Dude! Wake up!! Ahhh. You're bombing so hard. If this is a first date, you're on strike #7 (note: not the "bowling" kind). I want to boo you. She's gorgeous. Stop talking so much about yourself. Ask her about her!
What does she like doing? How was her day? What is her family doing now? How is Uncle Herbert, that crazy guy? If she could quit her job right now and run off somewhere, where would she go and what would she do? If she could be a breakfast cereal, what breakfast cereal would she be (and why)? Ask her about her favorite train. Comment on the people outside the window and ask her where she thinks they are headed in such a hurry. Ask her about her "Welcome to New York" moment. She's got Amanda Seyfried eyes and all you can talk about is your dopey friend's last semester? Gah.
If this were a LiveJournal, my song of the day would be"You're Gonna Lose That Girl"and my current mood would be"wicked frustrated".
Really, what's that about? It's a hard habit to get out of. Even worse: sometimes you meet someone who is finely attuned to this grammatical conversational error and--in case you couldn't guess--they are very difficult people to have a conversation with.
And don't even get me started when it comes to sentences that begin with conjunctions.
Upon the occasion of discovering a pair of black tuxedo pants lying on the side of the road:
O Tuxedo Pants, quickly cast astrewn
Why hath thy master forsaken ye here?
A leg on the sidewalk, th'other the street--
Languished luxury lying listlessly.
A grievous offense could'st I not conceive
As fair cause for thy careless discarding
(If indeed such a sin slacks could commit).
Didst thou meet the pavement from an ill fit--
Too few or too many doughnuts consumed?
Didst thy get the toss in (dare I speak it)
A frightful and furious fit of lust?
Encounter with a lady of the night?
Sudden necessity to disrobe quick?
Swelt'ring heat promoting thy removal?
Truly? Pants on the ground. Pants on the ground.
Forgotten adjustable-waist trousers,
Smold'ring in the heat of the sunlit day,
Embrace thy strange rest; thou shalt strut no more--
'Less a de-pantsed gentlemen find thee here,
Praise his fortuitous turn, and get dressed.
One of my aunt's favorite stories comes from driving around with me in the front seat listening to the radio. I was much younger then--probably about seven. America's song "A Horse With No Name" was on the radio and we were talking about the lyrics. After hearing the chorus, I asked her (with the utmost sincerity) why they didn't just give the horse a name. She laughed and repeated the story to the rest of our family, who found my query equally comical. The thing is, she still thinks that this is really, really funny for some reason. Meanwhile, I'm still don't see why what I said was humorous, and I still don't understand why they didn't just give the horse a name and be done with it already.
First week on the job
Gr.6 tutor/substitute teacher
What I've attempted to teach:
Compare and Contrast
Potential and Kinectic Energy
Commutative and Associative Properties
Separating fact from opinion
What I've been asked to clarify:
What happened to your lip?
What's a cleft lip?
Did it hurt?
Does it hurt now?
How many surgeries did you have?
Do you remember?
Wait, can you grow a mustache?
Would that hurt?
Do people ask you about it a lot?
Preface: This is the third installment in my Open Notes series, where I talk to people around me but on my blog because I lack the guts/interest/pickup lines necessary to actually converse with other people.
"Art of Unknown Origin Stolen for Blog"; Anonymous, Oil on Canvas, 1997
This evening, after a particularly erratic day of substitute teaching in Manhattan, I returned to lovely Brooklyn and strolled over to a distinctive coffee joint in the quaint yet eminently mockable neighborhood of Park Slope. People here are known for being liberal, wealthy(ish), and trendy, and most residents struggle to hide their often overwhelming whiteness. My neighborhood is no slouch, but this part of town is most certainly out of my price bracket. Thus, while it may be a perfectly pleasant place to reside, it's easier and more self-assuring to ruthlessly rend it asunder with smug keystrokes while chuckling about how intellectually superior and more worldly I am.
To my roommate: Spot me a few bucks? Cool.
To the chipper barista girl: You're adorable, but I really do think that your hat falls under the "trying too hard" category. It probably looked stylish on the wooden rack at the second-hand store next to the other second-hand store where that better second-hand store used to be, but you don't need a hat indoors. However, I have a long history of falling for waitresses and female bar staff, so I'm going to let it slide.
To Customer #7: Whoever told you that beard looked good was lying through their java-stained teeth. When you trim the edges every morning for that perfectly symmetrical look, do you use a ruler? A protractor, maybe? Also, this morning routine must give you ample time to consider your beard at length. Apparently, you still think it's worth it.
To the freeloading suit who walked in, sat down, went to work on his laptop, and didn't buy anything: Don't worry about it. Wi-fi should be free. Hey, I'm sure you voted for universal public health care, too.
To literally four other customers who have entered since I started: Please explain to me the appeal of offbeat hats and poor facial hair decisions. Please. I'm so lost.
To Customer #15: You are cute. Please look at me again now that I'm sitting up straight.
To Customer #15's boyfriend: I will fight you right in the face.
To Rota Fortunae: Why do girls go out with clowns like him? What is it? I see more girls hanging off the shoulder of slouchy, half-awake, vacant looking dudes who kind of just stand there consuming oxygen. What are you contributing to the relationship, guy? You look like the kind of person who hopes McDonald's makes home deliveries. It's very perplexing.
To Wikipedia: Whoa. "Rota Fortunae"? Thanks, Wikipedia! I sound so cultured and smart.
To the insufferable mouthpiece behind me: Keep talking. I find it fascinating that you could "know" so much about so many things and yet state everything in the simplest terms possible. Call me crazy, but does it occur to you that most political issues and social science-related events are just a little bit more on the complex side? Listening to you explain it all--with scoffs to spare--is nauseating. The groans! The sighs! If eye rolling made a sound, I'm pretty sure that I just heard it. Were you planning on giving a chance to either of the ladies accompanying you? They may want to speak at some point. I know that you think that you're intelligent and sophisticated and miles ahead of the other lemmings you are forced to associate with, but there's a reason that some individuals become famous talk show hosts or essay writers while others sit in coffee shops pontificating. You suck.
To the girl blogging two tables away: I have no idea what you're writing about, but I will preemptively propose a truce.
To the bro who almost walked in with his acoustic guitar: No! Get out!! NO ONE LIKES YOU!! WHATEVER ARTIST YOU ASPIRE TO BE LIKE SUCKS, TOO! Sorry about the caps. Typed too hard again.
To management: Please play something other than Adele. It's been like an hour and forty five minutes. C'mon.
To the Mac user next to me: You have literally nine applications running and you're flipping through them seamlessly; meanwhile, I attempted to open iTunes and my laptop reacted like I jammed a butter knife into the USB port. This is stupid. PCs are stupid. Any computer I ever buy is stupid.
To my snarkier readers: Not stupid by association. Just stupid.
To the lower-middle-class, blue-collar local making a modest wage who came in and ordered a... nah, just kidding. He's not allowed to live here.
To the cafe business at large: Why is decaf iced coffee impossible to find? No one has it and I don't understand that. If I wanted a decaf hot coffee, I would have made it at home. Decaf iced coffee isn't even hard to stock--just double brew a pot and refrigerate it. It stays good for days! There's no excuse, service industry. Step it up.