No getting around it, really. i must... be there.
Here:
...yes, please.
Thursday, April 30
Quieting the brain's din.
Well, here is the next place i need to go.
No getting around it, really. i must... be there.
Here:
...yes, please.
No getting around it, really. i must... be there.
Here:
...yes, please.
Too Much Information.
So, yesterday i had an altogether new experience.
("In the altogether"? "nude" instead of "new"?)
i'm at work, minding my own business, when a guy walks up. His breath is flammably alcoholic, but his pupils were like pinpoints, so i'm guessing there was another substance at work as well. He'd just gotten a new tattoo, on his neck, and wanted to know if he could check it out in the mirror. My co-worker and i were happy to oblige, just for the spectacle. In all fairness, it was a really nice tattoo! It was simple, just 2 words (i can't remember them) and a date: 1911. But the letters were very artfully scrolled, and the inkwork was truly phenomenal. It looked really, really smart.
And we told him so! After he asked five hundred times.
Turns out this guy had a bit of a self-image problem. He kept adjusting his (porkpie) hat and/or fixing his hair ("should i shave it all off? What do you ladies think?"), and after regaling us with a long story about his estranged wife and their 2 kids, he made us promise that she didn't leave him because of his looks.
"i mean, i'm not ugly, right? i'm a decent-looking guy? C'mon, ladies, tell me the truth."
Holy insecure tattooed twenty-somethings, Batman! i thought i was bad. Seriously, asking a complete stranger to rate your attractiveness? And with not a trace of irony? i could see another, douchier, guy using this act as some sort of come-on. But this lad was truly, truly up to his ears in self-loathing. It was a little rough to be around.
But here's the kicker: As much as he was fiddling with his clothing, what with the constant tugging, adjusting, patting down, etc., i couldn't help but, you know, look at him. And that's when i noticed it.
"It" being the operative word.
His pants were sagging quite a bit (nothing strange in this day and age), but instead of wearing boxer shorts, he was wearing tighty-whities. Thin ones. And um, did i mention yet how low his pants were? Let's just say that there was very little of this guy left to the imagination. Here are a couple of pop culture references that might illustrate the issue a little better:
#1: (see :30-:40)
and #2: (see 1:25-2:50)
Now, although "it" was never actually "out", it may as well have been. It was the male equivalent of a girl bending over and showing a whole lotta thong: nobody needs to see that, you know? Some things are just.... private. Now, cleavage is one thing. A guy walking around without a shirt on is another. But i really do not to see the exact size and shape of your genitalia there, buddy. Thanks, all the same.
i wonder if he even knew? A guy that (obviously) looks in the mirror that much must have given himself at least a dozen once-overs before leaving the house that day, how did this get overlooked? Hm. Guess we'll never know for sure.
Eventually, we gave him a flower to take to his estranged wife (he was on his way to help her pack for a trip). He proclaimed what great friends we all were now that he'd confided in us, and poured his heart out and all, and he was off down the street, giving me a "bye, April!" and April a "see ya later, Heather!"
("In the altogether"? "nude" instead of "new"?)
i'm at work, minding my own business, when a guy walks up. His breath is flammably alcoholic, but his pupils were like pinpoints, so i'm guessing there was another substance at work as well. He'd just gotten a new tattoo, on his neck, and wanted to know if he could check it out in the mirror. My co-worker and i were happy to oblige, just for the spectacle. In all fairness, it was a really nice tattoo! It was simple, just 2 words (i can't remember them) and a date: 1911. But the letters were very artfully scrolled, and the inkwork was truly phenomenal. It looked really, really smart.
And we told him so! After he asked five hundred times.
Turns out this guy had a bit of a self-image problem. He kept adjusting his (porkpie) hat and/or fixing his hair ("should i shave it all off? What do you ladies think?"), and after regaling us with a long story about his estranged wife and their 2 kids, he made us promise that she didn't leave him because of his looks.
"i mean, i'm not ugly, right? i'm a decent-looking guy? C'mon, ladies, tell me the truth."
Holy insecure tattooed twenty-somethings, Batman! i thought i was bad. Seriously, asking a complete stranger to rate your attractiveness? And with not a trace of irony? i could see another, douchier, guy using this act as some sort of come-on. But this lad was truly, truly up to his ears in self-loathing. It was a little rough to be around.
But here's the kicker: As much as he was fiddling with his clothing, what with the constant tugging, adjusting, patting down, etc., i couldn't help but, you know, look at him. And that's when i noticed it.
"It" being the operative word.
His pants were sagging quite a bit (nothing strange in this day and age), but instead of wearing boxer shorts, he was wearing tighty-whities. Thin ones. And um, did i mention yet how low his pants were? Let's just say that there was very little of this guy left to the imagination. Here are a couple of pop culture references that might illustrate the issue a little better:
#1: (see :30-:40)
and #2: (see 1:25-2:50)
Now, although "it" was never actually "out", it may as well have been. It was the male equivalent of a girl bending over and showing a whole lotta thong: nobody needs to see that, you know? Some things are just.... private. Now, cleavage is one thing. A guy walking around without a shirt on is another. But i really do not to see the exact size and shape of your genitalia there, buddy. Thanks, all the same.
i wonder if he even knew? A guy that (obviously) looks in the mirror that much must have given himself at least a dozen once-overs before leaving the house that day, how did this get overlooked? Hm. Guess we'll never know for sure.
