Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Let's Make it / Yeah, We'll Cause a Scene

Brad made this picture of me last night. I wore that exact green shirt today, so I'm including it as a tiny surrogate narrator for the duration of this post.
No, I'm not holding a bone.
Don't be fooled into thinking my eyeshadow looks this good, though. Brad's given me too much credit in the using-makeup-without-looking-like-I'm-from-Jersey department.

Anyway, I am pleased to announce that I have officially formed a functional, healthy, and even pleasant relationship with the Crosby newspaper salesman. He used to be the dark cloud over my walk to work, greeting me every day with some kind of lip-smacking noise and the sentence "HellohowareyouIlikeyourlegs." A couple of days ago, I interrupted him after the "how are you," and answered "I'm fine. How are you?" before he could croak out anything lewd.

He looked thoughtful for a second and said "You know, nobody ever asks me. I'm okay." And that was that. Now, every morning he says "Good morning, how are you?" and I say "I'm fine, how are you?" and he responds "Good, thanks." Today he complimented my blazer, without so much as a word regarding any of my womanly parts.

This has really inspired in me an Anne Frank-esque belief in the fundamentally good nature of the human spirit. Consequently, I expect to be mugged and raped on my walk home.

From the Department of Extra-Marital Affairs, I'd like to report that the hot dad was indeed on the 5:12 yesterday. He's subscribed to the Times crossword online. He told me he's "in training," starting with all the Monday puzzles. He asked me where the Taj Mahal was (Agra) and then stumped me with one he couldn't get. I told him it'd probably hit me in the car on the way home, or else I'd yell it out just when I was falling asleep. Then the clouds opened, sunshine filled the cold, rainy night, a chorus of angels rang out in perfect harmony, and he said:

Don't worry, you can tell me tomorrow, 'cause I'll still be working on it.

What's that, hot dad? Do I have a date to talk about your crossword with you tomorrow at oh, say, twelve minutes after five? Second car? I'll be there with bells on.

And nothing else.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

it's indie röck and röll for më

12:16 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

tö-dö list for thursday morning:

1. take a purple sharpie
2. write "fine, how are you?" on your butt
3. wear a skirt
4. i think you know the rest

12:17 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

ümlauts mäke thä wörld gö röund.


ps-nice blog. :)

5:02 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh Kathy, your blog fills in the void that is my inability to watch "Passions". Now all you need is a dead dwarf and a lady who used to be in a wheelchair but isn't anymore for some unexplained reason. Or something along those lines.


9:52 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Is that my brother Mike? Or some other, non-genetically-related Mike?

8:23 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's Conference Services Mike. I don't think we're genetically related, but if it turns out that we are, that's the sort of story arc that would go well with Madame Sans Wheelchair. Or Maury Povich.


9:57 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I fully support either of those outcomes. So long as there's a midget somewhere involved.


P.S. Did you know that Timmy the midget from Passions actually died? You can go ahead and deny that you didn't laugh at that, but I know you did.

10:58 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

What's really funny is that I actually saw the episode where they did a tribute to his character on the show. I didn't realize that he was a Pinnochio/Real Boy type character. Yikes.

12:55 PM  

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