I Don’t Want a Stupid Title

i would call it a paper weight, but it does have that ipod function, so….

maureen and i were just discussing that “missed encounter” section on craigslist and how stupid it is today, or anyway, that was all BEFOFE my ride home on the subway.

so, usually the missed enounter is about some moron who saw a hot girl at Whole Foods buying a loaf of bread, but the problem is he didn’t have the nads to actually talk to her.  he thinks if he posts something on craigslist referencing the encounter, that he’ll have a pretty decent shot of finding this girl.  like, i don’t know, it wouldn’t have made sense to go up and say hello, because the odds are much better she might be cruising CL, and after she’s done looking at the men for men section and has had her fill of amateur weiner shots, that maybe she’ll just “sneak a peek” at the missed enounter sections. 

anyway, this is the post i just put on CL under missed encounters:

this is to you girl on the 2 who stood in front of the seat i was sitting in, your camel toe literally inches from my face.  i don’t know why you think you need to wear your pants hiked that far up your ass, and truly, i wanted to say something to you; intervene in some small way, but somehow, the setting just didn’t seem right.  if you read this, please, email me back and we can possibly meet up; discuss over a cup of tea and a scone, how we can tackle the possibly daunting task of extracting your pants from your ass.  p.s. i don’t know why you think you needed to wear a belt, by the way.  those pants aren’t going anywhere.

yeah, you heard me right. many of you didn’t know i had that sort of skillz.  yeah, you heard the z at the end of that word right.

anywayz (boy, that Z just FEELZ right, ya know?), this is a kinda strange story about my weird friend who is apparently using my identity to string alone his world of warcraft buddies who think he is female (you know who you are).  naturally, when he asked me whether or not this would be cool, i was totally on board.  i don’t know why, except, life doesn’t make sense.  who am i to get into the way of this dynamic?

in other news, i am becoming the character in my book and it is scaring me.  i think this is a chicken or the egg situation, because we are basically the same person i guess, but i thought it was more of a carricature of me, and not just, actually me.  but when i first started writing her, i was way different.  i didn’t ride a commuter’s train to work.  i didn’t go to work hung over almost every day.  i didn’t make prank phone calls.  now i do.  it’s weird.  i mean, i don’t actually make prank phone calls, but i want to. 

i have nothing else to say, except, man, Doritos are breakfast, lunch, AND dinner.

i am finally fed up with the scuff marks in the bathroom and kitchen.  i tried to explain them to sarah on the phone, but she is never sympathetic to my plights because she is a jerk and she sucks.  i don’t care about little scuffs and stuff (okay, my idea of a fun saturday night is attacking the walls with a Mr. Clean Magic eraser.  one day i want to be like danny tanner, forcing her children to clean under the guise of family bonding.  i don’t know why a person would “rotate the closets,” but i want to, damnit).  anyway, to call them scuffs would actually be a gross understatement, they’re more like big footprints all over the place, meaning i mop daily.  so, after two months of bottling it all in i have put a friendly little sign on the bathroom door reading: “scuff marks give a mopper blues, so please remove your black soled shoes…love, the bathroom and kitchen.”  is this bad?  i don’t know, i’ve been trying to bring it up, but the time never seems right.  it’s not like i’m trying to implement a no shoes in the house rule.  though, that would be HEAVEN.

okay, i have to go scrub the bathtub out with bleach now.