I'm at work and my supervisor's out sick, which means I have lots of time to write blog posts.
Already I scraped a 1000+ word plus update that belonged in a journal for my eyes only, to be unearthed when I'm writing my 5,000 page memoir, Life of James, Unabridged, Director's Cut with Deleted Scenes and Extras Too Hot For TV
Some other news, in addition to the wonderful grad school updates (Texas State-San Marcos called to say Yeah to Yeh yesterday):
-I was hired Tuesday for a month to three month assignment at G. as an "Fund Management Assistant". I'm still a bit unclear as to what that actually means, but it sure does sound nice; also, it also means I get four bucks an hour more than my previous position--"office bitch".
-Apparently this promotion is evident in my stride (or man-scent), for in the last couple days, I have been complimented by two (2) older women, one concerning my Timbuk2 messenger bag, and the other, my hair.
The former was the first statement in a serious of increasingly bizarre statements from a lady in her mid-forties on my bus ride home after work. The lady mentioned my bag's attractiveness, which somehow led to one of us referring to it as a "manpurse", which somehow led to her suggesting I wear it with shiny silver lip gloss at "15th and Clay".
I told her I wasn't sure where exactly that was, but that I had an idea what she meant. I added that I didn't think it was quite the look I was going for--not that there's anything wrong with that look--or lifestyle, for that matter. Wryly joking about my metrosexualness has long been a favorite pasttime of mine amongst friends, so I was still in familiar territory with this newfound acquaintance and, while admittedly it was a bit strange having this conversation with a random lady on the bus (even a random lady who kept looking down at my crotch), I wasn't entirely out of my element.
But then the conversation started getting really bizarre.
Abruptly she said, "I have Tourette's."
I nodded while considering what to say. "Well the medicine's working!" was out of the question. I put my foot in my mouth enough these days as it is. So I just said, with a grave and respectful tone, "Well, I couldn't tell" and smiled friendly-like, nodding some more.
"I can't believe you believed me!" she replied, laughing a raspy smoker's laugh and pointing her finger at me.
"Good one," I said. It was around this time I began to realize I was in over my head.
"Do you have any tattoos?" she asked.
She shook her head. "Aw, that's too bad."
"I don't like needles. What about those peel-off ones," I asked.
"Ooh--that's a good idea." She began to list Pepe LePew, Yosemite Sam as potentials. "You know, if you had one on your arm and wore a sleeveless tee, I know a lot of single/divorced women who'd be interested. I could be your pimp."
This was weird, yes, and I didn't know what to say, but one thing was certain: I wasn't about to suddenly turn tail between my legs from such a statement/conversation, like some kind of prude. This was the kind of lady that would chastise another for such an action. So instead I made a joke about wanting to remain self-employed and asked, rhetorically, I might add, "Besides, what could you do for me that I couldn't do for myself?"
She smiled and then whispered, "I know a lot of horny women."
I looked for an exit, and then realized it was an Express bus, meaning it would not be stopping for the next twenty minutes. Boy, that wasn't awkward.
-The second incident was at lunch Tuesday. I was waiting for my Western Bacon Blue Ring Burger (approx. 150 grams of fat and 2,000 calories) when a very attractive late thirty-something blonde standing next to me squinted slightly and said, authoritatively, "I like your hair. Who does it?"
I thought about telling her how I slept seven hours and made sure to roll over several times unconsciously in the night to ensure somewhat congruent bed-head. Now that I think of it, I might have impressed her with such a smart aleck comment. But alas, I blew and just told her the name of the salon.
I added, "I got it free, off Craigslist."
Needless to say, impressed with my stylish coiffure (and my thrifty resourcefulness) she invited me to rendezvous later that night for drinks in a dimly-lit bar in a hotel. Then we went up to her room and I banged her, like fifty times.
It's ridiculous how much I can identify with this character. I'm the Chinese Dustin Hoffman, only a little bit taller and not as good-looking in full scuba gear.