Random Thoughts After Five Cocktails....

I wish my cats knew that the reason why I am only feeding them Iams catfood.

It is only for their own good, at this point I am afraid any other cat food may kill them.

They hate it and are miserable.

I love it because they are still alive.

Actually, I don't think I would recognize the symptoms if they did get sick from pet food.

So really I may be slowly poisoning them but just don't know it and they are miserable because they are sick from tainted cat food.

Shit.... why is caring for something so complicated?

Goodnight.

Poor White Child

To say I have fair, pale skin is not an understatement, it is an outright lie. In fact, the best adjective to describe my skin tone has to be translucent. If I stare long enough at my forehead in the mirror I can actually see the beginnings of a brain tumor forming due to years of microwave misuse and abuse.

Side note, banana peels will catch on fire if you put them in the microwave and even if you do succeed in drying them out, you will not get high if you smoke them. This lesson brought to you by Scotch circa 1992.

Like quite a few people of Irish decent, I burn like a like a Richard Gere poster in New Delhi when out in the sun. The sun became my enemy at the tender age of nine or ten after a day of fun with my friend and her family at Lake Cochituate. Jude, my mother, who believed if you were old enough to walk and use a toilet, you were old enough to make your own decisions and deal with the consequences, sent me out the door with a peanut butter sandwich and a hug, but neglected to give me SPF or warn me of the dangers of the sun. Just kidding mom I love you.

The burn was horrible - blisters, pus, huge pieces of skin everywhere - the absolute worst. I remember that HBO was premiering “The Muppets Take Manhattan” that night but I had to miss it because I had to lay face down in my parents bed with the fan blowing above me because if it blew on my skin I would scream. Also, my father did not believe in air conditioners – to him needing one was a sign of weakness. After he passed away we buried him, mourned him, and then hightailed it to Bradlees to buy an air conditioner. Not in that order.

Prompted by not wanting to scare the neighborhood children with my powder-white legs, around this time every year I reevaluate my relationship with the sun.

My best friend Regina, who is Italian and tans beautifully, always tries to encourage me to give it one last shot. Regina is what I call “Tanorexic.” No matter how dark she gets, she still thinks that she could use more sun. She is totally convinced that I could get a tan if I just worked at it.

But I never do, and therefore am forced to use no sun tanning products. Tomorrow or over the weekend I am going to write a review on the top three products that I have found over the years and my mishaps with them, so stay tuned.

Happy Almost Friday!!

Dateline

Has anyone watched Dateline lately? I noticed in an episode over the weekend that they have started filming introductions to their news stories with MTVesque camera angles and the correspondents are not looking directly into the camera.

So this is an open letter to Chris Hanson in hopes he can take care of this:

Dear Chris Hanson:

I don't know what you are trying to catch now, but it is certainly not my attention considering I can't hear a word you are saying over the screaming voice in my head demanding to know what you are looking at.

On that note, I've noticed over the past few weeks you have really branched out and away with your "To Catch A...." segments. Car thieves, con men...what's next Chris, shoplifters? Toll evaders? Public urinators? Word to the wise - dance with the one who brung ya - even if in your case the one happens to be big, scary, hairy sex offender with condoms in his glove compartment.

Very Truly Yours,

Auntie Scotch

xoxoxo

Admin Professionals Day

How I dread this day - mostly because I have to admit to myself I am an administrative professional or at least acknowledge the fact that others view me that way when the flowers roll in.

A day when I have to contemplate hugging my boss or not for getting me flowers is a dark one in my book.

Part Two - No Witty Title

Where was I, oh yes...Saturday.

By the time we were cleaning up after the wedding shower, I was physically exhausted. I made the bad decision of wearing high heel shoes and I swear it hurt to even operate my car on the way home.

But I made it, and the only thing I wanted to do was get into my pajamas, dive onto the couch and spend the rest of my daily weight watchers points on sugar. I was not in the house three minutes before my hair was up and my snowman pajamas, that even Kay makes fun of, were on.

