And the Onslaught Continues

I was feeling lazy this morning so I stayed in bed for an extra twenty minutes, planning to catch the 7:40 bus as opposed to my usual 7:20. Unfortunately for me, traffic was backed up all the way to where I need to cross the highway to get to the stop. I just missed the 7:40 and had to wait for the 8:00. So annoying. I'm sitting at the stop, minding my own business, playing Super Puzzle Fighter II on my cell when other people start to arrive. So this random dude sits on the same bench (there's only one for this particular stop) at a respectable distance. I have my headphones in, and I'm destroying some loser in SPFII, officially, I am incommunicado with the outside world.

Of course, this tranquility lasts only until I hear murmurings that seem to be pointed in my general direction. I ignore them, thinking I'm hearing things, or perhaps I'm just catching snippets from some conversation outside of my visual range. The murmurings come again, forcing me to look around. The dude sitting on the bench is asking if I just bought new shoes and pointing to the Downtown Locker Room bag that I have sitting in front of me.* "No, it's just an old bag."** I return to my game.

For a visual image, he's a ratty thing. He looks about 18-19ish, braces, super unkempt hair. He's wearing fucked up black Air Force Ones, a GINORMOUS t-shirt, and dirty jeans. He is not cute. I'm not saying dudes need to be perfectly put together at all times; there is such a thing as attractively disheveled and this was not it. It was as though he spent the night painting a fence, and on a whim decided to take the bus into DC this morning. He needs:

1. A haircut,
2. A shower,
3. A washer/dryer,
4. A tailor, and
   
5. A speech therapist. (I can't stand such poor enunciation.)

The bus finally gets there and I pick my favorite seat. It is perfectly situated to facilitate sleeping. I try to sleep, and I succeed for the most part. Unfortunately, I'd already been awake long enough to make it difficult to stay asleep for the entire ride, which was super long with excessive traffic everywhere until we crossed the border into DC. What generally happens on the bus is that as people get off the bus, people sitting next to each other will split up so that each pair of seats has only one person. This is nothing personal, it's just a desire to spread out as space becomes available. I get on at the first stop and get off at the last, so I'm in a position where I never have to move. However, at the second to last stop, the guy from the bench gets up and sits next to me.

This is not a good omen. This just isn't done on my bus route. There are rules about this sort of thing. Unless you are friends with the person, you do not get up to sit next to them, and even then, if there are adjacent seat pairs that are empty, you sit in a different seat pair close enough to talk, but far enough for sprawling out a bit. He proceeds to ask me random questions to which I provide one/two word responses while gazing out the window.

Him: What time is is?
Me: 9:30
Him: So you ride out here everyday?
Me: No. (Actual answer: Yes, just not at this time normally.)
Him: So you work in DC?
Me: Sure.
Him: So you shop at Downtown Locker Room a lot?
Me: Not really. (Actual answer: I used to a lot, but not as often lately.)
Him: So where do you work?
Me: Government stuff. (Actual answer: Not government stuff.)

Thankfully, he stops with the questions about thirty seconds before the last stop. He tries to initiate no more conversation. I really don't know what I did to deserve all this punishment. First the iPod dies on me, then I miss an awesome photo opportunity, and now this. God, what did I do to offend you so terribly?

At least I have another reason to catch the earlier buses.


* I bought some tiny SpongeBob Squarepants Dunks for my friend's new baby. So adorable. So shiny. So yellow. So awesome.
** Every couple of workdays, I show up with a bag full of english muffins/bagels, cream cheese, and a lot of whatever frozen dinners are on sale at Safeway. It's cheaper than buying lunch everyday, but easier than actually making lunch.

SRT #54

God officially has some sort of vendetta against me. Yesterday, during my after-work walk, the ONE TIME I don't have my camera out and ready to go, a GIANT RED SHOE drives down the street. I'm so mad.

The End Times

Official Time of Death: 8:52 PM, September 10, 2007

I have no words.

You're Testing Me. I Get It.

Today, my iPod decided that he is sad. While sitting on the bus, I was suddenly overwhelmed with silence in the middle of "I'm Not a Player." Much like tuberculosis, or obesity, the sadness was contagious, and now I, too, am sad. Upon doing some sort of reset thing that has worked in the past, he simply reiterated its sadness and then told me use iTunes to restore it, in no less than three languages. Oh, how iPod thinks I am worldy and educated in such jibberjabber! Despite my repeated dropping and abuse, he has persevered for so long, but this assumption of knowing languages I do not may be the first sign of an illness that I cannot cure.

