Thursday, December 10, 2009

This morning whilst waiting for the streetcar, I observed a woman labouriously gimping down the street, bravely trudging through the newly fallen slush of Queen St. W. In solidarity, I gently lefted the corners of my mouth as she strolled by, a smile that would unite us in our differently abledness. She responded by lifting a different body part and flipped me off.

You stay classy, disabled people.

I got on the streetcar and sat adjascent to a very good looking South Asian fellow, standing right by me and texting on his blackberry, and ate my orange, placing the peel in my bag as to not besmirch the saliva/urine laden floor of a TTC vehicle. Feeling his eyes upon me, I indignantly responded in my thoughts that the peel would serve as a positive olaftory force, its addition lending some much needed citrus top notes to my Kenneth Cole satchel . I thought about telling this to my friends, but remembering that they are all opera singers, I realized that they would look at me as though I was a mongoloid and mutter something about incorrect warm up techniques.

I met a couple new ones last night (opera singers, not mongoloids). The girl had dyed red hair, drank like a fish and swore like a sailor. I like her a lot. The boy had natural red hair (auburn, not gingey), made some successful quips and brought up his love of stubble burn on various body parts throughout the evening. And I liked him. A lot. They both laughed at my some of my humour, though the girl harder, so she is my favourite, despite the fact that the boy is sort of one of the most beautiful things I've seen. Fist-bump for fleeting moments of non-superficiality. I realized that laughing at something I said makes me want to have you for a sleepover. Girls, on my futon; boys, on my me.

Speaking of boys who want on my bed, there's been a recent surge of Manhunt messages from guys that are a) my age or younger b) above average looking and c) wanna get with this, frequently unlocking their (Act impressed) private photos. Granted many want me to show up at their hotel rooms (flight attendants) or drive to the suburbs (Coffee Time employees), but it's still an honour just to be nominated. I feel this ushers in a new era of my demographic appeal: guys seeking the big brother type. A bit creepy for you straights? Probably, but realize that this is just as common in hetero relationships. Think of all the girls dating 4-8 years above their age. It's about protectorship and flattery, sometimes in that order. Oh and in this case the want of my sex. And following up to the last post, as witnessed by these private photos, turns out that some white guys really are doing their bit to bring down the size average. And they're flight attendants. And Coffee Time employees. Niche market, I welcome thee.

1 comment:

Sandra said...

I love you so hard right now. :)

I can't hate on your Kenneth Cole; I like it too much! Especially with citrus top notes. That would be really nice. Get thee to a cosmetic department and tell me what you think of Davidoff's new(ish?) Hot Water, their answer to the long-standing & well-deserved popularity of Cool Water, which I have always liked. A recent sniffing in a Shopper's with Sarah proved undecided. Tell me what to think and feel about it, please. :)

Your new ginger friends, natural or otherwise, sound like fun. :) Haha, "on my me", indeed!

Oooh, access to the private photos! You've graduated! I lol-ed for real at the flight attendants/Coffee Time employees, too! (Thank you for Coffee Time!! Because you know they aren't even T Ho's employees!) I seem to have finally succeeded in enrapturing a market beyond the overweight, balding & bearded, which is what seems to just adore me in this city. Now I'm onto men who work out too much and talk about their muscles too much. They still drive trucks, but I think they're smaller trucks. One day I'll graduate to men who drive cars, are employed in something other than auto mechanics, and read books. That day will be SWEET.