I went into my office and sat there half dead as my computer was coming on when I heard a banging sound coming from my foyer. I looked out my window, Jude and Kay hadn't made it back yet, so I assumed it must have been Nickels that cat up to no good. I ignored it.

A minute later I heard it again and there was no denying someone was knocking on my door. I thought about just ignoring it again, it may have been a Jehovah's witness or someone trying to save some species and I just wasn’t in the mood. But then the fear that it was somehow Jude and Kay and they were locked out of the downstairs apartment got the better of me so down I went.

When I opened the door I almost swallowed my tongue.

Because there, on my driveway about to retreat, was Brian.

He turned and started walking back as I peeked my head out the door. I must have told him the night before what my street number was to compare where I lived to his friend.

“Hey there! How are you?” he asks as if there is nothing at all weird about showing up at someone’s house you hardly know uninvited. Once again the invite to “talk” was made.

I didn’t know what to say, I told him I was busy and couldn’t hang out, my house was a mess, my niece was on her way, etc. etc.

During this, Nickels the cat decided to take a new risk and sneak by me. She sat on the driveway, eyeing him as if to say “what is this? Where is it’s chest pillows?” (Nicky hasn’t seen a man in awhile).

So, I brushed him off, said goodbye, and he began to walk away. I came out of the house and scooped an angry Nickels up, scolding her.

He turned back:

“Are you sure you don’t want to just talk or something?”

WHAT IS UP WITH THIS?!?!?? NO! NO! ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND TIMES NO!!!

“Really, no thanks. Some other time.”

And that, my friends, was the end of THAT.

and of course the beginning of the fear that I will be featured on "48 Hour Mystery".

Part One - The Chat

As promised, more on Saturday...but first I need to take you into the way back machine to the Friday before. I need to break this very, very boring story into two parts because it's getting a bit long, I'll post the conclusion tomorrow.

On Friday I was leaving work early so I could get a head start on some outstanding items for the shower the following day. As I was about to leave the office an email from Brian (Brainy McBrains) pops up.

Now, I hadn't heard from Brian since our first and only email exchange, so I was a bit surprised that I hadn't fell victim to the "ol' out of town on business" excuse that I have used so many times myself. In his email he wanted to know my plans for the weekend and hoped we could get together for a "chat" (his word).

Chat...hmmm....

In the Auntie Scotch Dictionary of Misrepresentation, a "chat" is a confrontation. A "chat" can never be a good thing, especially when it is summoned from a man to a woman (or vice versa), a boss to an employee, or a teacher to a student.

But I hardly know the guy, I did not have the faintest idea what the hell he would need to talk to me about. I mean, even if he came across the blog or did indeed see me on the bus that day, would it warrant a chat? Any normal person would just break off all contact with me if that were the case - and quite frankly I'm suspicious of anyone with continued contact with me (including blood relatives and life long friends).

My mind raced, could he be a religious zealot trying to convert me? Did he indeed find the blog and want to become my AA sponsor?

Who the hell knew, and who the hell cared, all that mattered was I didn't like this. I didn't like this one bit.

But I responded quite nicely and quite honestly that I was up to my ears with commitments over the weekend, shower, jewelry making class (you heard me right), visiting niece, etc. etc. But some other time...yada yada yada. That was the end of that. Or so I thought.

About 9PM Friday night my cell rings. It's him. I only picked up because I didn't recognize the number and assumed it was one of the bridesmaids. He's giving me a second chance to take him up on the chat
offer. I again decline but start to casually babble in hopes that I will draw out the real reason behind his sudden persistence to meet with me.

After five minutes of discussing the neighborhood, where he lives, where I live (he has a colleague who lives on my street actually!), how was the business trip, brothers wedding, blah blah blah....I concluded that there may be no ulterior motive on his part.

So we ended the conversation, I told him to email me and we could get together for coffee or whatever but truly had no intention on doing so. It just wasn't happening. So again, that was the end of that.

