2001-08-28 - 12:47 p.m.
My lunch began with an auspicious start. I was witness to the most incredible feat of multitasking. A woman in a Corrolla managed to smoke, talk on a cell phone, pick her nose like there was gold up there, and drive a clutch, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Amazing. So, I'm feeling good from the gift of witnessing such amazing prowess and decide to get Japanese take out for lunch. Which is a stretch mainly because while I do get paid on Friday, I'm down to my last 30 bucks and the Mastercard people probably want to off me since they managed to sale me on that Credit Protector plan. But Teryaki and California rolls beckon stronger so off I go. From now on I will listen to my gut instincts rather than my gut. At the restraunt I'm blissfully ordering brown rice and what the hell, two piece tempura with my teriyaki when, after paying I notice unwavering attention directed at me. It's one of those guys that in High School you didn't bother making fun of they were so gay. The worst part, is I recognize him. He was at the Mint on Saturday night, when we all went out and did Kareoke. He sang an interesting arrangement of Respect by Erasure and also sobbed un ashamedly when some poor soul attempted My Heart Will Go On. Unfortunatley, eye contact is made. My fate sealed, he dumps his trash in the bin and starts wandering towards me. "85", blares the sullen counter woman and I grab the bag ignoring her questions of sauce and chopsticks. Fleeing to my car and turbo over to the Starbucks to get an ice tea. I'm safe I foolishly thought. Nothing bad can come from my sanctuary against the raging tempest of daily life. The cool dark interior beckons me with it's warm smells and friendly staff. There's a line, since it's lunch and 90 degrees out so there are also the heady sounds of Frappicino's being made. Breathing in the comfort I ignore the fish spoiling in my car and relax. Too soon. Kareoke boy enters. He's standing behind me. The tension is incredible. "Weren't you at the Mint on Saturday?" Shit. Conversation begins because I'm polite. No, I didn't sing. First time there. Yes I remember his song. My grnted responses are not halting the conversation. What gives? I was with my sisters and thier friends that night, all of them hot chicks, not a large mod girl among them (not that there is anything wrong with being a large mod girl, I'm just saying they go hand in hand with the local). It must have been that he noticed I was coordinated perfectly in Tommy Hilfigure, was eating Sushi takeout, and drove a European auto. The cards were stacked against me. Finally I get to the front of the line, and they don't have any black tea, only some fruity Pasion kind (how ironic) and while a herbel infusion is not my cup of tea (ha, I kill sometimes) I have to get out of there. Grabbing the drink I turn to leave and behind us is a technicion from our Testing center who is from scotland, drives a 93 BMW 3 series and lives in the city. She's smirking. I've been pondering how I could get her to marry me for months, usually involving Green card fantasies that turn into John Hughes pictures. "Maybe I'll see you there agian" chirps in my unwelcome companion. I flee. To the safety of my office, and my cube, and my sushi.
Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29
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Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20
Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18
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