Eventually, we gave him a flower to take to his estranged wife (he was on his way to help her pack for a trip). He proclaimed what great friends we all were now that he'd confided in us, and poured his heart out and all, and he was off down the street, giving me a "bye, April!" and April a "see ya later, Heather!"
Tuesday, April 28
really? kshfksdHgioeghilrghsg,gmsd
...sometimes i hate that i have Yahoo mail, because then i have to look at things like that. It's almost unbearable.
Saturday, April 25
long nights.
So Nat is off on a phil-sci. retreat for the weekend, which means i got to sprawl out in the bed last night. Except, i woke up in a tiny ball because i was not warm enough without him. Alas.
i did, however, get to slumber without the constant drone of the fan, which was perfectly heavenly. He grew up next to a freeway on-ramp, so he needs the white noise to fall asleep. i, on the other hand, desire absolute tomblike silence to drift away in. So every night i go through the practice of tuning out the fan (and the light). It has gotten easier over the years, but i still wish it would just go away. i plan to thoroughly enjoy this last night of blissful silence.
Here are some really phenomenal wildlife photos... i was particularly struck by the narwhal and polar bears. Gritty shots, these, but cinematic as well.
Today i plan to download some old Cranberries songs and go for a long bike ride. High school memories, commence! Also, will be scanning in a bunch of my photos, because i tend to monopolize the computer while doing so, and i figured Nat's absence would be a good excuse to hunker down and just get it all done. Hope to greatly expand the ol' Flickr set today.
Sorry for the dull post... i am not fully engaged in the world right now for some reason. Brain is.. elsewhere? Here is some hilarity for you. Have fun!
And the Song of the Day, because this sounds like how i feel mentally. the dolorous depths, 'n all:
i did, however, get to slumber without the constant drone of the fan, which was perfectly heavenly. He grew up next to a freeway on-ramp, so he needs the white noise to fall asleep. i, on the other hand, desire absolute tomblike silence to drift away in. So every night i go through the practice of tuning out the fan (and the light). It has gotten easier over the years, but i still wish it would just go away. i plan to thoroughly enjoy this last night of blissful silence.
Here are some really phenomenal wildlife photos... i was particularly struck by the narwhal and polar bears. Gritty shots, these, but cinematic as well.
Today i plan to download some old Cranberries songs and go for a long bike ride. High school memories, commence! Also, will be scanning in a bunch of my photos, because i tend to monopolize the computer while doing so, and i figured Nat's absence would be a good excuse to hunker down and just get it all done. Hope to greatly expand the ol' Flickr set today.
Sorry for the dull post... i am not fully engaged in the world right now for some reason. Brain is.. elsewhere? Here is some hilarity for you. Have fun!
And the Song of the Day, because this sounds like how i feel mentally. the dolorous depths, 'n all:
Wednesday, April 22
can you paint a portrait of a day?
So, i woke up dead this morning. The only elaboration i can offer is this: Have you ever seen a cake or dessert called "Death By Chocolate"? That's actually not funny to me anymore.
(My computer cord is curling itself into a curiously accurate rendition of the Golden Spiral.)
Finally talked to the homeless guy who walks by every evening i'm at work. Noticed his feet were dirty and bare, so i called out, and asked him what size shoe he wore. The answer, after some thought, was, "ten." i told him my boyfriend had an extra pair of boots he didn't need, but that he wore a size thirteen. Dang! The guy told me that he "was okay", in a very thoughtful and finite way. i think he was trying to tell me not to worry about him. i said, "are you sure?" and we sized each other up for a second, after which he reaffirmed his previous statement. He said "God bless", and off he went. Striking blue eyes.
Lavender roses that smelled like a dream, and aching feet. Dog slobber on my hands and no moon tonight.
Um, what else? Song of the Day: it's a toss-up between Hope and Bob; guess i'll go with both, because the sound quality of the first song ain't so great.
TTFN.
(My computer cord is curling itself into a curiously accurate rendition of the Golden Spiral.)
Finally talked to the homeless guy who walks by every evening i'm at work. Noticed his feet were dirty and bare, so i called out, and asked him what size shoe he wore. The answer, after some thought, was, "ten." i told him my boyfriend had an extra pair of boots he didn't need, but that he wore a size thirteen. Dang! The guy told me that he "was okay", in a very thoughtful and finite way. i think he was trying to tell me not to worry about him. i said, "are you sure?" and we sized each other up for a second, after which he reaffirmed his previous statement. He said "God bless", and off he went. Striking blue eyes.
Lavender roses that smelled like a dream, and aching feet. Dog slobber on my hands and no moon tonight.
Um, what else? Song of the Day: it's a toss-up between Hope and Bob; guess i'll go with both, because the sound quality of the first song ain't so great.
TTFN.
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