Sadly, Busstop Guy and Busstop Girl were not there today. So I have no idea if she made it through her illness. He could be kneeling at her bedside for all I know, right as I speak, wishing he'd been a man and asked her out before she died.
Or it could just be the abhorrent spring rain we're getting today. What's the point of the Spring temperature when you can't even enjoy it without an umbrella and galoshes? I hate it for that reason. I only like Autumn and Winter. The air is dry. I don't smell like a pig 98% of the time, and personally I think that autumn leaves and winter snow are two of the prettiest things ever.
Yay I get to leave work at 2:00 today! I love Fridays. Then I'm off to buy a curtain rod and some soup so I can sit down and be heartily disappointed with Beowulf. I have already decided to hate it. I don't care what you say. I'm only seeing it because I heard that was a neat-o dragon in it, and I have an insatiable thirst for dragons. I want to harness them as my own and sick them on people. I would give it a cool name. Incidentally, ever notice that, no matter how many times you tell yourself your wrong, you still think that Pete's dragon was named Pete? If you ask someone that question really fast they almost always say, "Uh, duh...Pete." Then you can bitch-slap them and be like "Oh yeah, biotch! It was Eliot!" This is what Disney brings out of me. I think I saw Alladin and it's evil ways one too many times. That and that nasty little mermaid with her scanky water-whore outfits.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
My Busstop Romance
I realized suddenly today that perhaps people are so attracted to globbers because we all have some kind of Gladis Kravitz-esque interest in other peoples' lives. I had an epiphany today that I'm just as guilty of this as the next girl.
Every morning, after having literally rolled out of bed (the bed sort of caves in the middle and I must lit-er-ally propel myself into a rolling momentum to get out), feeding the cat, putting my messy hair in a pony tail, and wandering around looking for breakfast, I got into my car--which I resent because it almost always leads to work--and resolved myself to going to work despite the fact that no one is there and I have nothing to do all day but, well, write this. Driving along I came upon my epiphany. I think I noticed it because whatever I was so used to seeing was not there. This perturbed me and a series of memories flashed through my mind that I had apparently collected each and every day on my boring commute to work.
I pass by a busstop, stationed in front of a Presbyterian Church, I believe, every morning. Every morning there are only two people standing there. I realized just this morning, being that one of those people was not there suddenly, that I had created lives for these two people without knowing what I was up to.
Let me describe. They are a guy and a girl. I call them Busstop Guy and Busstop Girl--clever, ain't I? Busstop Guy is tall and skinny, probably good looking if I could ever get a decent look at his face. Busstop Girl is average height, with long blonde hair and she dresses very modestly. She is quite demure when Busstop Guy talks to her.
Well, today Busstop Girl wasn't there. I was perturbed, Busstop Guy was perturbed, and I'm sure everyone else who chronicles their daily busstop wait was also perturbed. But anyway, that's what lead me to realize that I had woven little lives around these two nameless people. I truly believe that Busstop guy is, if not recently, then just a few years out of college. He might be 27 soaking wet. Busstop girl is slightly younger.
I don't think they are acquainted outside of the busstop. She is much too demur and he is much too eager for them to really be acquainted. After all, I'm acquainted with my husband and our form of romance is when he burps and turns his head away to keep me from smelling it. I adore him.
Anyway--busstop guy never wears a full suit. He wears the pants and nice shirt but never the jacket. This leads me to believe that his work may be just as mundane as mine, only slightly better because he looks happy all the time. I believe he sells things on the telephone. He looks like a seller. If not that, then he's the guy you see at the copier, the one that you're never sure actually has a job in the office and who is too nondescript for you to ask about it. Busstop Girl looks like she works in a teashop. I believe that she smells like tea and spices. She's very Little House on the Prairie, only her hair isn't long enough to be fully convincing.
I believe Busstop Guy and Busstop Girl met at the busstop. I am convinced he looks forward to talking to her every day. Why not? They're both young. He's just as nerdy as she is, despite the regular apparel. And for a few minutes every day I believe they are both completely ecstatic to be talking to eachother. They might even be disappointed when there aren't enough seats together on the bus so they can continue their conversation. I'm certain that when Busstop Guy gets off first--I'm convinced he gets off first--he looks down awkwardly and exchanges a typical pleasantry, secretly not being able to wait till the next morning when he gets to talk to Busstop Girl again. I think she looks tolerant of him but is actually overjoyed that she's being noticed but someone so cute and charming. He IS cute and charming, I admit it. I bet they talk about work or maybe even classical music. He does most of the talking, she does most of the nodding--and that's the way they like it.
Today, after noticing that Busstop Girl was probably out sick, I immediately wanted to check in on Busstop Guy to see how he was doing. He was walking back and forth, talking to himself. Belive me, I checked for one of those ear phone thingies and there wasn't one. No he was just talking to himself, using his hands as if trying to explain something. What I think is this--when Busstop Girl comes back, hopefully tomorrow, I will keep you posted, Busstop Guy is finally going to work up the nerve to ask her out. They'll probably go to Ruby Tuesday and eat at the salad bar--or maybe go to the Macaroni Grill where deliciousness runs rampant. Maybe they'll go for a walk afterwards. Then they'll ride the bus back to their neighborhood, shake hands, go into their houses, and dream about eachother.
Sigh. How lovely. And to think that Abner would just tell me to mind my own business.
