October 16, 2010

Space Invaders and White Dudes with Goatees.

I have no idea what it is, but every single time I get hit on by a white dude, he has a goatee. I seem to attract a specific type, too. The kind that look like weekend bikers. You know, those guys who are tax paying, corporate citizens during the week, but wants to go all badass on the weekends? The guy, who at first glance, you might think is a member of some skinhead group? Yeah, that guy.

I was at the grocery store earlier today, minding my own damn business, when this white dude with a goatee walks up and stands real close to me. Too close to me. There was, maybe, six inches of space between us.

Generally speaking, I'm one of those people who doesn't like it when people take liberties. Standing too close to me, making assumptions about certain things, being too familiar with me, etc. Space invaders annoy me even more than chronic door holders. Oh, don't get me started on people who hold doors open for you when you're still in the damn parking lot! Forces you to break into a fucking sprint to get to the door, 'ya know, 'cause you don't want to inconvenience the damn door holder! Selfish bastards!


As I'm making my way to one of the open self checkout lanes, I glance at goatee dude because he was in my line of sight. I guess, to him, that meant go stand uncomfortably close to this woman who, obviously, has no interest in you, whatsoever, and try to pick her up.

I see him coming towards me, so, I quickly look away in the hope that he will get the message and just move the fuck on. In fact, I was still walking when he placed himself in my path, and extended his hand. Using his best "I'm a white dude trying to sound like a cool black dude" voice, he said, "pretty sistas get to go first." Okay, first of all, that sounds EXACTLY like something a serial killer would say. Secondly, there were two open checkouts, so, it's not like he was letting me use his checkout. CREEPY!

I was so taken aback at how close he was standing to me, that, what he said didn't immediately register. Then, I thought about it and the first thing that came to mind was that episode of Martin where he goes to his 10th year high school reunion to confront his high school nemesis, Ricky Fontaine, "Pretty Ricky what they call 'em." This made me smile, which goatee dude probably misconstrued as a green light, not that he needed any encouragement. He was super confident and all up in my shit.

When he extended his hand, I reached out to shake it, 'ya know, 'cause I'm generally not a rude person. I was going for a quick hand shake, but he held my hand as he introduced himself and asked if I'd like to have coffee with him. I smiled that polite, fake smile that we all do from time to time and told him that I was a gay lady... that I only "had coffee" with the ladies. Not missing a beat, he said, "that's cool, we can still hang out." In my mind, I'm like, why would I want to do that? I, politely, declined in that, "thank you for offering, but, no, I would not like any croutons," kind of way.

At this point, I just wanted to pay for my shit and go. I was done being polite to this fucker and felt my irritation level rising. So, after declining for the second time, I just walked away from him, paid for my groceries and left.

On the drive home, I started thinking about my encounter with goatee dude and what I took away from it. The one thing I know for sure is that, "Pretty sistas get to go first" is a line that I, absolutely, have to work into a conversation... perhaps, the next time I am at the DMV, I will walk to the front of the line, turn around and proudly proclaim, PRETTY SISTAS GET TO GO FIRST!

July 30, 2010

The thing about being unemployed is...

... Beyond feeling like a complete failure at life and a hobo, you have waaaaay too much free time on your hands. I'm the type of person who does not manage idle time well, at all. My mind wanders, I get distracted by cool stuff, etc. Basically, I want to do things when I feel like doing them AND get paid for it. But, that shit is not conducive to any kind of productivity.

I expressed this to my mom the other day, and she blurts out, "it's not too late to become a criminal. Criminals don't have schedules. Remember when you used to steal quarters out of my purse?" Geez, I can't believe that she's still bitter about a few quarters. Let it go, mom, let it go!

This morning, I spent 20 minutes trying to telepathically will an empty toilet paper tube into the garbage. I'm pretty sure that I saw it move, just a smidge. Either I have burgeoning telepathic powers or that ant that I lost sight of was trapped underneath the tube, fighting for its life.

You know what would be awesome?! If I just showed up at my old job, dressed as the one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and just started chatting people up and firing off imaginary emails. I wonder how long it would take for someone to say something to the weird Ninja Turtle loitering in the break room, sipping coffee while smoking a cigar and a cigarette at the same time?

The people at my old job are pretty much non-confrontational hippy types, so, they probably wouldn't do anything until I left for lunch.