Archive | August, 2012

“When I grow up…” And other texts that won’t be answered

31 Aug

Back when I was living with Circe on Aeaea we ran into some sailors with really unique… aspirations.

These are their texts.

SMS Adventures with Unfortunately Smug Sailor 1

USS1: Hey, it’s USS1. I had a really great time last night. You seem like a really cool girl. Could you read my essay for me?
Penny: Sure. My email is penandpol@gmail.com.
USS1: Thanks! Ur awesome.
Penny: Mmmhm. When do you need it by?
USS1: Oh, like wed so i can make final revisions?
Penny: Ok. I’ll look at it tonight.
USS1: Great! I really want to take u to dinner.

Two hours later
USS1: So, how’s that essay coming?
Penny: I can’t look at it until tonight. I have work.
USS1: Oh, right. Well, could you look at it sooner than later? Continue reading

LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU

31 Aug
Mom: So you went to that concert for your coworker?
Polly: It wasn’t a concert so much as him singing and playing guitar in the corner of a public golf course club house. But yeah.
Mom: Is he cute? Where’s he from?
Polly: I guess. Texas.
Mom: Is he young?
Polly: Not really, mid 30s probably.
Mom: That’s good. That would be a good age for you, you’re very mature.
Polly: Yeah but what if he never watched the same Nicktoons* I watched? What would we talk about? Or what if it led to something serious? And in a few years he wants babies and I want to stay the hell away from babies forever?
Mom: You’ll change your tune.
Polly: No… Really, Mom. I don’t want kids. I’d rather have-
Together: A boat.
Mom: I said that once.
Polly: No.
Mom: Your biological clock will start nagging you.
Polly: No. Kids are great but I love that part where I-
Together: Give them back.
Polly: Stop it. I don’t even have a biological clock. I-
Together: Babysat too much to ever want kids.
Polly: STOP!
Mom: Give it a few years.
Polly: LA LA LA LA LA NOT LISTENING LA LA NO BABIES

~~~~

*Lengthy conversations on the philosophical truths presented in Hey Arnold have precipitated all of my successful relationships. The Nancy Spumoni Snowboots Christmas episode** was a flawlessly presented argument for transitioning from a society of “haves vs. have nots” to one based on less tangible fulfillment.

**Shout out to Molly who cries with me every Christmas while we re-watch this episode.

Fridays before long weekends

31 Aug

I wish I could hate you, but I can’t

31 Aug

Penny: In other news, this Taylor Swift song is the worst song ever.

Polly: I knowwwwww. But I kinda have fun singing it.

Penny: humminggggg

“We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” besides winning the award for longest song title, is potentially one of the most predictable songs I have ever heard.

It is silly. It is stupid. It is dumb. It is every uncreative, mean adjective any eighth grader ever used to make another eight grader cry ever.

Yet even as I type this post, it is running through my head, insisting I sing along because OoooOoo WeeEE are never ever EVER getting back together…

They’re just so damn catchy, these pop songs. So damn catchy. Continue reading

On road rage, or lack thereof

31 Aug

I feel for Penny and her grueling commute. I really do. It sounds dreadful.

But sometimes I’m a tad jealous of those who can successfully release their traffic-induced vitriol on their fellow roadmates. I cannot. I can’t even honk.

It’s great that in an emergency situation my reaction is to hit the breaks instead of the horn, I’m not complaining about that. And it’s not that I can’t outswear a sailor. Anyone watching me during class selection in college will attest that my vocabulary is expansive and grotesque. But the use of expletives, for me, is calculated and premeditated; a stylistic choice. It is never a reaction.

Which is why the best I can come up with when I’m cut off is “I BEG YOUR PARDON?! If you haven’t noticed we’re ALL merging here and this would really go quite smoothly if you just followed the alternating pattern!”

So while I wouldn’t change my backroad, seven minute commute for anything, it is difficult to rehearse and hone proper road rage without the right environment. It takes practice to switch out my usual “A pox! A pox on you and your kin!” with the perfectly inflected “F*** you, BUDDY!” and to learn to raise my middle finger instead of my pinky.

CLU – It’s Official! (!!!)

31 Aug

I wasn’t ready when Latte Boy whipped my iced coffee onto the bar. I’d barely rounded the corner from the registers.

Latte Boy: Morning, Penny. Here’s your coffee!

Penny: Oh! Thank you!!

Latte Boy smiled while I collected myself. I reached for the coffee…

Latte Boy: And how are you today?

Penny: Great!

Eye contact. I sit the coffee down and grab the straw to do that straw thing. More meaningful eye contact. Latte Boy smiles.

Penny: So, I feel bad. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.

I bite the end of straw to pull it from the wrapper. This is almost certainly not as sexy as I think it is in my head.

Brilliant smile from Latte Boy. Maybe it is as sexy as I think it is in my head.

Latte Boy: Latte Boy.

Penny: Nice to meet you, Latte Boy.

Latte Boy: Now it’s official.

Penny has a dream

30 Aug

The scene: Europe, evening, some bar. I have just “made it big” by virtue of being in the right place at the right time and helping the right person and getting myself ALL OVER the Internet. We are carousing in celebration.

Who: Me (obviously), Circe, Mutual Male Friend (with whom I am contemplating Benefits), my family, random assorted others

The night before, when all of this famous-making was happening, I had been a little distracted and only sort of saw some things. But in returning to the same haunts, things began to come back to me (this was a VERY complicated dream??). Anyway, I am talking to some people, being generally bubbly and happy (for me) when I suddenly remember something.

I turn to Circe and MMF(wwIacB), who are with me, and say, “Were you going to tell me?!”

They both turn guilty shades of pink.

The previous evening, you see, they had kissed, made out, hooked up, whatever you want to call it.

“I’m sorry! It didn’t mean anything! It was a mistake,” Circe cries in apparent distress. (Damn straight you’re distressed. You’ve been caught.)

Silence from MMF. (He knows he’s in deep shit.) Continue reading

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