Exchange: look
Scene: a sofa.
Girl: You don’t smile much, do you?
Boy: What are you talking about? I am smiling right now!
Girl: THAT’S a smile?
Archive for October, 2009
san francisco
Hows life
This stage of my life, the so-dubbed “Dressing Nicely For No One in Particular” period, has thus far been marked by periods of high consumption, low contemplation. I bought some new widgets for myself, as previously documented, but I also bought my parents a new digital camera. This is a one-for-you, one-for-me arrangement that spares me your tongue clucks and tut-tuts.
I have also quietly developed a flavor of misantropy centered on a full-throated opposition to romantic relationships. It employs much derisive snorting and scoffing– sometimes abbreviated “snoffing”– to puncture the sails of others whenever possible. Not sure how we got to this point, but here we are. None of this, of course, has stopped me from going on a few adventures– or “in-quests”, as a friend crudely quipped. Theres probably enough to sustain a juicy new journal. My ego craves an audience but my senses covet employment. So, anonymous? Or password protected?
Exchange: the setup
She: Is your friend– the one you want to set me up with– is he cute?
He: He’s functional.
She: “Functional.” What is that, like a Swiss army knife?
He: Like a credit card.
She: Is he dorky? You know I have a soft spot for dorks.
He: Yeah, he’s busy overdubbing the latest AV as we speak. Look, go have a drink with him. You’ll like him. He’s smart, successful, confident, driven–
She: A tool.
He: I said he was functional.
She: Why are you doing this?
He: Because this, what we’re doing right now, this is unsustainable. I don’t want this.
She: Nobody here has asked anything of you. You are having an allergic reaction to something you do not understand.
He: Do I look available to you? Do I? Do I look sufficiently adaptive to shape my heart in complement of another?
She: That’s a lot of words to say that you’re selfish.
He: Piss off.
She: Just tell me how you feel about me.
He: I think… that you have great legs.
She: I am two nights away from falling for you, and you tell me “you have great legs”. Go fuck yourself.
He: Only thing left to do. Thanks.
SPREEEEEEEE
Or, List of Items Purchased Since Gaining an Income
- Menswear, multiples
- Software – Adobe Lightroom 2
- Running shoes – Asics Gel-1140 (based purely on a Consumer Reports review)
- Exercise metric – Nike+ iPod Sensor
- Exercise accessory – iPhone armband
- Operating system – Mac OS X 10.6 Snow Leopard
- Board game - Carcassonne
- Graphics card – ATI Radeon HD 4850 (1 GB DDR3)
- Video game - Left 4 Dead
Well, that did not take long at all, did it.
Hows work
Anon or not; I might not last the week. I’ve never actually been yelled at like I was a small child. I wanted to throw the phone across the room and cuss: hogshit pissfuck cockshank tithorse jagmule. So worked up, that I got out, drove home, doing 20 above the limit, put on shoes, and ran a few miles. Until it was nighttime, with a darkness unlit by my incandescent frustration.
Exchange: on her way
Scene: apartment. Sam is lazing on his couch. John is on the phone.
John: Yeah, I know. It was a shame I missed you at the club.
[...]
John: Yeah, me too. Hey, why don’t you girls just come over here?
[...]
John: uhhhh… 2nd and 26th.
[...]
John: Oh, really? Now? … Okay. See you soon. (to Sam). Shit, they’re really coming!
Sam: Dude, it’s like 4am in the morning. What are they thinking?
John: Do you need me to diagram what they’re thinking? Obviously all those years of groundwork has paid off. She has deeply considered the depth of my character, and is moved by her passions. Hey how much liquor do you have here?
Sam: Not much. We’ll need a beer run.
Scene: corner CVS.
John: beer… beer… Beer?
Sam: I told you. CVS doesn’t sell beer. It’s like some Christian thing. Christian Vendor Service or something.
John: Shit. Okay, how about snacks?
Sam: I got nothing at home.
John: Useless. let’s see, doritos, cool ranch– girls like cool ranch, right? It’s refreshing and refine–
Sam: –and reminds me of 6th grade lunch boxes. What else?
John: baked lay’s.
Sam: baked? Are we serving a salad bar? Also, “baked lays” sounds like a lifestyle neither of us are equipped for at the moment.
John: they’re going to be here soon.
Sam: Want the smart play? Get something subliminal. Yknow, just imagine it. She’ll be relaxing up there, giggling at your dumb jokes, and her hand reaches into the bag. What does she want? Maybe something salty, something crunchy, something phallic.
John: Pretzel sticks. Got it.
‘grant parents
Yesterday I threatened my mother that I would automatically donate 50% of any inheritance from her to charity. Like, to something inefficacious, like UNICEF. So, I told her, she better start spending it. That got her going.
Sometime, unless you shake them, they will simply forget, out of habit, to live the life they earned for themselves.