Or so I thought..........

Chocolate Shower

I typically use this blog as a tool in my life long effort of dumbing down America or to shamelessly promote my drinking and weight problems. But once in a while I feel I have something important to contribute to society through experience, and it is my obligation to warn you and ask you to pass it on - a public service announcement if you will. So here it is:

Chocolate fountains - just say no.

You may see one of these babies in the bargain bin at Bed, Bath and Beyond and think - "how novel! This is a great idea for my next party! Why doesn't everyone have one of these?!" And I have to admit, in theory it is a great idea, who the hell wouldn't want to have a fountain of chocolate to dip fruit, fried cheese, and any random body part into?

But I’ve had two separate bad experiences with these babies and I can sum it up nicely in one simple equation:

Chocolate fountain + copious amounts of liquor = cat covered in chocolate

Even when you take the drinking and cat out of the chocolate fountain equation, they are still a huge pain in the ass to operate, so when I heard they wanted to have one at my brother and future wife's wedding shower, I threw my two cents in. Since the bridal party is made up of her friends that I do not know so well, I didn't press the issue, I just let them know that I've seen things go wrong in the past with chocolate fountains and we should just be aware of it.

We met well before the start time to prepare for the big party. I was pretty eager to help out in any way I could, I may have been a bit over the top because I felt I had a little to prove since people didn't know me that well and (although Jude and my brother will choke when they read this), I kind of felt I represented the groom's side in all of this and didn't want to let my family down. I am such a sweetheart – really, folks.

Anyhow, running around, doing this and that, I noticed no one was touching the fountain. I tried to avoid it with all my might, but when I looked at the time and noticed we only had 30 minutes until folks were supposed to arrive, I had no choice. I took it out, washed it, assembled it, and started to follow the directions.

I burnt the first batch of chocolate in the microwave, filling the entire hall with burnt chocolate stench, but got the second right and walked it over to the fountain. By this time, I had a following of three young ladies, my 4-year old niece included, all ready with pretzels and marshmallows on skewers in hand.
Realizing I was the adult in the situation, I told them to stand back. We all held our breath as I turned the motor on.

They squealed with delight as it churned and then one big burst splattered directly across my glasses. I backed away and they descended upon it, giggling and laughing, it was quite cute actually.

I went to the bathroom to wash off my specs and noticed that it got in my hair, all over my face, my hands and therefore my clothes. Great impression I was going to make. I washed up the best I could and went back in to check on the fountain.

In the five minutes I was gone something had gone wrong, the chocolate was clumping, the motor was very loud, and the girls looked like they were outside rolling around in mud. But they were still enchanted nonetheless.

I went through the motions for the next half hour adding vegetable oil, cream, more chocolate, whatever....by this time the guests had arrived and everyone took turns giving me advice on what to do. Needless to say, when the other bridesmaids approached me and told me just to give up on it, I was all too happy to throw in the towel - after I wiped everything down within ten feet of it of course.

Other than that, everything at the shower was beautiful, the other bridesmaids and I did a great job if I do say so myself. The bride was totally surprised, got great gifts, etc. etc.

There is another story about this Saturday (not shower related) that I'll blog about later in the week.

Single People, Well Off?

Why is it that just because you are single, people assume you have more money to throw around than married people? I am not complaining mind you, I’m just asking the question. As a single person I’ve not only dealt with this personally but see a lot of my single friends go through the same thing.

I can totally understand if you are a married couple with children. I don’t know from first hand experience, but I gather if you have wee one you may have to shell out a few bucks for food and clothes and stuff. And I know that sometimes you have to take them to the zoo and throw them birthday parties with cake and hoodsie cups - this concludes my future reference notes on child rearing.

But really, if you don’t have children, why is it so much more expensive to be married than single? I would think that just the opposite is true.

