September 10, 2010

fishbowl politics

I am not sure whether the ninth of September in the year 2010 brought some sort of cosmic gravity circle of doom into my life but somedays I'm arrogant enough to declare that the world is actually against me. Or for me. I don't know. It's fucking with me. I'm arrogant enough to believe today that the world's got me on a string, opposite to the Frank Sinatra tune. Like the minor version of that song.

I spent one afterthought to today making a conscious effort to ignore the fact that the last ghost I use to haunt is playing a show at a venue in my neighborhood. I came across the listing while browsing show itineraries for the coming weekend at my job.
I do not like the idea of consciously making an effort to ignore things that once known cannot be unknown. But at the same time I welcome that wistful distraction sometimes. Now is not one of those times. Flirting with the newly hired bespectacled barista with floppy hair at the attached coffee bar provides something better than wistful because it often comes with free soy lattes. I don't even give a shit that asking for a soy latte (gratis assumed, natch) makes me sound prissy (I like the way soy tastes better than milk, OKAY?). Besides, there's nothing wrong with being prissy when anyone walking into this joint with serious intentions has at least 6 or 7 figures in the bank. Just as I'm demonstrating my ability to be not prissy and totally hilarious, an old superior walks in with either a date or a colleague. She fired me, yes, but I never held it against her.

"Oh man, that lady totally sacked me at my last job," I faux-whispered to Barista.
"What did you do?" he asked with genuine interest.
"I was bad," I said, emphasizing the words I didn't say. "Really bad."
He chucked appreciatively and maybe a little nervously. Which I thought was well-played.


B and I shared dinner at a Thai restaurant across the road from our apartment. The food is more delicious than the price and the place has decent ambiance for a Thursday night crowd. We are seated next to a couple that is already holding hands across the table and I balk a bit before seating myself. B and I browse the menu in silence while I eavesdrop on the hand-holders.  Some things I overhear are the girl talking about driving to Toronto to visit her mother. She's talking about what their babies would look like even though neither of them having rings. He's talking about some video shoot and some friend's screenplay. All the while they are never not touching in at least 3 places. I don't even have to say a word before B grits her teeth and say that maybe we should've ordered in. A jazzy bossanova cover of "Do you really want to hurt me?" croons in the background. I can't help it. I have to laugh. Loudly and inappropriately.

I take the time to confirm my suspicions that piques at the sight of the boy's dark plastic-framed glasses and sheared jew-fro. Sitting beside us, canoodling over a plate of green curry is the number one contender for roommate #3 from our roommate hunt 3 months ago. B and I exchange looks as I type this information on my phone and show it to her. Her eyes become saucers and she just shakes her head. This could have been in our house ruining our lives, much less our dinner right now. Bullet dodged.
We don't make contact, but the dude glances over a few times as if to suspect what I've already realized. I don't indulge that, but upon leaving I get up and give what I can only assume is a "knowing" look, but probably just looks like I'm gesturing to the fact that they both pretty much ruined our meal with their vomitrocious romance or whatever passes for obnoxious dating lately. Makes no difference to me how that look is interpreted. 

Anyway, B and I venture to the video store in which I then run into another friend who then bumps into a friend who he had mentioned wanting to set me up with (who if he didn't turn out to be cuter than I initially thought, I might have just died on the spot of embarrassment). On the way out, I hear my name called and when I turn my head it's the dude who works at the coffee place down the block from me who I reckon doesn't just give me free coffee because he thinks I need it. I'm bad at small talk with people I know better than him and do my best to sound delighted and polite. This generally leads to a lot of rambling and mumbling and misplaced exclamation points. Before I can make it back to my apartment, I just have to be pounced upon by a former flame who is with a cute girl who is under-dressed for the sudden chill, which only means one thing to me when I see that: date. I keep this meeting exceptionally brief.

And then I'm home and on the internet and receive an IM from someone so out of sight I put him out of my mind. I proceed to confront people on the internet because that is apparently the only appropriate venue for a confrontation in this day and age, and then I decide I may not want to leave my house ever again because if this keeps up the only thing waiting for me outside is a goddamn ambush apparently.

 You can't see this but I'm wearing GLITTER NAIL POLISH. I think this is what is attracting all this weird mojo. Maybe something having to do with with the cosmos' magnetic pull on the alkalinity of tackiness that comes from a grown-ass lady wearing glitter nail polish.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

it's probably less the glitter polish and more that you're simply..asian. The mere mention of the word "asian" brings erections to those who grew up with access to internet pornography. It's hard out there for an asian girl. Peace be with you.