Last night on 42nd Street, a girl in green velvet pants with patch pockets on the butt rushed by me, her tote bag full of Chinese paper umbrellas slamming into my messenger bag as she passed. I had purposely taken the uncrowded side of the street, so it was especially bothersome that she’d somehow apparently needed to be in the exact spot I was walking in. Two seconds later, she reached into her bag, and her yellow Vitamin Water popped out and rolled across the sidewalk. My gut reaction was to yell, “HAHA!”
Mentally ill?
My train this morning was not crowded. There was barely anyone on the 4/5 platform at Grand Central, and the few people who were there effortlessly filled the space inside the door of the train that pulled up. A few people were waiting to get on after me, though, so I wanted to move to the center of the car, which was loaded with free room. Two men were blocking my way, though, so I politely said “excuse me” to them as I always do.
One of them moved. He was young, good-looking, and probably has a beautiful penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side full of multiple women who love him and aren’t jealous of each other. He probably has a great job with a boss who allows him creative freedom and doesn’t mind when he comes in 15 minutes late.
The other man did not. He was in his 50s, probably lives in Westchester, probably has a wife who stopped loving him years ago, and probably never gets the promotions he thinks he deserves but all of his co-workers know he doesn’t. He stood right where he was, giant leather shoulder bag totally blocking my way. But I’m a farm girl, and having muscles means you don’t have to wait for people to be nice, so I just pushed his bag aside and stepped past him into acres of empty space.
As I did, though, the guy muttered a mean name* under his breath.
Read the rest here.
*Exclusive to this blog: that name was ASSHOLE! Unbelievable, right? Girls are not assholes!
Sometimes I look through the folder on my hard drive full of things I intend to post here, and I find screenshots from chats with Kamran like this:
WTF?
I had to Google image search it just to see if I’d ever posted it before, and while I didn’t find it, I did find something else, which I had to post on the new blog Tracey’s graciously sharing with me, because I apparently still don’t have enough of an online presence to suit myself.
I know this sounds cheesy, but aside from actually needing to write in order to keep all of my feelings from bursting out of me at inopportune times, I like the community that a blog creates. I like having a few people who I can rely on to find something to say about everything I post and who can rely on me to do the same. (i.e. Tracey and Bachelor Girl)
A lot of blogs that I like end up failing, and I think it’s because they never develop a community of people who make them feel as if it’s important that they keep writing. (Not that I think I’m curing cancer here.) Mostly it’s because they never make an effort to reach out to other bloggers, maybe because most writers are insecure yet narcissistic.
What I’m leading up to is that there are a few blogs that I recently started reading and that I’d really, really love you to read, too. Because I like nothing more than to see your comments on other blogs and to publicly mock you for them.
• Feast on Scraps, Tracey’s idea/inspiration blog that’s loosely related to our forays into scrapbooking but is mostly just pretty stuff she likes
• Good Hair, Kim Luck, Kim’s blog about how Jesus has given her great hair but absolutely nothing else good in life
• Sandy Olive, Sandy’s blog about . . . you know, stuff . . . and I’m not even sure why it’s good, but it is, and it’s often very heartfelt
Feel free to comment with any blogs you think are worthwhile, too.