I find that living alone after a few years of “living in sin” with someone that everything costs about the same, but I just don’t have someone to split the bills and rent with. I also don’t have someone to blame when I can’t find my shoes or keys because although I’ve tried time and time again I can’t get any solid proof that Nickels the cat is dragging my shoes up two flights of stairs and hiding them under my bed. Yet.

So I asked my fro-worker, Ellie, who is also single, what she thought of all this. She said that she finds the notion of folks thinking she is rolling in money absolutely true, and she thinks it is because single people tend to be more generous with their money when it comes to gift giving, etc.

So there you have it folks – single people are thought to have more money because they throw more cash around in an attempt to buy the love and affection they are so desperately lonely for.

Or maybe that’s just me. Be sure to email me all your birthdays so I can send you IPODs.

Happy Friday, my dears. The sun is shining here in Boston and I'm a happy camper.

Spring, Yay!

Okay, so I'm probably late with this news - but the Legal Seafood open bar has been constructed in the courtyard of the Charles Square hotel! This is a sure fire sign of spring for me!!

Of course, you know summer is here when the manager of the Legal Seafood outside bar asks me and Amy to leave.

God, if I had a dollar for every bar in Harvard Square I've been asked to leave I would have three dollars - soon to be four -

We are going to check out the bar at Harvest to try those cheese fry things that they've been raving about on the Phantom Gourmet.

I am going to say we last 45 minutes....anyone care to wager.......

She's Having A Baby

One of my best friends, Lady, has become the first of my party animal friends to fall victim to pregnancy. ON PURPOSE EVEN!!!!!!

Dammit people!! Marathons? Marriage? NOW THIS??!?!?!

Ah well, at least we can now openly talk about her uterus and have exchanges like the below. She's pregnant, what the hell is my excuse? Read top to bottom, I was responding to a random phone message she left me about donuts. Pregnancy is no excuse for bringing up donuts to a hungry dieting bitch.


Auntie Scotch wrote:
I found myself dying for a blueberry muffin today. God, for the sake of the baked good community maybe I should never have children.... could you imagine how much weight I would gain???!?!? I'd seriously need a scooter when all was said and done.

Lady wrote:
Lets talk about donuts more often...
I am more of a glazed donut fan...my one complaint is the size they should really be bigger, because of this I sometimes opt for the bow tie, which still isn't big enough.....i've never actually tried but I bet if I had a dozen glazed donuts..i would eat them all.......

Auntie Scotch wrote:
As far as donuts go, store bought and dunkin's are two different animals I think.
There is something about that fake chocolate on hostess donuts that I live and breathe for. But just the other night when I was going to bed I thought my bedroom spelled like powdered dounts from Dunks and I wanted to go out right then and there and get one.
you are pregnant, what is my excuse?

Lady wrote:
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm my GOD....y can't every meal be 5 donuts?

Auntie Scotch wrote:
Got your message. Funnily enough, I was just looking at the shaws online flyer and they had hostess donuts on sale and I was thinking about how I would really hurt, possibly kill, someone for those right now.

Two Things I Could Do Without on this Tuesday

1. Song parodies about Boston sports or political figures. Really, is there someone who gets paid to come up with these?

2. People who are on my ars as I drive through Watertown to or from the gym in the morning even when I am going a bit over the speed limit.

Don't they know it is (in my book only of course) the speed trap capitol of Massachusetts? Christ there should be sign as you enter:

"Welcome to Watertown, Please Pull Over to the Side of the Road and Wait for Your Citation".

Every time someone is tailgating me I have visions of letting them pass me in hopes they will get pulled over. Maybe someday this fantasy will come true.

So there is my Tuesday rant. Considering what happened yesterday I really had to dig deep for that nonesense.

Happy Friday

I've been slacking in the blogging department, it's been a fairly standard, boring, cold, dark week. The lack of good weather is draining my creativity and since I heard a rumor this morning at the gym that we are going to be getting a frigin Northeaster early next week (because far be it from me to tune into an actual weather report), I'm starting to lose hope that the warm weather will ever get here. This of course will not stop me from bitching about it when it does arrive, mind you.

