Cough

What does it mean when you've been awake for 2 hours, had a brisk wake-up walk, and still can't get rid of the bleariness in the corners of your eyes?

It means that you work the night shift, are probably addicted to coffee, and your feet fucking hurt. 

Crap

You know those days where you say, "Can someone please just shoot me in the face?"

Yup

Too irate to mind the tense.

A message to the creepy deadbeat male population of Seattle: Don't talk to me. In fact, don't talk to anyone. Don't give me a the once over before smiling and sitting across from me on the bus -- I hope you get kicked in the gut so you understand how I feel. 

I sat on the bus, headphones on, in my own world. Musing about my favorite characters, only paying attention to the tunes that fed the voices in my head.

A peanut glanced off my ear -- no wait, a corn nut. 

"Kids" I thought to myself. Usually the back filled up with loud, crazy teenagers at this time. Still very much absorbed in my music, I didn't bother to look for the perpetrator, but maybe I should have. 

The handful of corn nuts that flew around me caused a different level of irritation. What was this, a movie theater? They were probably aiming at someone behind me. Only three sat to the front, and two of them wisely hopped off at the next stop. 

We neared the turn onto Roxbury street. One more corn nut, and one older man saunters up from the back. The voice that called after - a deeper post-adolescent sound - taunted. They were clearly the corn nut capers. Were they throwing food at each other? Or me?

Sauntering man makes a point of turning as he walks, to peer at me and wave with a druggishly lazy grin. I glare.

He sits down in front and responds to his friend. "No, Its warmer up here, that's why I moved."

My last comrade hops off the bus, leaving me and two weirdos. Not Kids. Middle Aged Men. Threw. Corn nuts. At. My. Head.

They exit two stops before me, and I sigh. Poking out an eye sounds unsanitary, and I am headed toward a full night of baking. 

I pull the chord. 

The familiar Friday night bus driver wears a chagrined scowl as he uselessly wishes me a good night.

---

Wait. Back up. Hold on. I am being too specific. You don't have to be a deadbeat to be a creep. 

--Hello Airport skeeze-- 

You assume that I sit alone here at the counter drinking my beer because I want to talk to you. FALSE. 

"Hey, Jansport backpack. I have a Jansport. I love mine!"

"Yup." Great pick up line dude. 

"I'm from Bellvue blahblah blah. I love it. I'm a douche bag blah blah blah. Let me show you my battle axe (no really, he actually had a fake axe for his table top gaming tournament).

Well, this has been lovely.

Two beers later. "Your cheeks are red. Let me say something offensive and annoying about them." No, please don't.

"Does this mean I get to take advantage of you now?"

"No." Thanks. Thanks for killing my buzz. 

D-bag tries to backpedal out of danger, "But if it is mutual, then it is not taking advantage, right?" He wrecks anyway. 

"True." Facial expression = shut up. Ew. shut up. 

He gives it one more shot; "I'm gonna get bored on this flight. If you walk around the plane at all, you should come entertain me."

Would it be entertaining if I punched you in the face?

The flight attendant must have known of my trials. She hands me two bottles of gin, though I only asked for one. 

Yeah, so don't ask me if I'm a lesbian. Don't talk to me while I'm trying to de-stress on a cigarette break.  Don't point out that you weren't staring at them anyway. 

Leave me alone.

Way to Budget

When I went to deposit my check today, I had 10 dollars left in my bank account -- The first time since before christmas that I haven't used my overdraft account between paychecks! 

I've decided to reward myself with an mp3 player. 

Give it up

I really want to start a blog specifically for writing about music. Even more specifically, to write about mix tapes (or playlists, or compilations, what have you). I assumed that I wouldn't be able to nail down something as cool as mixtape.blog.com. And I was right. But even more frustrating is that all of the blog names that I looked up were started by weirdos who used the internet 8 years ago to write one blog entry. And now they have the cool blogspot address and don't even use it. AND, their blogs are not about music. I roll my eyes at you! I do!

Fight!

There are two raccoons engaged in a full on battle outside my house. They started in the tree outside my kitchen window, and now I can hear them just outside of my living room. Maybe they aren't fighting... I don't know, I don't speak raccoon...

In unrelated news, the best raccoon television cameo ever

I Forget

Late at night, when I bake, I think of things I want to write down but now I can't remember any of them. 

Welcome!