Wanna know what else? My lack of ability to talk to men has led me to thee worst interactions with men on the whole big Earth. And by the worst, I don't mean the sad truth that sometimes women and men are treated poorly by other men and women. I mean worst, like the stories I bring up at therapy and my therapist laughs at me as I am astonished being pushed into a snow bank or ripping my pants from crotch to knee could ever be funny.
Last winter, that's just what happened. This man with a beard/sweater/puffy vest thing going on walked my way and I thought (hair flip) 'what's up, man?' and then he threw my ass in a snow bank and stole my Pottery Barn tote bag. What a duh-ick. That beard was not earned, it was a disguise!
------
I used to work at a tourist attraction in Duluth, and every once in a while I would sell tickets. On the really slow days, I would sit out in the ticket house and sing to keep myself awake. Songs from bands that I'm embarrassed about... so I'll tell you it was bands like Grizzly Bear, HAIM, and fuggin Radiohead. (Oh hell, it was Alanis Morrisette. It's always gonna be Alanis) As I'm singing along, I'm spinning in a chair with my head tilted to the ceiling... pretending me and my girl A are jamming on a hill top overlooking Canada and talking about her romance with Ryan Reynolds. (She would say it was 'the real deal' and we'd chuckle) I was spending too much time spinning and singing and spinning and singing that I didn't notice the HUMAN BEING that had walked into the ticket house. This human being didn't look like Alanis Morrisette. This human being didn't look like Ryan Reynolds. This human being looked like Paul freaking Bunyan. Hint: Paul Bunyan is good looking in this scene. Beard for days, plaid on plaid on plaid... and as I spin and notice my future husband staring at me... I fall out of my chair. Not the stumble out fall, the lose balance/lose your shit fall out. The kind that's kind of painful. What does Paul do? Does he chuckle and brush the hair out of my face? Does he ask if I'm alright? No. Paul walks away. Literally decides the freak singing in the ticket house is enough of a glimpse into what a two hour tour will be and needs to get the hell outta there. So, I quit two weeks later.
------
Then there was this summer, when I liked another human being enough to actually initiate a conversation with him about something other than how much we're mutually enjoying the weather...
(The topic was something close to New York)
Me: It's about so much more than leaving, it's about starting over.
Beard: It's about realizing we're in our twenties...why not just go for it?
Me: Exactly. You get it.
Beard: I get it. Fully.
(Fun little pause as we both imagine making out on the beach... just me?)
Beard: My wife wants to go there.
So it was definitely just me... His wife, whom I'm just sure is adorable looking would love to go to New York. I was on my fourth Blue Moon of the night so that's literally how the conversation ended. He said wife and I immediately stood up and walked away (hair flip). Who doesn't wear a wedding ring?!?!!? Precious....
------
And finally, this morning... The morning of all mornings. A Friday. A good day. A day to symbolize the beginning of rest and relaxation and catch up. This morning I walked to the Co-Op about five blocks away from my house. Super excited to get some fall veggies and make some soup before class. I get to the Co-Op, and I'm about to get in line when I get a tap on the shoulder. This man, bearded and gorgeous, is looking at me like someone just shot his baby goat. Worried, concerned, constipated? I need to help him, obviouslyyyyyy...
Beard: I'm sorry, I don't want to...
Me: Are you okay?
Beard: You have--
Me: Are you gonna be sick?
Beard: No, but you... Your underwear is showing.
Me: What?
Beard: The flowers. Purple. I can see your underwear.
(Today I wore a dress because it's mother loving FRIDAY and I am all about wearing a dress and boots and calling it an outfit to be remembered. Well. When I got dressed today... I put on said underwear, and then leggings, and then the dress... And apparently after using the restroom that dress got nicely tucked into my leggings and underwear. So... you know, the mistake that every five year old in America makes only once... I'm continuing to make well into my early twenties. Mazel tof.)
Me: Holy shit. Thank you.
Beard: You're probably embarrassed.
Me: The most embarrassed. Thank you. Seriously.
Beard: Who wears underwear with leggings?
Me: What?
Beard: I never do.
Good. Good to know, Beard. Next time, well... every time I ever put on leggings again in my LIFE I will remember to wear underwear because somewhere in the world your perfect bearded face is attached to a body wearing leggings and nothing else. God speed.
Cheers to beards. Cheers to Friday. Cheers to my purple underwear that has been shown to five blocks of 4th street and a Co-Op of hippies. Cheers to my love life being non-existent and fabulous. Cheers to you. Chances are I know you, and you are a friend/companion/source of laughter in my life... and if I never find my lumberjack, if I never find that epic romance full of banjos and harmonicas and log cabins... I have you, and my cup runneth over with the love. Cheers.
 |
| Where for art thou lumberjack? |
No comments:
Post a Comment