9:31 a.m. - 2003-07-27
The sign on my forehead.
I have an announcement. No, I'm not pregnant, nor am I quitting my job. Nope. Just making a statement for all mankind.
THE HUGE SIGN ON MY FOREHEAD THAT SAYS "IF YOU ARE A DICKHEAD, I'M THE GIRL FOR YOU!" HAS BEEN REMOVED AND INCINERATED.
It happened again. A lovely evening in one of our local haunts followed by a bizarre encounter with a psycho stalker at The Bar.
The plot:
Creepy man stares at girl hanging out with friends for hours, then makes move as she lays head on bar to take a nap. Designated driver girl, in an attempt to snooze a bit before escorting drunken friends home assaulted by white male, approx. 5' 11", mildly attractive if you're into tall, thin, big brown eyed 29 year old electricians with two degrees.
Creepy man tells girl has been watching for 5 months, asks "What's a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this?" EErch! Come again? "I don't understand" says creepy man. "What is your connection? You don't belong here." Says girl, "I"m pretty much family you see. This is my living room, and that guy over there -- the one with the maniacal laugh? Yeah. He's sort of like my dad." "So, isn't that the owner of this joint?" says CM. "Uh, yeah. So, what were you saying about this...dump?"
Creepy man attempts to makes good. "Oh no, don't get me wrong. I LOOOOOVE this place. Its great. Very homey. And you are beautiful. So, are you with these guys, or what?"
I looked over at Sully, who had all but drooled on the floor in a drunken stupor. "Yeah. I'm with them."
I'll spare you the rest, but I will say that he inquired about all my weekends this summer to see if he could get an hour in somewhere.
Looking over at Sully, now starting to sway in time to some funky beat in his own head, I say "Well, you see, I'm pretty much booked up for quite a while. But it was really nice to meet you (please don't torture and kill me Mr. Serial Killer, stalker, horneytryingtogetlaidguy). See ya 'round."
Now, look people. I know what I look like at 2am on a given day, and there's nothing beautiful about it. Red eyes, runny and irritated by smoke. Wild sticking out from head hair. Sarcastic look on my face. Nothing to see here.
Never trust a man who tells you your beautiful at 2am unless you just had his baby or saved him from an excruciating death.
I am so looking forward to the cruise. Which brings me to last night's jaunt to sailor-girl's neighborhood. You should have seen it. Three women jumping up and down, sqeaking and bouncing like weasels saying "cruise, cruise, cruise. We're going on a cruise." And there were no can we do it boys, or psycho stalkers or men trying to show me their dicks, or anything!
Good thing I got rid of that sign. I need a new one though. Not sure what it should say. I think I'll ask The Boys. They'll know. They always know.
