(no subject)
On my bike home, just now, I passed a young cyclist (mermaid helmet, blonde, training wheels) & she just sorta shrugged at me like I don't know either. I was eating a grapefruit on the roof this morning and a wonderful idiot drove by in a bright yeller jeep blasting, screaming along to that song More Than Words.
Last night at work I was making exit of the dish room and my manager David ran into the door, whining sarcastic: Good job Jess! What is that the second time tonight? Jesus! I thought for a few minutes about what might go through my head if something like that were to particularly offend me. Goddamn fucking manager bullshit mother fucker So when I run into the door, I will hear the dish room chorus: YOU GOTTA ROUND THE CORNER YOU GOTTA ROUND THE CORNER, JESSICA . When you run into the door, it is my fault for opening the door. I understand. Later the sous chef took me aside and told me that is was David's fault for running into the door. This was a surprise, and heart warming. But, I did not quite appreciate the patronizing defense applied gently to me by thee well-dressed bisexual Yale sisters, spawn of the inaudible tattoo comment maker Da-aaddd! They secretly postulated that I could not be a Yale student, but perhaps had attended a university like Smith. I assume they assumed this because I am an unkempt bisexual w/ a tattoo. Smith is not an ivy league university, Da-aad. I could imagine them later, Well, Da-aaaad, you better give her 20%, after that COMMENT you made earlier.
Last night at work I was making exit of the dish room and my manager David ran into the door, whining sarcastic: Good job Jess! What is that the second time tonight? Jesus! I thought for a few minutes about what might go through my head if something like that were to particularly offend me. Goddamn fucking manager bullshit mother fucker So when I run into the door, I will hear the dish room chorus: YOU GOTTA ROUND THE CORNER YOU GOTTA ROUND THE CORNER, JESSICA . When you run into the door, it is my fault for opening the door. I understand. Later the sous chef took me aside and told me that is was David's fault for running into the door. This was a surprise, and heart warming. But, I did not quite appreciate the patronizing defense applied gently to me by thee well-dressed bisexual Yale sisters, spawn of the inaudible tattoo comment maker Da-aaddd! They secretly postulated that I could not be a Yale student, but perhaps had attended a university like Smith. I assume they assumed this because I am an unkempt bisexual w/ a tattoo. Smith is not an ivy league university, Da-aad. I could imagine them later, Well, Da-aaaad, you better give her 20%, after that COMMENT you made earlier.