You Can Run. You Can Run. You Can Run. You Can Run.
I think we may have more in common than myopia and an unpronounceable last name, because, like my Writer's Workshop stuff, his piece was obviously not just the bare minimum Mrs. Calhoun asks in exchange for her (very, very easy) "A." In fact, it was way better than most of what I turned in in high school. It also definitely surpassed a few of the abominations I shamefully handed to Dan Chaon in my college fiction workshop. I think the prompt just smacked him right in the head; he was instructed to write about "a recent job you've had," in a David Sedaris-style first person narrative. Chris has rarely displayed more emotion than when asked about his (brief) tenure as a 7-11 clerk, so this was perfect for him.
The piece was hysterical, and terribly, horribly truthful to his actual experience. From his silent co-clerk (a woman he christened "Lotto," for their only interaction and the fact that she never introduced herself) to customers unfamiliar with Slurpee self-service, I loved it. I hope he sticks with the whole writing thing. Because, you know, look at all the fame, fortune, glamour, and luxury it's brought me.
Well, there is that very little bit of fortune. My gift for bullshit did get Kai a $75.00 gift certificate to Bloomingdale's. I can't remember if I ever mentioned this, but I wrote an irate letter for her to the president of Bloomingdale's after a debacle with their White Plains bridal department, who royally screwed up a gift on her friend's registry. Fifteen minutes worth of feigned outrage produced a letter that had the Bloomie's execs leaving her messages a few days later. Apparently, they sent every member of the bridal party a gift card for the same amount. Long story short, this is how I'm getting the $15.00 Urban Decay lip stain I urgently, viscerally need.
Don't tell anyone, but I'm at work listening to Enrique Iglesias and enjoying it so, so much. It's been raining and sleeting for the last twenty-four hours, effectively turning the entire island of Manhattan into one, large, slightly diluted puddle of dog urine. If it weren't for "Singing in the Car Mix 2," I don't know if I could've greeted the day with my normal charm and effervescence.
Since I don't have anything else to say, I figure I'll leave you with this intensely creepy Missed Connection from craigslist.com. These people never let me down:
Girl Reading Da Vinci Code on northbound 6, 6:30 last night
Light brown hair with a pronounced curl when it reached your shoulders. Large nose, and an upper lip which projected over the lower, while laterally it spread and descended from the middle, like a bird's wings. to the corners of your mouth. Straight eyebrows, fluttery eyelashes. A slightly narrow face, hint of dimples, the upper cheeks delineated from the lower by a kind of gentle crease.
Why were you so pretty?
Because your knife has yet to pierce her delicate, petal-soft skin? I think that might be why.