The guy there commented on how crisp my dollar bills were and showed me I had accidentally given him an extra. I should have let him keep it.
I had eaten a lot of food from an Italian place at the mall not long ago.
The food was delicious, but cold, which is funny, because the lady in the back seemed to be heating it up for a very long time while she visibly ate a meatball with her hand and kind of stared at me. I got the feeling she might have been poisoning my food back there.
I told the man up front I wanted orange Fanta. "Well, let's see if it works." (He tries it) "You're in luck! It works!" There were out-of order signs covering coke and dr pepper already. And the next customer asked for root beer: "Well, let's see if it works." (He tries it) "You're in luck! It works!"
He tried to make small talk with me about if I was going to eat ALL that food and how I looked upset (no, I'm not upset - your service just sucks), and how sometimes days off are more stressful than work days (you know, laundry and such) - but I heard him talking to another customer about how he thinks he should have been a porn star to make more money, soooo...he must find his current job to be too fun or rewarding.
The lasagna was cheesy and the meatballs were of good texture. The garlic knots were crispy. Just don't go there.
I just heard one of the train workers say "Nobody gets hurt on THIS train." I guess he was helpin someone up the stairs or something. It's rainy outside. He must be a cool guy. There are so many cool people I've seen. Or at least interesting.
Like, a guy loudly talking to his friend about how stupid it is to DIY your wedding, or a very corporate-lookin man with an earpiece and a black backpack wearing a suit and using his black and white umbrella as a cane -like device to strut on the yellow-painted section along the train tracks. There was a man bursting from the glass-plated doors onto the track area with earbuds in and balancing an open and active mac laptop on one arm.
I can't even clean my room without getting my earbuds caught on something. How do you make it safely across a city with a fragile computer balanced precariously in plain sight?
In the 30th street restroom I also saw a towering, slim and gorgeous woman who contrasted sharply with her dingy surroundings. I had gone out tonight thinking I looked pretty smashing. And then I saw her.
My friends saw her too. We reminded ourselves that we are happy with our own unique gorgeousness and what we really wanted was to just look at her for a while longer. We laughed. Tomorrow, I heard, is "woman crush Wednesday." Tuesday night is close enough.
I have a couple of things to say about the mall back home.
Skinny jeans (aka second skin, or "the sausage skin fit") are back in style, if they were ever out. And it is very hard in a place (the mall) which is trying very hard to appeal to the masses to find things that the masses don't want.
Apparently they never want room between their ankles and their jeans.
Apparently they want their circulation cut off at the femoral artery with "jeggings" and "super skinnies."
Apparently they REALLY want to show off those glutes.
Good old trustworthy American Eagle HAS NO WIDE-LEGGED JEANS. Not even for men. I recall the old days when there were overwhelming options, each with a name, like "loose boot leg" "curvy boot" and "straight curvy" with descriptions on the signs to help make sense of all the terms. No longer.
My sister and I got it down: walk in store, go for jeans. Point at each pair and say, "skinny, skinny, skinny, maybe not skinny?" And decide whether or not to try on.
And then? We just asked store associates (or "brand representatives" as we were called in my Banana Republic days) for wide legged jeans. Look for correct size. Try all on. "Yes, no, no, let's get that one." Purchase.
True sister bonding time.
We also went to the bank to deposit money which I had forgotten to bring along.
Yeah, I thought you might think that was funny. I had to walk out and tell the tellers, at a bank, "I forgot my money!"
My sister and I think the trains are germ factories tonight.
I hate my car. She used to be my poor darling, my pitiful ugly duckling, but now I swear she hates me for something. Maybe she heard me talking about saving for a new one. She rattles and rattles. And rattles. And I swear that one day when I am in the center lane of a crowded five-lane highway with no shoulder, she will give one last rattle and quit on me. And I will cheer because I never have to listen to that gash-dern sound again, and then I will get rear-ended and cause a fifty-car pileup and probably die. Just because my car and I hate each other so.
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