In any case, I'd like to give a shout out to all my peeps who are running on the marathon on Monday. There are quite a few of you this year and it is really making me take stock of my friends. Seriously folks, when did you get so healthy?

What happened to Marathon Monday being a Marathon Party day?

Ten to fifteen years ago I remember a very large group of "Rogers Park Kids" (myself including being the token funny fat girl) would assemble fairly early in the day and pool our money for the bails bondsmen that would certainly be needed by the end of the day. We made a pact to meet up at Imperial Pizza at a set time and whoever didn't show up was assumed to be next door at the District 14 Police station. The least wrecked individual would take the pooled money and bail our buddies out. I, of course, was never jailed nor chosen to go to the station.

These types of memories serve as a terrific form of birth control for me.

Happy Friday everyone and best of luck to all your crazy folks running the marathon!

A Special Ladder for A Special Lady

This weekend I decided to tackle a home project that I have been procrastinating for almost a year now. So I got my ass up early on Saturday morning to get a jump start on taking down the wall paper in my entryway in an effort to repaint the entire thing.

I headed to Home Depot as soon as they opened to pick up some DIF, a scraper, and an extension pole for the scraper because the walls are very high on the staircase part. I found the dif and the scraper without a problem. When I came to the extension poles I picked one out and started to compare it with the scraper.

"That’s not going to work," the Depot clerk said.

Do you have any extension poles for wall paper strippers? I ask.

"No, you are going to need a ladder."

But it is on a staircase.

"Then you will need a special ladder. You can rent one here."

By this time everyone in earshot, all men, were staring at us.

Well, I’m doing this myself, so I’m a bit leery on getting up on a ladder on a staircase.

The clerk exchanges a look with another male patron. They both smirk.

"Well, I really don’t know what to tell you," he says, "there is no alternative. You are going to have to get a special ladder." Or get a man in your life you lonely pathetic cat lady. (okay, so I made that last part up. But dammit he was thinking it).

I thanked him and slowly walked away with my head down, defeated and feeling foolish.

Shit. I was sure of two things. I wanted that paper down and I sure as hell did not want to rent a ladder, regardless of how special it was. The only way I would consider it is if it included a free wheelchair in the deal, because if I got up onto a ladder on a staircase, I would likely be confined to one for the rest of my life.

I waited until the clerk was busy raining on someone else’s parade and I grabbed and extension pole and hightailed it out of there (stopping to wrestle with a self check-out lane first of course).

I got home and took out the pole and the scraper. By god that man was right, there was no way on earth that the two were going to fit together. Who would have thought? I am a crazy broad after all.

But I didn’t give up so easily, I went into my closet to find my drill to see if I could doctor it up (MacGyver it if you will) when I came across an old plastic push broom. Forgetting the drill, I grabbed the broom and took it apart.

Wouldn’t you know it, the broom handle and the scraper fit perfectly together and worked like a charm. The paper was down within hours.

I was so proud of myself when Jude and my niece Kay came up to check it out. I told them the story about the man who wanted me to rent a scary ladder, how he told me it could not be done, but I did not give up.

Let this be a lesson to you, Kay. Never give up. If you can dream it, you can do it.

She was silent for a moment as she scanned the now bare walls and debris on the floor. A look of confusion came over her face:

This is your dream, Auntie? she asked.

Nothing like a four year old to take you down a few notches.

God, this has got to be the running for the most boring blog ever. Sorry folks. Don't think it was lost on me that I created my own "stripper pole" - it's Monday and I'm too tired for sexy humor. Also, note that I was appreciative of the clerk's assistance, he was honest even if his tone was a tad condescending.

Happy Monday!

May The Power of Christ Compel You

There was a time in my life when Good Friday meant something more than excitement over light traffic on my way to the office.