Every morning, after having literally rolled out of bed (the bed sort of caves in the middle and I must lit-er-ally propel myself into a rolling momentum to get out), feeding the cat, putting my messy hair in a pony tail, and wandering around looking for breakfast, I got into my car--which I resent because it almost always leads to work--and resolved myself to going to work despite the fact that no one is there and I have nothing to do all day but, well, write this. Driving along I came upon my epiphany. I think I noticed it because whatever I was so used to seeing was not there. This perturbed me and a series of memories flashed through my mind that I had apparently collected each and every day on my boring commute to work.
I pass by a busstop, stationed in front of a Presbyterian Church, I believe, every morning. Every morning there are only two people standing there. I realized just this morning, being that one of those people was not there suddenly, that I had created lives for these two people without knowing what I was up to.
Let me describe. They are a guy and a girl. I call them Busstop Guy and Busstop Girl--clever, ain't I? Busstop Guy is tall and skinny, probably good looking if I could ever get a decent look at his face. Busstop Girl is average height, with long blonde hair and she dresses very modestly. She is quite demure when Busstop Guy talks to her.
Well, today Busstop Girl wasn't there. I was perturbed, Busstop Guy was perturbed, and I'm sure everyone else who chronicles their daily busstop wait was also perturbed. But anyway, that's what lead me to realize that I had woven little lives around these two nameless people. I truly believe that Busstop guy is, if not recently, then just a few years out of college. He might be 27 soaking wet. Busstop girl is slightly younger.
I don't think they are acquainted outside of the busstop. She is much too demur and he is much too eager for them to really be acquainted. After all, I'm acquainted with my husband and our form of romance is when he burps and turns his head away to keep me from smelling it. I adore him.
Anyway--busstop guy never wears a full suit. He wears the pants and nice shirt but never the jacket. This leads me to believe that his work may be just as mundane as mine, only slightly better because he looks happy all the time. I believe he sells things on the telephone. He looks like a seller. If not that, then he's the guy you see at the copier, the one that you're never sure actually has a job in the office and who is too nondescript for you to ask about it. Busstop Girl looks like she works in a teashop. I believe that she smells like tea and spices. She's very Little House on the Prairie, only her hair isn't long enough to be fully convincing.
I believe Busstop Guy and Busstop Girl met at the busstop. I am convinced he looks forward to talking to her every day. Why not? They're both young. He's just as nerdy as she is, despite the regular apparel. And for a few minutes every day I believe they are both completely ecstatic to be talking to eachother. They might even be disappointed when there aren't enough seats together on the bus so they can continue their conversation. I'm certain that when Busstop Guy gets off first--I'm convinced he gets off first--he looks down awkwardly and exchanges a typical pleasantry, secretly not being able to wait till the next morning when he gets to talk to Busstop Girl again. I think she looks tolerant of him but is actually overjoyed that she's being noticed but someone so cute and charming. He IS cute and charming, I admit it. I bet they talk about work or maybe even classical music. He does most of the talking, she does most of the nodding--and that's the way they like it.
Today, after noticing that Busstop Girl was probably out sick, I immediately wanted to check in on Busstop Guy to see how he was doing. He was walking back and forth, talking to himself. Belive me, I checked for one of those ear phone thingies and there wasn't one. No he was just talking to himself, using his hands as if trying to explain something. What I think is this--when Busstop Girl comes back, hopefully tomorrow, I will keep you posted, Busstop Guy is finally going to work up the nerve to ask her out. They'll probably go to Ruby Tuesday and eat at the salad bar--or maybe go to the Macaroni Grill where deliciousness runs rampant. Maybe they'll go for a walk afterwards. Then they'll ride the bus back to their neighborhood, shake hands, go into their houses, and dream about eachother.
Sigh. How lovely. And to think that Abner would just tell me to mind my own business.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Very First Glob
Well, here I am. Trying to blog, I mean, glob, yet again. I have always found globbing (yes, I will continue to call it that) to be a lot like keeping a diary. Unfortunately, I suck at keeping diaries. I've kept many in my lifetime and I always end up hating myself years later when I go back and read what I've written.
To me, diaries are just an excuse to remember what an idiot you were.
I'm hoping that globbing can be different. I figure that knowing that several people might read whatever I spew out here my keep me under control, so I don't get too emotional. I recall having one diary entirely dedicated to my poetry. I call it my "Blue Period." I think I put it down for about a year and when I went back and read it I believe I shredded it on the spot. Pathetic. That's what it is.
Anyway, I thought this was a pretty momentous occasion. Me, globbing. I wanted to come up with a Haiku about it, but sadly, all I came up with was this:
Got a little glob
So I do not do my job
I shall call it Bob.
I name almost everything Bob or George.
To me, diaries are just an excuse to remember what an idiot you were.
I'm hoping that globbing can be different. I figure that knowing that several people might read whatever I spew out here my keep me under control, so I don't get too emotional. I recall having one diary entirely dedicated to my poetry. I call it my "Blue Period." I think I put it down for about a year and when I went back and read it I believe I shredded it on the spot. Pathetic. That's what it is.
Anyway, I thought this was a pretty momentous occasion. Me, globbing. I wanted to come up with a Haiku about it, but sadly, all I came up with was this:
Got a little glob
So I do not do my job
I shall call it Bob.
I name almost everything Bob or George.
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