soapboxdiner

In which I bitch, discuss contrived homophobia, and display my gratuitous spending habits

I'm vexed. I'm very, very vexed.

You know, I understand the needs of the elderly who can't get out as well as they used to. I understand being home and bored and lonely and wanting company but not being able to get around to have that in your life.

But when I'm tired, when I come home and close my door and don't answer my telephone because I'm on the computer and writing here, telling you all about how I put my foot in my mouth with Nora - finding the link to the entry in which I mentioned her before and then linking it - and how she told me today that she wanted to hang out with my peeps and then in a joking manner asked me if any of my friends are 35-40 y/o women of color looking to date a successful, charming and beautiful woman in the form of herself, and how I put my foot in my mouth by saying, "Sure I have cute friends, but they're all straight" out loud in a public location where anyone could hear our conversation, and then feeling like I was a giant homophobic bigot who says, "I think gay people are great!" which always ends up sounding like "I feel weird around gay people and think they're the cursed of God but I tell you I'm cool with gay people because I feel it's the PC thing to say, even though we both know that's what's happening." when really, I have no negative feelings about same sex relationships and think if you can find love, then you rock and you're lucky, and it's a happy day for us all, and then the old fart calls me and disrupts my internet connection and I lose the whole fucking thing?

redrum redrum redrum, people. And as if that isn't enough, then the old guy hobbles over to my house to tell me the crucially important thing on his mind and sits himself down and stays, despite me throwing the vibes strong, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE. YOU'VE ALREADY MADE ME LOSE MY INTERNET CONNECTION, AND THEREFORE MY WHOLE ENTRY, SO TAKE THE HINT, OLD GUY. RESPECT MY DOWN TIME SPENT AT HOME. ALONE.

Geez. And I typed that whole thing in caps but now I'm too tired to go back and put it in sentence case. Sorry, the e-scream was totally unintentional but I'm not gonna take it back.

The guy just can't take the hint. Please, don't buy me canned spaghetti sauce. Please don't buy Little Debbies "for yourself" and end up giving them to the kid as a bribe. Don't spend you money on us in exchange for company. We love you. When we are fit for company, we will come and visit you. Don't intrude upon my time when I need to unwind. I will not be nice to you and your offer to give me second-hand furniture.

Gah. Now I have guilt. What a bitch.

Anyway. I was mentioning how I'm the biggest impulse buyer. Yes I am. I went into work earlier than I had to - on accident - because I'm working the late shift this week and forgot I could have slept in past 5:30 this morning. So I went into the hospital's optical center and found the most darling sunglasses. I put them on and suddenly, I was on the Seine. I was on the autobon. I was driving a luxury convertible with a scarf atop my hair. I was continental, darlings.

So I asked, "How much?"

Then she told me.

I swallowed my tongue and had paramedics perform CPR on me.

Then I said I'd think about making the purchase. Within 30 seconds, I walked to the door, turned around, and said, "Okay. That's enough thinking. I'll take them."

And I did. And in just six short paycheck deductions of $35, they will officially be ALL MINE. Not that they aren't all mine right now, as I walked out sporting some serious sunglass hotness, but I will have paid them all off in six payments. Twelve weeks to buy sunglasses. Three months. For sunglasses. Nonprescription sunglasses. But really, can you blame me?

7:30 pm - 03.26.03
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