(no subject)
I had an Experience whilst in the frozen foods section of Stop n' Shop the other day. I was getting all nipple-y trying to dig out the lean cuisine selection I wanted, in a hurry so as to not let the glass door get all fogged up and I hear:
"Is your name Rachel?"
Please take a moment to appreciate my situation. I am ass-to-the-world bent over in my nicest grocery shopping sweatpants, trying to wrestle the last box of Lean Cuisine spaghetti and meatballs from the back of a freezer in a brightly lit supermarket. My cart has salad-in-a-bag, about twelve bottles of Fiji water, eight bottles of vitamin water (REVIVE BITCHES), and a bag of M&Ms peanut. This is always the type of impression you'd like to make on someone who just correctly guessed your name.
So I toss my frozen bounty into the cart, wipe the frosty bits from my hands, and look at this woman who is staring at me with an expectant smile on her vaguely familiar face. I smile, though I'm always hesitant to agree that I am who I am, because I've made some weird online enemies in my time. You never know.
But I nod, "Yes, my name is Rachel...?" And I let it linger with that lilt of question all the way at the end of my l. The unspoken "....And you are?"
So she announces that she's Karen. Karen who I went to camp with. Karen who I went to camp with when I was 12. Good lord, have I not changed since 12? I have to say I'm considerably fatter now than I was at 12. But anyway, we get into the awkward.. "So how have you been for the last 17 years?" conversation
UGH. We need a SMALL backstory.
I met Karen at camp when I was going through my first 12-year-old sow-my-oats phase. Okay, I was kinda that slutty girl at camp. Whatever, get over it. Karen was WAY sluttier than me. So she schooled me, and we became friends. She didn't live too far our in Jersey that my dad couldn't drop me at her house for weekends from Manhattan on his way to golf. As a city girl, I didn't get many boys climbing in my window for late night makeout sessions.. cause I lived on the 17th floor, and that would have been.. suicidal. And while I am a great piece of ass, and give terrific head, no boy was going to scale a building for me, and I accept that. But damn when you live in the suburbs, it's much easier. So she had boys over all the time, and we watched USA's "UP all Night" show with some blonde chick cause they would show no-core porn (Like.. nipples through wet t-shirts and shit like that) And I believe I gave my first public blowjob at her house (Public meaning that she was fucking around with some boy in the same room while I blew this other kid... but it was dark....)
So that was my relationship with Karen. We drifted cause she lived in Jersey, I lived in Manhattan and had my own shit. Whatever.
Now I've got this dilemma! Do I call the girl? She's married and has a kid. I'm... not married, and I have a cat. She gave me her phone number, and was all jazzed about chit-chatting... even though I originally asked for her email address (ahem..less awkward).
So help. Do I call? Tell me, one remaining LJ person who might accidently skim over this post!?
"Is your name Rachel?"
Please take a moment to appreciate my situation. I am ass-to-the-world bent over in my nicest grocery shopping sweatpants, trying to wrestle the last box of Lean Cuisine spaghetti and meatballs from the back of a freezer in a brightly lit supermarket. My cart has salad-in-a-bag, about twelve bottles of Fiji water, eight bottles of vitamin water (REVIVE BITCHES), and a bag of M&Ms peanut. This is always the type of impression you'd like to make on someone who just correctly guessed your name.
So I toss my frozen bounty into the cart, wipe the frosty bits from my hands, and look at this woman who is staring at me with an expectant smile on her vaguely familiar face. I smile, though I'm always hesitant to agree that I am who I am, because I've made some weird online enemies in my time. You never know.
But I nod, "Yes, my name is Rachel...?" And I let it linger with that lilt of question all the way at the end of my l. The unspoken "....And you are?"
So she announces that she's Karen. Karen who I went to camp with. Karen who I went to camp with when I was 12. Good lord, have I not changed since 12? I have to say I'm considerably fatter now than I was at 12. But anyway, we get into the awkward.. "So how have you been for the last 17 years?" conversation
UGH. We need a SMALL backstory.
I met Karen at camp when I was going through my first 12-year-old sow-my-oats phase. Okay, I was kinda that slutty girl at camp. Whatever, get over it. Karen was WAY sluttier than me. So she schooled me, and we became friends. She didn't live too far our in Jersey that my dad couldn't drop me at her house for weekends from Manhattan on his way to golf. As a city girl, I didn't get many boys climbing in my window for late night makeout sessions.. cause I lived on the 17th floor, and that would have been.. suicidal. And while I am a great piece of ass, and give terrific head, no boy was going to scale a building for me, and I accept that. But damn when you live in the suburbs, it's much easier. So she had boys over all the time, and we watched USA's "UP all Night" show with some blonde chick cause they would show no-core porn (Like.. nipples through wet t-shirts and shit like that) And I believe I gave my first public blowjob at her house (Public meaning that she was fucking around with some boy in the same room while I blew this other kid... but it was dark....)
So that was my relationship with Karen. We drifted cause she lived in Jersey, I lived in Manhattan and had my own shit. Whatever.
Now I've got this dilemma! Do I call the girl? She's married and has a kid. I'm... not married, and I have a cat. She gave me her phone number, and was all jazzed about chit-chatting... even though I originally asked for her email address (ahem..less awkward).
So help. Do I call? Tell me, one remaining LJ person who might accidently skim over this post!?