Or as Lottie put it, “not enough time to eliminate thigh dimples 1 through 47.”
But I am celebrating four weeks of uninterrupted gym dedication by eating a huge bag of buttery popcorn and watching the season premiere of LOST for two hours. TOO EXCITED FOR LIFE. If Sawyer makes an appearance and takes off his shirt, it will be the happiest night of my life. No exaggeration whatsoever not a word of a lie.
My glasses are here! Hooray! Time to put that age-old theory to test…guys make passes at girls with glasses.
I remember three years ago when the doctor told me that my corneas (I wrote “coronas” first, nojoke) were being severely scarred by overuse of my contact lenses. she told me I couldn’t wear my contacts AT ALL for two months. I pretty much had a nervous breakdown. I mean, I used to wear my contacts 24/7 ALL THE TIME and nobody was allowed to see me wearing glasses EVER. EVER. I could be dying with pneumonia but still I’d find the energy to stick that lens in my eyeball. But anyway, yeah, the doctor told me I was an idiot for sleeping with my contacts in (duh, srsly) and I practically retched in J-Nurse’s car and then I wore my glasses out during the weekend and boys hit on me! I even dated one sorta. And by dated I mean we made out and awkwardly held hands and then he left me.
I don’t know where this phobia of eyeglasses came from. Maybe high school and all the affiliated nicknames like “four-eyes” and “nerd” and “dork” and “fuckwit” and “lesbian.”
I actually had nightmares ALL NIGHT last night about sonar and acoustic geometry.
I got accosted by a bum again today. Although he might not have been a bum, just a really poorly dressed, simple-minded man. He said “hello” as I walked by, and I said, “hi.” Then he asked if I were waiting for route 10, and I said, “yes.” Then ten minutes later after he’s pacing back and forth the sidewalk and the stupid bus is late, he says, “Hello.” So I say, “hi.” Then he asks me about my job and my life and where I just came from and my gym. Then, after giving fairly straightforward answers, he says, “you don’t have to answer me, it’s none of my business. I’ll stop asking questions now.”
I wish I were the kind of person who could have a really, really invigorating conversation with a bum, because I bet they would have some interesting stories/fantasies to tell. But then they’d probably follow me home and I’m the kind of person who can’t say “no” so I’d invite him in for some tea and probably cook him a really terrible supper and then he’d show up on my doorstep routinely until eventually I’d be forced to move out. The end.