Post is Done, Time for Weed.

7:13 pm, February 21, 2005

It's not so much a punch to the gut or solar plexus ... that cliché's been done to death. It's kinda like you're walking along, it's a good clip, in the middle of the desert, and you're on the road just minding your own business, and then all of a sudden the coyote's contraption-wall lifts out of the ground and you're smashed body-first into this thing.

And to think, the day started out pretty blissfully mediocre.

OK, so like I said earlier (and I don't like to put two posts on the same day out of principle, but I thought it was warranted), I went to the Good Will and the other thrift store and they had a whole lotta diddley squat. But, hey, I'm pretty used to getting the figurative finger from these establishments, so I persevered. Got myself a new idea and off I went.

Now, like I said, I'm not telling any of you who I'm gonna be dressed as for the RockStar party, but let's just say this thing's costing me a pretty penny. I don't want to alarm any of you, but I've acquired every piece to the costume that I need, and it's gotten me into the three-figures. Around $300 to be exact (yes, I'm SUCH a shopping whore when I want to be). This fugly slut takes costumes VERY seriously, though. You should know that by now.

It kinda got me down when I made the trek all the way to Nordstrom's Rack where Jake works to try and find an appropriate shoe and its partner for insanely cheap and they had a whole lotta DICK for me to choose from. Seriously, the 11 1/2 shoe size is like three racks long, and the 12 shoe size is like half a rack. So, I had to get shoes elsewhere, and that took up about 80 bucks, but you KNOW I'm gonna find a way to wear these puppies in other situations.

All right, so I'm on my way back up to Renton, and I'm feeling pretty mediocre about my situation. I'm pleased I got the shit; I'm pissed I was forced to pay so much. I don't want to give anything away, so I'll hold off on the experience I had in one of these stores where the people were honestly ...

Anyhow, on my way to Renton, decide to pop into Saar's Marketplace. Don't know why; I guess I was out of Altoids or something, yeah I'll go with that. Altoids and ... Gatorade. Sure, why not.

I'm in the store and (leaving out names to protect the innocent) she's not at the register. So, I make my walk around the store for a bit to see if she's perhaps stocking shelves and I hear on the intercom, "_______, will you please come to the register?" Aha! So she IS here. And, I dink around for a bit, grab my Altoids, grab my Gatorade, and I head for the line.

Her line's pretty barren; bonus. I hop in it and she puts the "This Register's Closed" sign behind my shit; excellent. It's my turn to pay for my shit and we chit chat about, "How's your President's Day going" bullshit for a second; and that's when I decide to make my move. First off, I take the opportunity to introduce myself, as she's well aware I've been coming into the store quite a bit in recent weeks, but have as of yet no name for all she knows. We shake hands and I suddenly float clear out of my body.

I'm behind myself now, and I'm watching myself open my mouth and start to say something ... but it's really too much like a dream where, as I distance myself over time, I remember less and less of what was said. From what I can remember in the time in the car before I went into the store when I was working on what I should say should the opportunity arise where I have her attention and not an audience in short vicinity, I said something like, "I was wondering if you'd like to go out and do something when you're NOT working," as inevitably our conversations generally hover around the "Work Sucks" star system.

So, I'm watching myself and I'm thinking, "Gosh, this poor guy. What ... a TOOL." Honestly, feeling really bad and embarrassed for such a monster douche. This of course comes to a head when she replies something to the effect of, "Oh, that's really sweet, but I can't.

"I have a boyfriend."

At this time, I'm back in my own body now, and it hits me. I still have to sign the receipt for this credit card transaction; but I don't think I can properly function a pen. I chicken scratch my name in there, fumbling around with some words to the effect of, "Yeah, I thought you might, that figures." My whole, "It's all a part of my plan" approach to asking this girl out is in a full tailspin at the moment as she gives me some manhood-reassuring words of . . . not necessarily encouragement, not necessarily gratitude (as far as meaning or intent is concerned, though she did thank me), but something like "I can't leave this guy completely obliterated as he walks back to his dank hell pit."

You know, it's a good thing I can laugh about this now, because really, I wouldn't want to have any kind of dispair hanging over me. It's just that, the fuck of it all is, it's like once in a blue moon when I finally manage to nut up and ask someone out. See, I've gotta have that happy medium to get in my comfort zone. Where, she doesn't know EVERYTHING about me and . . . my travails in the UW party lifestyle. But, then again, she'll actually talk to me and not be offended by my appearance or lack of oratorical grace.

And I finally do it and find out she's got a dude. A DUDE. GOD! Really, where do I go from here? There are multiple schools of thought on the subject, I've decided.

I could completely disappear, never to return to Saar's Marketplace again. Of course, if I choose this mode, I'll be cursed to run into her at every possible public spot outside of Saar's, more than likely with her dude, and we just can't have that.

I could just hold off on returning for a couple weeks or I could keep going with my normal regularity. There are different branches to this one, though.

I go back and apologize for making an ass of myself. Because, seriously, I went over this, asking out someone in the public sector goes COMPLETELY against my beliefs. They're not there to be hit on, they're there for the paycheck and to get your ass the fuck out of the store.

I go back and completely avoid her line every time. That wouldn't do, because it's not her fault she's got a dude . . . well, it is (and her loss I'd have to assume, as most dudes I know are synonymous with douches).

I go back and try to be, like, her friend or friend-like or something. But, really, that's just WAY too desperate and honestly, I'm not.

So, you know, I'm not just gonna stop going to Saar's, but I ain't going back this week, that's for damn sure. And, fuck, who cares. Whatever happens if and when I go back will happen and there's nothing I can do about it. I'll just let everything come as it should, natural and cool. And, maybe this time, I won't leave my body. It'd be nice to have all my faculties working together as a cohesive unit

Current Mood: I ... uhh, yeah
Current Music: Bob Dylan - Visions of Johanna