As a kid, growing up Irish Catholic mind you, my mother tried to instill in me that Good Friday was a day of solemn relfection, of course this was partly a ploy to get my brother and I to behave, but still. I mean, he died for me, right?

There was only one other person who even alluded to dying for me and that was my freshman year boyfriend. I'm fairly certain that his testicles were the color of the Antarctic flag when this proclamation was made.

In any case, every Good Friday my mother would pack my brother and I up and off we would go to the stations of the cross. One word to describe the stations of the cross to a child - petrifaction. In fact, third only to being possessed by the devil and Guy Smiley, the crucifixion was a major contributor to my childhood night terrors.

The devil thing came about when at the age of eight while I was vacationing with my immediate and extended family in York Beach. One night I snuck out of bed and into the living room where my mother and aunt were watching a movie. They were so involved in the film they didn't even notice me as I quietly curled up in a chair in the back of the room. I remained undetected for about ten minutes until I left out a whimper. They turned to find me shaking and crying, they had been watching The Exorcist and I had snuck in during one of the more horrific scenes.

For days after that I couldn’t sleep, I was obsessed, I was sure that everyone, and everything, that I loved was going to be possessed by a demon. To make matters worse, my brother and some of my cousins decided it would be hilarious if they attached my Cabbage Patch Doll onto a coat-hanger contraption and dangle her over my bed in the middle of the night while making demonic utterances. It was only then that I pulled my shit together – being eight years old, chubby and the only girl amongst a brood of 11 – 13 year old boys, I didn’t need to add additional gasoline to the mortification blaze.

But I eventually got over it. I can safely say that I am no longer a demon-phobe and one time I even attempted to see the film again in its entirety.

I still, however, pee my pants a little bit at the thought of Guy Smiley.

Update

I sent Brian (changed the name because Brainy seemed a tad insulting, I’d hate to think he is blogging about Psycho McFalldown) an email on Tuesday night.

I hesitated because Amy, my partner in paranoid worse case scenario projecting, had brought up a good point.

What if I email him, he does not respond, and I am forced to sit directly across from him on the bus?

So I thought about it and thought about it and decided that I am much more comfortable with rejection than I am with being a total jerk-off hiding from him. Besides, I know I saw him on the bus, you know I saw him on the bus, but even if he saw me, he doesn't know I saw him on the bus. He may just assume I am bat-ass crazy.

I mean, how would I feel if I gave my number to someone and not only did they not call, they were obviously trying to avoid me? Even if I wasn't interested in the person, it would certainly be a blow to the ego.

I have NEVER experienced giving my number to someone just to get the brush off.*

In any case, I sent the email. Very professional. Nice to meet you, here is the web address of the social network, hope all is well, yada yada yada, let’s have sex. Okay, so the last part isn’t true, but everything before the yada is.

In turn I received a very nice response. Great to hear from you, great to meet you too, going on business trip, let's hang out when I get back, yada yada yada, I’ve taken out a restraining order on you. Again, everything before the yada is true, the last part is implied.

Do I expect to hear back from him upon his return? Probably not.

Would I go if he did? I’m not sure.

If this has taught me anything, I don't think I am at the point where I would be comfortable dating again. I prefer my drama second-hand. But we'll see.

Yay Thursday!


*Sidenote: If you believe that please check out my ebay webpage, I am auctioning off the Zakim bridge.

I Wonder Why I Don't Have A Boyfriend?

So, I met someone last week briefly while I was out playing pool with some friends earlier in the week. The conversation, at least how I'd like to remember it since you know I had my share of the drink went like this:

Him: Are you from around here?
Me: Yes, grew up here actually, moved back about a year ago.
Him: Oh, I'm new to town, where is a cool place to meet folks?

Lightblub goes off, way over the top overzealousness overcomes me.

I tell him all about my new meet-up group and how we go snowshoeing, hiking, have book clubs, and they have pretty much every activity under the sun for whatever may float his boat. I jump at any chance to talk about the meet-up group. I love it. So of course by this point I sound like a complete nutcase.

