar:
We're sitting at the bar. I buy her a beer. I try to make conversation. She's not talking...she's looking out for the guy who she wanted to talk to. She talks to him and says what she has to say. She finishes her beer and then leaves and goes to the coffee shop. I am now sitting alone. I am mad at this point. At least have the decency to talk to me. Grrrr. And if you're looking out for someone specific, then go to the bar alone. Don't go with me and pretend like you're going to talk to me. I hate that. She comes back and orders another drink. I've had a beer, two shots, and am on my second beer. Some guy tries to hit on me. I go hide out by Mr. Owens. At this time, she left the bar to go to someone's house to talk to them. She comes back, plays pool with Mr. Owens, takes a few sips out of my third and fourth beers, pulls out a book and reads. At some point, I asked Mr. Owens if I could hang out with him for an hour or two because I was a bit tipsy. He says yes. And then, as we leave, she decides she's going to hang out, too. I've had enough by this point so I go to my car and go home. Better he deal with her. I didn't want to. All I wanted to do was sit around with him and talk to him. I'm sure she did, too, but she doesn't talk much and I don't like that. It makes me mad. She rankles my nerves all the time. Yeah, I want to get laid too....Yeah, I want a boyfriend....Yeah, I get depressed. BUT I DON'T MAKE A SHOW OF IT! Grrrrrr. More and more, I'm agreeing with The Artist: women are selfish assholes. Don't go around trying to get laid and when you can't, don't act as if you suddenly want to hang out. Makes me ill. So at one point during the night, I took her ring and gave her a little on-the-spot reading of herself. Maybe I'll creep her out enough that she won't want to be around me. Hehehehehe. Yeah...creepy...I can handle that....
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
Chicken Fried Rice, Among Other Things...
I got mad at my friend the other day. He insulted me and I told him to stop (it was a particularily mean insult). Know what he said? "Well, now that you're sober now, you're an antisocial asshole." Okay...yeah...riiiiight. I just don't think drinking a bottle of Night Train, a fifth of Jack, and then three pitchers of beer all in one night is any fun. He doesn't eat a lot, he's two inches taller than I am, is thin as a stick, so you can only imagine what that amount of liquor does to him. And he's one of those loud, pay-attention-to-me drunks. Arg. It's always drama with that kid.
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I love making chicken fried rice. It's so easy to make. Too bad it's 90 degrees outside, about 100 in the house, and 1000 if I'm cooking. But I can't help it; I love to make chicken fried rice.
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Someone complemented me on my blog. (You mean to tell me that I'm not the only one who reads mine? Whoa....) It's the Audience of One concept. There's always at least one of anything in the crowd. Jeez, I feel honored.
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I like a certain Mr. Owens. You don't know him but you'd think he was geek if you saw him. I never have enough courage to talk to him...at least in my coffee shop. At the bar, after I've been drinking, I can't stop talking to anyone I know so I usually talk to him at the bar. That sucks because I have trouble being intelligent around him, even when I'm sober; he's a rather smart chap and must think I'm a dork. But I think he's really interesting.
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John might be moving back to my side of town. I hope not. There's almost a certain freedom in knowing he's too lazy to come to this side of town...I know that I won't run into him. I feel so much better now that I know he never shows up at the coffee shop. I've seen him around once or twice, but because one of the Elders of Classic Country Music was there, I barely noticed him (only the fact that he bumped into my chair did I notice that he was even there).
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I read my epic poem about September 11 to two very drunk girls. They loved it. I'm thinking of posting it on my web site, but I have a disclaimer: It's not a patriotic poem...at least not in the "America is Good, God Blesses Us, We Kick Ass" sense. To me, it is patriotic because it focuses more on the everyday veiw. Or whatever. You don't have to like it, but I think it's damn good.
Tune in again for the next installment: "Facing the Wall: How I Learned To Dislike People".
I got mad at my friend the other day. He insulted me and I told him to stop (it was a particularily mean insult). Know what he said? "Well, now that you're sober now, you're an antisocial asshole." Okay...yeah...riiiiight. I just don't think drinking a bottle of Night Train, a fifth of Jack, and then three pitchers of beer all in one night is any fun. He doesn't eat a lot, he's two inches taller than I am, is thin as a stick, so you can only imagine what that amount of liquor does to him. And he's one of those loud, pay-attention-to-me drunks. Arg. It's always drama with that kid.
******************************************
I love making chicken fried rice. It's so easy to make. Too bad it's 90 degrees outside, about 100 in the house, and 1000 if I'm cooking. But I can't help it; I love to make chicken fried rice.
*************************
Someone complemented me on my blog. (You mean to tell me that I'm not the only one who reads mine? Whoa....) It's the Audience of One concept. There's always at least one of anything in the crowd. Jeez, I feel honored.
*********************************
I like a certain Mr. Owens. You don't know him but you'd think he was geek if you saw him. I never have enough courage to talk to him...at least in my coffee shop. At the bar, after I've been drinking, I can't stop talking to anyone I know so I usually talk to him at the bar. That sucks because I have trouble being intelligent around him, even when I'm sober; he's a rather smart chap and must think I'm a dork. But I think he's really interesting.
*********************************
John might be moving back to my side of town. I hope not. There's almost a certain freedom in knowing he's too lazy to come to this side of town...I know that I won't run into him. I feel so much better now that I know he never shows up at the coffee shop. I've seen him around once or twice, but because one of the Elders of Classic Country Music was there, I barely noticed him (only the fact that he bumped into my chair did I notice that he was even there).
*****************************
I read my epic poem about September 11 to two very drunk girls. They loved it. I'm thinking of posting it on my web site, but I have a disclaimer: It's not a patriotic poem...at least not in the "America is Good, God Blesses Us, We Kick Ass" sense. To me, it is patriotic because it focuses more on the everyday veiw. Or whatever. You don't have to like it, but I think it's damn good.
Tune in again for the next installment: "Facing the Wall: How I Learned To Dislike People".
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