Yesterday I was sitting on the train, just people watching, studying the faces of my fellow passengers and trying to guess their stories when my attention turned to a teenage boy reading the paper in his prep school outfit, complete with the navy blazer and red and navy diagonal striped tie. He was obviously very dorky, with a mop of messy brown hair, glasses, and a bad case of teenage acne. However, one would not guess, just by looking at him, that he is also the most fucking disgusting creature on earth.
As I watched him, he started picking his nose with his thumb. I was surprised that he would actually do this on the train, but my surprise turned to complete and utter disgust as I watched him then insert his thumb into his mouth and eat the booger. My disgust only got worse as I watched him dig his thumb into the other nostril and then lick the bounty off of it.
The last time I saw somebody eat a booger (or boogers) like this was preschool. There was this little boy that I didn't get along with who would pick his nose and eat it in front of me just to torment me. And here this kid was like 16, eating his boogers on the metro. But it didn't stop there.
As disgusted as I was, I couldn't stop watching him. He then began picking at one of his many zits. After digging for about two minutes, he examined the dried pus on his finger. I thought to myself, "If he eats it, I'm gonna fucking die right here on this train." He didn't disappoint. He licked his prize off his finger and continued reading the paper.
I still couldn't stop watching. He discarded the paper and pulled a Sudoko puzzle out of his trapper keeper. As he studied the puzzle and determined which number should go where, he took his thumb and started digging in his left nostril again. This time, my stomach turned as I watched him eat it, and I couldn't look at him anymore. Next he might have moved to his ass, I don't know.
What a dork. I feel a little bit badly for him, knowing that he's so not going to get laid til he's at least 40
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
another dear boy letter
Dear Pinot G.,
You really let me down tonight. I was counting on you, counting on you to make me forget my heartbreak, my insecurities, my self-doubt. But instead, Pinot G., you made me realize how very insignificant my problems are.
You brought me news. News of a friend in need, a friend beyond lonliness right now, a friend for whom I, nor anybody else, even those closer than I am, can do anything. And you made me oh so blue.
They knew it at our bar. They put their arms around me and told me to cheer up, to wake up, would I be okay?
I shrugged and fake smiled, and demanded more of you. More of you to help me to shrug it off, to treat the situation with pure, unadulturated, blissful ignorance. But you, my dear, you slid down my throat with your familiar bitter sweetness, but insteaded of comforting me, you refused to let me forget.
It became clear to me very early in the night that you weren't going to help me. It became clear that I had to leave you, and leave you with a quickness, before I exposed my ultimate vulnerabilty to everyone. So I left. And I waited for the bus to bring me back to the solitude of my own home.
But you followed me, and once we were alone, you and I, waiting for that bus to pick us up, you took advantage of the darkness of the street, of my blue disposition, of the lyrics pumping through my iPod.
The food that I'm eating
Is suddenly tasteless
I know what's alone now
I know what it tastes like.
And with that you made those hot salty tears roll down my cheek right there in the darkness of 8th Street. I furiously wiped them away, determined not to let you get the best of me. I wasn't about to let anybody see me cry, that was for damn sure. But when I got in the bus, you continued to torment me.
Won't you help a brother out?
Those beautiful piano melodies to which I used to analyze x-ray evidence at my cozy desk in my cozy, private office suddenly seemed to take on a completely different meaning. And as I stared down at the blue aisle, not picking my head up for a split second, not letting those ten strangers see my vulnerability, you fought me, and fought me hard. A right hook to my heart, a slap to my soul.
I got off the bus and made my way to my street, eyes focused intently on the sidewalk rather than the straight-ahead, confident, don't-fuck-with-me-because-you'd-be-surprised mug that I usually have on H Street. And when I finally reached the solitude of my own home, I rested my head against the closed front door and wept. I wept for the tragedy which I counted on you to help me ignore, but which you threw right in my face.
Fuck you, Pinot. We're breaking up.
Sincerely,
Just One More Broken-Hearted Girl
You really let me down tonight. I was counting on you, counting on you to make me forget my heartbreak, my insecurities, my self-doubt. But instead, Pinot G., you made me realize how very insignificant my problems are.
You brought me news. News of a friend in need, a friend beyond lonliness right now, a friend for whom I, nor anybody else, even those closer than I am, can do anything. And you made me oh so blue.
They knew it at our bar. They put their arms around me and told me to cheer up, to wake up, would I be okay?
I shrugged and fake smiled, and demanded more of you. More of you to help me to shrug it off, to treat the situation with pure, unadulturated, blissful ignorance. But you, my dear, you slid down my throat with your familiar bitter sweetness, but insteaded of comforting me, you refused to let me forget.
It became clear to me very early in the night that you weren't going to help me. It became clear that I had to leave you, and leave you with a quickness, before I exposed my ultimate vulnerabilty to everyone. So I left. And I waited for the bus to bring me back to the solitude of my own home.
But you followed me, and once we were alone, you and I, waiting for that bus to pick us up, you took advantage of the darkness of the street, of my blue disposition, of the lyrics pumping through my iPod.
The food that I'm eating
Is suddenly tasteless
I know what's alone now
I know what it tastes like.
And with that you made those hot salty tears roll down my cheek right there in the darkness of 8th Street. I furiously wiped them away, determined not to let you get the best of me. I wasn't about to let anybody see me cry, that was for damn sure. But when I got in the bus, you continued to torment me.
Won't you help a brother out?
Those beautiful piano melodies to which I used to analyze x-ray evidence at my cozy desk in my cozy, private office suddenly seemed to take on a completely different meaning. And as I stared down at the blue aisle, not picking my head up for a split second, not letting those ten strangers see my vulnerability, you fought me, and fought me hard. A right hook to my heart, a slap to my soul.
I got off the bus and made my way to my street, eyes focused intently on the sidewalk rather than the straight-ahead, confident, don't-fuck-with-me-because-you'd-be-surprised mug that I usually have on H Street. And when I finally reached the solitude of my own home, I rested my head against the closed front door and wept. I wept for the tragedy which I counted on you to help me ignore, but which you threw right in my face.
Fuck you, Pinot. We're breaking up.
Sincerely,
Just One More Broken-Hearted Girl
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