Funnily enough he does not mace me.

Him: What's the website?

Me: (fumbling for right address), Gosh, I'm not sure.

Him: How about I give you my info and you can email it to me? In fact, maybe you and I could hang out sometime.

Blank. ...blind....sirens.....

THIS IS NOT A TEST!!

SCOTCH, THERE IS A MEMBER OF THE OPPOSITE SEX WHO SEEMS TO BE INTERESTED, ALBEIT DRUNK, BUT MAY BE INTERESTED!!

So he hands me his business card:

Brainy McBrains
Head of Intelligence
Wicked Smart Company
Right Near Where You Work, 01235

You get the point - this fella was not a slouch, according to his business card anyhow. I decided it was in my best interest to retreat to my friends at the table before I made up a crazy lie about my career or education to impress him. Booze brings out the storyteller in me.

Fast forward about an hour, Reg, Dottie and I are heading out the door. As I open the door to Regina's car I notice he is leaving as well.

It was nice meeting you, Scotch.

Oh yes, you too, I'll be sure to email you that.....

And that is all I got out before my heel slid off the curb and I went down like a ton of bricks right on my knee. He had to frigin help me up. My nylons were ripped, my knee was bleeding, my ankle in full sprain mode.

So that was the end of that.

All weekend long I contemplated emailing him. Should I, shouldn't I? What was the harm? What do I have to lose? Then I realized I was giving this too much attention and decided maybe I'd come off as desperate and who knows if I'd even like the guy? What's a girl to do?

Yesterday at work I was pretty careful to avoid any places on my lunch break where I may run into him. I was thinking of walking home but then again became paranoid that I would run into him since he lives in the area that I have to walk through to get home. It became apparent that this was starting to rule my life. Or at least my day. Why oh why do I even attempt to talk to men in the first place?!?!

This morning as I was leaving the house I took good note of my coat and noticed that it looked like Jerry and Nickels (the cats) have been sleeping on it. I febreezed it down and then tried to get it as neat as possible, but really it wasn't so nice. I threw my hair up in my standard Monday through Friday ponytail, I've perfected the hasidic look since the two front curls aren't long enough to fit in the pony and just hang at sides of my head. No makeup of course. Oh you know where this is going, don't you?

So there I am, on the bus, blaring "Eye of the Tiger" on my ipod because I am indeed a loser. And all that paranoia - the paranoia that kept me from going to lunch, the paranoia that kept me from walking home, the should I or shouldn't I email him, did not prepare me for the most obvious scenario of all. Because as I sat on that bus in all my unattractive glory, who should get on but Brainy McBrains.

FUCK!!!!!

I immediately act overly preoccupied with something in my bag. My cell phone! Yes, my cell phone. I text Regina. I panic. I see him coming up the aisle but then I lose him. About ten minutes into the ride I dare to look up. He is sitting up front and not looking this way. Maybe he didn't see me.

No problem. I'll go out the back door. I make a scene getting to the back door at my stop and for some frigin reason the driver doesn't open it. All the other passengers proceed to the front. Not I. I cower in the back, missing my stop and looking like a complete lunatic to everyone remaining on the back of the bus.

I take a peek - shit, he's still up there.

Next stop comes. No back door again. What the hell!??!? WHY TODAY?!?!?!?

Finally, two stops away from where I should have gotten off, the driver opens the back door. By this time I am on the phone with Regina. She is instructing me on how to breathe. I RUN out of the bus, and RUN towards the square, all the while checking my wrist AS IF I HAVE A WATCH, and saying to Regina, my saint, "I'll be right there!! I am two minutes away!!" as if I have some big important meeting that I am late for and that is why I am running around like an asshole.

So really this is a prime example of why I am single. Now I am either going to have to quit my job, move, or walk to work to avoid this ever happening again.

Of course, this puts the internal debate on whether or not to email him to rest. See how things have a way of working themselves out?!?