I truly fear that my iPod will never recover from this blow. The electric Prozac/Morphine of iTunes may do nothing to stop the path to destruction that he seems intent on. Over the past few months, he's been a little slower to wake up in the morning. He needs a bit of encouragement when syncing up with iTunes. His battery life is no where near where it used to be. Is this truly the end? Could a year and half of hard living caught up to iPod so quickly?

Unbeknownst to iPod, I've begun looking at his newer, younger, prettier brother: the iPod Classic. I am severely tempted to get one. Perhaps Nigel will take custody of iPod for the duration of his life while I start a new life with Classic. I am conflicted. I do not wish to take up with a new iPod while mine still lives, but I have needs. I am only human.

The main problem facing me now is my damned embargo. The 160 gig classic is $349. God. That is a glorious pair of shoes. I really believe that God is testing me now. After my declaration of embargo He probably snickered and thought,"Embargo, eh?* Let's see how well you do with this!" And then ZAP. My iPod is on its deathbed. I must resist. I must explore all ways to keep this iPod alive. Like that Schiavo chick, I will keep this thing on life support for as long as possible. I can only hope against hope that he pulls through.**

* Apparently, God is Canadian.
** Is this in bad taste? Has an appropriate amount of time passed for me to say this? Is this reference perhaps the final nail in the coffin God is constructing for my iPod?

Dear Lord, Grant Me Strength

I have a problem. It's not so much an issue I need to resolve or something that needs to go away, as with many of my friends' problems, but something that I lack. In addition to this, it is not merely a single thing that I lack, but a combination of things that will inevitably lead to my destruction:

1. I have no stuff. Now, plenty of people have this problem. Homeless people, for one, and perhaps monks, and they seem to get along just fine. However, this does not bode well for me as...

2. I have no impulse control. In my profile, I say that I have poor impulse control. This is quite the understatement. I don't even think it qualifies as impulse control. It is a mere whisper of self-control; the vague apparition of an impulse control that once was, but will never be again. Combined with my lack of stuff, it's always dangerous for me to enter any kind of store. Or go on the internet. Or open my eyes. Shit is dangerous. "But how is this harmful?" you ask. Oh, I will tell you, faithful reader. I will. It is...

3. My lack of money.

I'm not broke, but I have places my money needs to go. Like into my car payments, or IRA shit that I don't really get, but I vaguely understand that I will need in order to eat when I am old, decrepit, and unemployed.* I need to eat, and I eat a lot. It can actually be quite obscene. Where does a 115 pound Filipino thing even put that much food? (Answer: In her FUPA.) My car also needs to eat, but he doesn't eat that much (thank God). I really do have few things I have to pay for, and I have never not been able to meet these demands. However, in the past year, I have developed a love of stuff that is new and different. It is not simply a love of shoes (which has also, much to my shame, been altered slightly) but a love of STUFF.

Jackets and jeans and shoes and shirts and gadgetry all at once. It's terrible. It really is. My AmEx card hates me from all the wear and tear it undergoes, but American Express loves me. Or they will when my 0% interest stops at the end of the year. ** I can recite my credit card number/security code/expiration date with no thought whatsoever. I can mime typing these numbers in without a number pad. That is how ingrained often this care is used. They love me so much that they more than quadrupled my original limit. I was horrified at this removal of one spending barrier. It's a slippery slope, my friends. A slippery slope indeed.

I am now known quite well amongst certain circles of my endless string of embargos, which are promptly broken whenever I encounter a new pretty/shiny/awesome thing-that-I-must-have-immediately. A couple of weekends ago it was cufflinks (so awesome!), before that it was more Threadless shirts, preceded by random gadgetry, preceded by a new jacket, preceded by new shoes, and so on. Each of these purchases resulted in my claiming an embargo. None lasted for more than ten days. In fact, after the cufflinks, I declared embargo. This was the last weekend of August. On Wednesday, I ordered a couple of shirts online. (They arrived yesterday. SO FAST! But also too big, alas, they must be exchanged.) So I am declaring embargo again.

OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
I am on embargo until my car is one year old or when it hits 10,000 miles, whichever comes first. I'm currently at about 9100 miles, but I've been quite stingy about driving lately, so the former option will likely come first. Hopefully, this embargo will take hold. If all goes well, my desires for things will try their best to escape from the confines of my mind, much like starving Cubans brave the terrible sea for the shores of Florida.

Pray for me. And for my wallet.


* Assuming that I actually overcome a set of conditions that makes this a semi-unreachable goal.
** I absolutely refuse to pay interest on anything though. So I must gain control by then.