Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Your Curiosity May Mean Success

So says my fortune cookie. I just finished some delicious pork mei fun, and boy was it! Ho ho ho, but seriously folks...take my wife. Please.

Today has been a long, boring, and stupid day, broken up with simple math. I was asked to add thirteen two-digit numbers today. I did. Things were summed. Then I swallowed my tongue just to have something to think about.

Apparently Solstice 2005 has decided to dump strange past acquaintences on me in abundance. By which I mean two of them. By which I mean one who I actually saw, and one who Friendstered me. When you live with your parents and see an average of six people a day, this is an abundance.

Last night, Kai and I were parked at the track in her big senior citizen sedan, enjoying a couple of Crunchwrap Supremes. I noticed a car pull up next to ours and the woman inside do they "hey, I know you!" double-take. Before I could deactivate my smile reflex, I found myself grinning at a girl I've known since we were in third grade and systematically avoided since then. I turned back to Kai and hoped that the smile and wave had been sufficient. Besides, she was at the track! She was probably exercising! She has better things to think about than catching up with me! If I shove my face full of refried beans, she won't want look at me!

All wrong. She made the universal sign for "roll down your window," and I made the universal eyeroll for "oh please, please let a helicopter fall on me."

It's not that this girl is a bad person, and it's not even necessarily that I dislike her. It's just that she can talk, talk, talk talk talk, talktalktalktalktalktalktalk until the sun is sets, even on the longest day of the entire year. It wouldn't be so bad if she was filling me in on her life, but every conversation we have feels like she's mining me for information on our high school classmates. I've kept in regular touch with virtually no one from high school, but still, she treats every baby I've learned of, every marriage, every dejected return to Yorktown Heights as a brand new vein of gold.

"So, who ellllssssee...." she'll say, just when I think we've run through every one of our mutual acquaintences. "Who else?"

I just kept shoving more taco into my mouth and hoping the sight of half-chewed guacamole would prompt her to wrap up the conversation.

"Oh! Have you heard from [blaaaah]?"

And there the road forks. Either I have heard about Blaaaaah, in which case it is likely that Blaaaah and I have had a brief awkward conversation at Starbucks, or Blaaaah has had a baby that everyone knows about, or I have not heard about Blaaaah, and I have nothing feed her probing anteater gossip mouth.

Option two is the more difficult. Given no new information about our friend Blaaaah, she will push me to reveal everything I've ever felt about Blaaaah. Every time she ever pissed me off, every time he ever said something nasty to me at a pep rally, every blah blahed to me by Blaaaaah makes her eyes light up with a slanderous gleam. I'll talk for a little bit, babbling something about how on Blaaaah's dad's an Elvis impersonator or that I saw Blaaaah in a car at a red light and he turned out really hot. Really, really hot.

But then I run out of things to say. She gives me that blank stare, tugging that last piece of conversation duct tape, the one that's glued to the cardboard. And I shrug my shoulders, take another bite of burrito, fiddle with the radio, comment on a weird bird, do anything to break the Blaaaah spell and move through the rest of the yearbook before I want to kill her.

That was last night.

Then, today, out of nowhere, a kid I haven't seen in more than a year Friendstered me. This kid sort of has a spot of infamy in my sordid and, that's a lie, utterly boring past. We lived next to each other for the entirety of our freshman year, and he managed to think my name was Claire the whole time. When we finally sorted things out, he returned sophomore year, called me the wrong name, and then argued that it was "close enough." A sort of sweaty hug over the bar where I was working during Senior Week patched things up our final year, and I suppose now we're friends. Ters.

So, thank you, Summer Solstice. It's been a fun trip down memory lane. How about you do something nice and don't let it rain on me on the way to my interview? Eh?

6 Comments:

Anonymous brad said...

GOOD LUCK, YOU FREAKIN' PROSTITUTE.

3:02 PM  
Anonymous mombi said...

good lord i hope you don't have brad listed as a reference.

4:05 PM  
Blogger Kunaxa said...

yesterday was also a 'full moon' - I'm not sure but I'm willing to bet (in a simple mathematics kind of way) that solstice + full moon = very rare and bizarre.

I personally would have made shit up about EVERYONE! The less I liked someone, the bigger and more CRAZY the lie would have been.

Granted that would never have gotten you off the hook with that girl. Maybe if you did that and then threw the burritos at her it would work better.

6:06 PM  
Anonymous stupidboy said...

Good luck Kathy!

4:47 AM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Thanks for all of the good thoughts. If this were Peter Pan, my ass would definitely be hovering somewhere over Soho.

And, actually, it DID rain on me on the way to the interview. It was a horrible torrential downpour that lasted exactly as long as I needed be outside. It flipped my umbrella inside out, and then stabbed me in the face with one of its broken spokes.

Still, the interview went well.

10:32 AM  
Anonymous mombi said...

some people actually prefer interviewees that are bleeding profusely from gaping wounds.

i don't actually know any, but i'm sure they're out there.

4:05 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home

Site Meter Blogarama - The Blog Directory