2006-01-13 @ 10:23 p.m.
Ok, I admit I’ve been hiding a secret the last three weeks. A fledgling relationship. We met at the mailboxes at my building. I didn’t want to jinx it by talking about it, but “N.F.” and I have been keeping company for nearly 3 weeks now. We’ve been spending nearly every night together snuggled up on my couch. “N.F.” knows what I like. “N.F.” lets me maintain control of the remote and “N.F” even lets me choose what we watch. Always.
“N.F” has even been indicating that they might like to (cough)”fill my mailbox”, if you know what I mean (wink, wink) and I thought that sounded pretty damn good, especially since my mailbox, heh, hasn't been filled in quite a while. But then suddenly last Saturday, “N.F” just sort of fell out of my life. And I was like FIGURES!!! I finally find happiness and then pfffft! Its gone just like that. So I waited and waited to hear something. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Finally late Thursday night I went online and sent an e-mail to “N.F”, like what the hell. Where are you? Why haven’t I seen you at the mailboxes like I usually do?
I guess my Net Flix DVDs got lost in the mail. Can you imagine? They had always been so smooth and reliable before. And than rather annoyingly, the moment I sent my e-mail at 1 a.m., suddenly I get an e-mail back, saying that they had been miraculously “found” and that the new ones would be sent out tomorrow. Doesn’t that sound suspicious? Personally I think Net Flixs just didn’t like that I was tearing through 2 DVDs every day and sending them back and forth so quickly. Theoretically I could have gotten nearly 15 of them sent to me in one month, since I have the 2 at a time deal. So I’ve been going through severe DVD withdrawal. I’m right in the middle of the fourth season of “Six Feet Under” and I really need to know what happens next!!
You did know I was talking about Net Flixs right?
Did I mention I’m drunk on power right now? At age 47 I just finally came to the realization that men do what you tell them. Is that not amazing? And you don’t even have to have sex with them! Sweet! I guess my little experiment with “A” this week, asking him to say “Deal or no deal” was just a small thing, but it was so freaking easy. And of course there was the necklace incident last month at work, when I teasingly told a guy to buy me a silver necklace and woo! SUDDENLY there it was on my desk! I guess now that I know that it works so easily, I should be aiming higher, huh? Like say diamonds or Microsoft stocks.
At first I was being a little silly as I was driving home in my car tonight. It had been a beautiful day today. SIXTY TWO DEGREES!!!! Holy Jesus. I live about 75 miles from Canada and its almost 70 degrees in January. And none of the lakes are frozen over. This has to be global freaking warming or something. Of course it is suppose to drop to 14 degrees tomorrow night and snow, so shut the fuck up, witty. You’ll get yours. Anyways, I was listening to my usual oldies channel and one of my favorite songs came on, the one that always makes me wish I had rhythm and dancing ability....Mick Jagger’s “Satisfaction”.
I mean, not that I can dance in my car or even at all. My friend once tried to teach me to dance. We worked on it for about 45 minutes, with me mainly jumping up and down like DEVO, she finally concurred that I had absolutely NO RHYTHM WHATSOEVER. And yet whenever I hear “Satisfaction” start up, I always really want to do something and look cool doing it.
And than my somewhat manic brain zipped over to some stuff “A” had been talking about...the fact that Harold the Geek lives a mere two blocks from my apartment, as in sooooo close that it would be convenient for us to, I don’t know, maybe date, and since he hasn’t been on a date in a while (or ever, “A”?) and I haven’t (at least since “Knot’s Landing” was on TV), maybe we should make a LUV connection. Naturally since I’m going through one of my grandiose bipolar modes I obnoxiously suggested that he might be afraid of asking out some hot, wild, crazy (lest we forget that part) hippie artist chick since he’s this seemingly rigid, somewhat geeky Republican who wears sweaters with patches on the elbows like Mr. Brady on “The Brady Bunch”. “A” did manage to reel me in a bit, telling me it had nothing to do with my hippie hybrid and his Republicaness. But I still secretly think this is true.
The funny thing is, I actually would go out with Harold the Geek. He’s abnormally polite. I know he wouldn’t try to maul me. And we do have a sense of humor in common. But I also know he would be an easy candidate for wittykitty’s make-the-guy-jump-when-I-say-jump campaign. Albeit, he is a little dense. When he was at my apartment complex over the summer and I was overloaded with groceries, I had to point out that I could use some help bringing them up to my apartment. It guess it wasn’t immediately obvious....you know...a woman standing there struggling with 6 bags of groceries. As in helpppp!!!! And then when I got him by my apartment door, he dropped the bags and nearly broke into a sprint as I was looking for my keys. I didn’t even get to say goodbye or thank you. He just ran off. So I don’t know if I made him nervous or he thought I was going to invite him into my DEN....OF....INIQUITY (evil laughter) or what.
Even when “J” helped me carry some groceries this summer, he only took like two steps into my apartment and then stopped as if he had hit some invisible ”if-I-go-past-here-I’ll-have-sex-with-witty” force field undulating by the piano. (I had it shut off that day).
Oh, so what would I like Harold the Geek do? Dance and lip sync to “Satisfaction”. Hey, its as simple as that. Wouldn’t that be cool? I know he would do it, if I asked him to. Maybe I could get him to take off the sweater with the olive green patch quilt sleeves. Of course, to make him feel comfortable, I would humiliate myself too. It would be like a Double Geek Opus. I’d do my Keith Richards to his Mick Jagger and we could turn up the music really loud, like I do in my car and rock out together, like two middle aged geeks, and that would surely cure him of his shyness...you know, if he thought he was as cool as Mick Jagger.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty