My life is both a blessing and a curse.
So, I'm leaving work, having stayed late to work on my paper, when I cut through the Convention Center. I hear, "Ciao, Bella."
Seriously.
This Italian dude shuffles up to me and asks my name.
"As if this will ever happen again," I thought. "Meghan."
And I continue onto the escalator.
He caught up with me.
He mentioned seeing my walking and told me that he wanted to talk. He shook my hand and introduced himself (definitely Italian...can't remember the name).
I suck.
Why? you ask...
"I'm sorry, I've got to meet someone."
Yeah, I said that. But, wait, that's a good thing.
Why? you ask...
...'Cause I'm writing my paper.
So it's enough that this happened. I feel good. Somewhere there's an Italian man in a pea coat (shit, I can't believe I didn't stay to chat...) who may or may not be pining, but will definitely think of a sleep-deprived, frizzed-out Campbell's Soup Kid-looking girl named Meghan.
And that makes me feel good.
Another thing that makes me feel good is that I didn't work on my paper last night after my double shift at work.
Why? you ask...
...Yeah, I was too busy BEING AT THE DAVID FUCKING BOWIE CONCERT to work on it.
For real.
David and I were mere yards from each other.
God Bless Megan for knowing I'd appreciate joining her in the SIXTH FUCKING ROW at the Bowie show.
He sang Fame.
And Changes.
And China Girl.
And Under Pressure.
And Heroes.
And Ziggy Stardust.
And I'm Afraid of Americans
And tons of other songs. He did rude things to the mic stand. And wore tight pants. And looked right at me. And completely rocked my pants.
And that's why it's okay that I'm me. I saw David Bowie live. I got hit on by a dark and handsome man. I get free coffe. I'm going to graduate from college.
I really need someone to tell me that I haven't dreamed all this.
And to hug me.
t shirt:
I fucked Mick Jagger.
to do:
-write the damn paper, Meghan
-...so I can come back to LJ and describe the disturbing dream I had two nights ago.
-sleep
-go to the symphony tomorrow
-get my hands on a video of last night's American Idol to feed my budding Tarantino obsession. He's only 41...definitely in the rhealm of doability.
-watch my new dvd
-listen to my new cds
-sleep
-sleep
Seriously.
This Italian dude shuffles up to me and asks my name.
"As if this will ever happen again," I thought. "Meghan."
And I continue onto the escalator.
He caught up with me.
He mentioned seeing my walking and told me that he wanted to talk. He shook my hand and introduced himself (definitely Italian...can't remember the name).
I suck.
Why? you ask...
"I'm sorry, I've got to meet someone."
Yeah, I said that. But, wait, that's a good thing.
Why? you ask...
...'Cause I'm writing my paper.
So it's enough that this happened. I feel good. Somewhere there's an Italian man in a pea coat (shit, I can't believe I didn't stay to chat...) who may or may not be pining, but will definitely think of a sleep-deprived, frizzed-out Campbell's Soup Kid-looking girl named Meghan.
And that makes me feel good.
Another thing that makes me feel good is that I didn't work on my paper last night after my double shift at work.
Why? you ask...
...Yeah, I was too busy BEING AT THE DAVID FUCKING BOWIE CONCERT to work on it.
For real.
David and I were mere yards from each other.
God Bless Megan for knowing I'd appreciate joining her in the SIXTH FUCKING ROW at the Bowie show.
He sang Fame.
And Changes.
And China Girl.
And Under Pressure.
And Heroes.
And Ziggy Stardust.
And I'm Afraid of Americans
And tons of other songs. He did rude things to the mic stand. And wore tight pants. And looked right at me. And completely rocked my pants.
And that's why it's okay that I'm me. I saw David Bowie live. I got hit on by a dark and handsome man. I get free coffe. I'm going to graduate from college.
I really need someone to tell me that I haven't dreamed all this.
And to hug me.
t shirt:
I fucked Mick Jagger.
to do:
-write the damn paper, Meghan
-...so I can come back to LJ and describe the disturbing dream I had two nights ago.
-sleep
-go to the symphony tomorrow
-get my hands on a video of last night's American Idol to feed my budding Tarantino obsession. He's only 41...definitely in the rhealm of doability.
-watch my new dvd
-listen to my new cds
-sleep
-sleep