2003-10-26 @ 3:59 p.m.
mr. alternative rock band manager

I've gotten rid of about 98% of my fleas, but there is still the occasional cyborg flea, which is impervious to all chemicals.

So I was lying in bed last night, and this bold fellow decided to climb high atop Mt. Witty Kitty. My knee to be exact. I was reading in bed, covers asunder and I went to grab for it and missed. Damn. I actually did a lot more cursing than that. Not sure if it was all flea related.

Maybe some was due to the fact that the highlight of my weekend was when a Frank Sinatra impersonator had tried to croon to me at the piano bar. But as usual, I had been unable to stand the almighty male gaze, especially from such a testosterone laden Italian type, and had to hurry into the bathroom, where I hid for a good 10 minutes.

My mom's friend later told her she had noticed how much he had been singing to me. Ack. Sorry. Don't want to offend any Italians, but Eye-talians make me nervous. They seem to be all about sex and gold chains. Gives me the willies. I don't even shop at the grocery store nearest to my house, because I live in an Italian neighborhood and the place is crawling with Soprano-types. I can watch "The Sopranos" on TV, but shopping and being ogled by them is just too much for this little timid Irish Catholic girl.

Gosh, how did I start out talking about fleas and end up talking about Italians? And I was actually going to talk about my walk today. Oh wait, the cat fur roller idea. Anyways, so this little flea bastard, decided to make a second run for my tender, succulent knee. This time though, I had picked up a nearby lint roller (I have a very fuzzy cat, so they are all over the house). And when he landed on my knee, I ran the roller right over him, and he got stuck, and I let out this thunderous "HA!". I think I freaked out my cat, because she jumped sideways and sort of clung to the edge of my bed with her eyes bugging out. But with the flea stuck on the roller, I tore off the sheet and took it outside and threw it in the garbage can.

So I went for a walk today...finally. As soon as I got out my car, it started to rain a little bit. But that didn't stop me. Took my umbrella. Forget about the gale force winds sucking it inside out several times. The walk felt good after several days of inactivity.

Have I ever mentioned I have a cute butt? I am not exactly Kate Moss. I weigh about 165 pounds, but people are always surprised when I throw that out. I am compact. Nice legs. The aforementioned cute butt...no jiggle whatsoever (you can stop crying J-Lo, ya big baby!), slender arms. The booby fairy did pass over my house. But that's OK. I don't need big ta-tas to feel feminine.

Most of my mass is around my stomach area. I just lost about 43 pounds in the last 2 years. And I'm proud of it.

I do wish I had money for a new wardrobe. Most of my clothes hang on me. I did get some clothes over the summer at my mom's friend's garage sale. She had just lost 70 pounds and I got her "fat" clothes. They didn't seem like fat clothes to me. They seemed like nice clothes from Christopher Banks, a place I could never afford to shop.

So what's this about? Well, I'm off the track AGAIN. Oh, I guess its about a guy I saw on the trail. A nice looking guy. I don't usually look up when I walk. But I heard footsteps behind me. I'm always aware of everyone around me. So he walks by. I immediately check out the ring finger. No gold band. Check. But he's not the usual type for the lake. He looks like the business manager for an alternative rock band. He's wearing sun glasses on a rainy afternoon. Well, that's kinda cool. Nice hair. Some gray in it. Kinda Richard Gere-ish. Must be my age range.

Now I wonder...is he checking out my cute butt? Unfortunately I had on one of my oldest, baggiest pairs of jeans. Damn. I do tend to walk slow, so he quickly pulls ahead of me, and I'm thinking, there he goes, the man of my dreams. Slipped through my fingers again. Sigh.

I did stop off at the restrooms. He's gone anyways I figure. But as I head towards the parking lot, who's sitting on the benches at the end of the trail?

Mr. Alternative Rock Band Manager. Just sitting there....waiting. Waiting for me undoubtedly. Wanted to see the front of the Cute Butt girl. Yeah, right. But we did look at each other briefly and then he got up as soon as I walked by and went to a really nice black car. And I went to my old rusting Chevy, which if Lourdes was closer and I could drive there, I'd be on it, since my radiator has just sprung its third leak in three months and I'm definitely on borrowed time.

So I guess I'll be going for a walk tomorrow. Umm. Guess I'll be wearing those tighter jeans.

Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty