March: not going out like a lamb.
Ah, I remember how every single bulletin board in elementary schools contained some theme related to how March allegedly “goes in like a lion and out like a lamb.” Obviously the writer of this proverb wasn’t from the Northeast. March has been pretty steadily leontine– wrapping up today with a steady downpour in a lovely 38 degree day.
The cold hard rain caused one woman to come out of CVS and instantly begin squealing in a frantic attempt to save her wilting hairdo. Her boyfriend chuckled good-naturedly, and put his coat over her head to soothe her freakout. I’ve seen this sort of thing happen a lot. I remember once coming out of Bukowskis with some pals– Retardo was there with his gf (now wife). As the first drops of rain, the Future Mrs. Retardo began to mildly fuss and re-arrange her hair, and Retardo smiled and found it cute.
Apparently, dudes find being whiny and high-maintenance to be infinitely adorably charming. I think it’s annoying when chicks do this (Sarah is coming to mind…). I really don’t care about the state of my hair, and I pretty much like rain. Thus, I never freak out. This is probably a major contribution to why I will die alone. Oh well, if being a vain, wimpy, girly-girl is what it takes to score the long-term booty, I’m happy to be an Old Spinster!
I’ll admit, I have a mild case of Spring Fever. I think it came with the cold I had last week. This may be a possible side-effect of the Day-Quil or something. It sucks– I hate this– The LAST thing on earth I want to do is feel all schmoopy and crap. Eeew. Gross. Especially since there will never be another individual for me to schmoop over (well, there is, but I will only be able to schmoop from a distance since said person is way off limits). God this is annoying. Then there’s Iphigenia at work, whom I’ve wanted to violently massacre at various points during the week for various reasons, who can’t say a single sentence without including something like, “OMG, last night MY BOYFRIEND totally sneezed. It was so cute!” or “I wish I were back with MY BOYFRIEND (she always emphasizes these words for maximum effect). He might breathe or something, and I might totally miss it.”
It’s odd. Iphigenia’s bossiness has really made me homicidal lately. I think she’s getting bossier. And, she gossips, so one of our main regular customers probably hates me now because of it. She’s the only person at work that gets on my nerves. It’s strange– I’m totally not used to working with people that I like. I’m used to working in offices with evil, control freakish backstabbing bitches, or else in labs with tards, rednecks, and non-English speaking illegal aliens, or in daycares and preschools with bilingual pagan lesbian vegans with multiple food allergies which are the #1 topic of conversation. I’ve never worked somewhere where everyone is cool and I like them all. I’m still getting used to it.
Bleagh– I’ve been feeling really randomly sad about nothing lately. It’s annoying– I mean, how many times can I mentally beat myself up for being another clich�d lonely loser? I’m listening to Daft Punk in hopes that may help– it’s sort of happy music. I hate happy music– this is about as happy as I can take music without barfing. I think I’ve always hated happy music. I mean, even when I constantly listened to the Beatles at ages 3-6, my favorite songs were “She’s Leaving Home,” “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and “A Day in the Life.” Oh yeah, and prophetically, “Eleanor Rigby.” When I obsessed over, and put on musical revues with my friends highlighting the “Annie” soundtrack at age 6, my favorite song was “It’s a Hard Knock Life.” See? I’ve always been a mopey bastard.
So, this Spring Fever has put me in the mood to see if I can score some random, anonymous scene-trash booty at the Common Ground or Great Scott or something. You know, try to pick up some purple-haired art student with a white belt (oh wait, those are totally pass�) ok, with a black belt with 3 rows of blunt metal studs, who won’t remember my name in his coked-out state. However, that requires way too much effort. I’ll have to actually dress up and act charming or at least something approximating artsy. **sigh** how boring. I’m so sick of The Game. Oh well. Maybe the weather will remain shitty, and this fever thing will pass. We can only hope.
Maybe sake will help. More sake conversation came up at work today– I was inspired to go out and buy a bottle. However, I don’t have the proper equipment to drink it. Japanese food and drink always requires special equipment. I mean, you can’t drink sake out of an ordinary glass! How gauche! I seriously don’t think I could do it, because that’s how much a product of my mother I am. Thus I went to the Super 88, frantically looking for a tokkuri and some cups, but the people there are mostly Chinese, and can’t understand my awful Gaijin accent anyway, so I had no luck. Oh well– it can wait.
