September 27, 2009

The obtrusive life of an American teenager (just kidding I'm 23)

I wake up at noon today. It is Sunday. I went to bed at 4:30am because I was on the internet looking at blogs and chatting on the phone with B about how she is afraid to go to bed because we watched Interview with the Vampire and vampire-Brad Pitt and vampire-Tom Cruise are scary. And about her boyfriend's friend from Nashville that's crashing on their couch who we spent the afternoon with yesterday, is asking about me apparently.
I feel like I'm 13 again. ShutUpOMGsrsly??
When I was 13 I had an overactive perspiration problem and my mom didn't allow me to shave my legs.

There is a text message from her, waiting for me on my nightstand: "Brunchero?"
My face is breaking out. Again. Fuck.

Amazingly enough, I am out of the house in 45 minutes. I did not shower. I arrive at the platform in the nick of time to catch the train and land at her stop in 5 minutes flat. Triumph. I run into that dude I just said before as I'm exiting the train. He is bloodshot in the eyes and wearing the same thing as yesterday. He doesn't recognize me at first and then we say hello and do that awkward side hug people do sometimes when they aren't sure how to greet an acquaintance. I don't really feel any other way but neutral towards him but I like the idea of someone liking me. It's a nice feeling.

I invite him to get food with us and he explains to me that he spent the night in a Ford Focus in Williamsburg with 2 other friends of his. I am not surprised by this somehow.
"Do you have to make pee?" I ask, politely.
"No, I'm okay."
"Where are your friends?"
"Still in the car, sleeping."

I don't know where he was going and I don't think he knew either. We arrive at B's stoop and I press the buzzer. She looks surprised when she comes down but says to him anyway, "Oh I was just about to text you to see where you were. You didn't come back to the apartment last night."
"Yeah, I slept in a car with my friends," he repeats.
"Oh. Do you have to use the bathroom?" she asks.
"No, I'm good."

They both eat vegan pizza and I eat a tomato-bacon cheese melt. Afterwards, B goes to work, Dude mutters about finding his friends and I hop the train to the city again. I deposit money to the bank, go to the bookstore and look at magazines. A very thin pretty girl and a young British man are going through the fashion magazines and she's showing him all the ads she's in. I leave when my neck starts to hurt and wander downtown to find something to fix my face. I end up spending $21 on a facial mask at an Origins boutique. The guy gives me free samples.

I go home and use my new products. My face looks the same, if not slightly more inflamed as if angered at my attempts to bully it into behaving. I am impatient. I want to see results, instant gratification, et al. I am antsy. I cook dinner and clean the kitchen. I take out the trash. I run into my neighbor in the hallway.

"I'm wearing pants, I promise!" I blurt out, realizing that the over-sized tee and small shorts I'm wearing must make me look indecent. I scurry down the stairs and chuck the trash and run back into my apartment, never to be seen again.

I read more internets and then for whatever reason decide to write about my entire Sunday most of which was boring and spent 75% by myself.

I take a break, mid-entry to pick at my face some more in a magnified mirror.
Oh and I also ate some vegan coconut cake.

I'm going to go look for another job now.

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