Acrimony

Do you ever feel like just putting a gun to a hobo's face just to see him shake in his toeless shoes? Just to have that feeling of power over someone, all the while knowing that no matter what, you're not him? When life deals you a bad hand, it's best to look at the homeless--not in the eyes because that's how they get ya--to get through the rest of the day. Those gnarled, wrinkled, toothless faces would give anyone a sense of accomplishment, no matter what might have transgressed earlier. But then there are those hobos that don't really give a shit and would gladly be put out of their misery. Stick a gun to their face and they might just pull the trigger. Or, if they're really badass, they'd just grab that gun from your manicured fingers and rob you of all your possessions. That is what I aspire to.

I had to sit through 35 minutes of telephone prompts and elevator music as I tried to get through to a real and actual Indian today. East Indian, as opposed to the raped and pillaged version. When they decided that speaking to a computer was a time saver, I do not know, but by the fifth time I yelled "Yes!" into the receiver only to be rebuffed by an automated "I'm sorry could you repeat that?" I was ready to choke myself with the phone cord. A pleasant enough death, I suppose, if unglamorous. I prefer to go out with fireworks and streamers, something that says, "DEATH! Starring ME!!" Needless, to say, by the end of that lost half an hour of my life, I was in rather poor spirts, only to be compounded by the revelation that something I was expecting was not to be expected any longer.

I was supposed to work not this Saturday, but next, proctoring an exam. I was excited for the fact, not because I'd be sitting in a room full of residents for 8 hours as they took an in-service exam, but rather for the fact that I'd be getting an extra 8 hours of work in my paycheck and free food. And free food is my middle name. I had t changed legally in '97. More importantly though, I was looking forward to seeing one of the doctors scheduled to take the exam that day. We had had minor conversation for the first time last week and I do believe I caught him staring at me one day. Big mistake on his part. The second a guy shows any remote interest in me is the moment he gets a new stalker. I'm not saying I'm desperate for attention or anything, but this virginity's not fucking itself away, if you catch ma drift. And he's a young, hot doctor. Not only is he out of my league, but I'm pretty sure we're not in the same species. But I was hoping to take this opportunity on not this Saturday, but the next to get some valuable face time with this guy and now...:-(

Oh, well. Nothing probably would have come from it anyway. It never does. I'm the dating equivalent of an infant. I'm all smiles and odd stares only to soil myself as soon as the object of my affection so much as looks at me. At this point in my life, I kind of just want to get it over with. Just put runway lights leading up to my crotch. Is that subtle enough. Or maybe I could become a street hustler. I just saw "Mysterious Skin" with my new future ex-boyfriend, Joey Gordon Levitt. There's something very intriguing about throwing your body to the wind and not caring about the consequences. I can see myself now, bedecked in gold lame booty shorts and nothing else, skulking my way across Chelsea, getting picked up by fat, hairy johns who know how to treat a dirty slut right.

But I'd never do it. If only because I need to feel in control. That life would spiral crazily, leading to me being addicted to meth, killing one of my customers and ending up in prison to be the butt boy for every Tom and hairy Dick in the joint. Perhaps not too bad a life--maybe I could even get married to someone with the colorful nickname "Ass Ravager." Then I'd be just like those badass hobos, not giving a shit, always ready to pull the trigger. No matter how horrible my day is, at least I'd be someone's bitch. And no one could ever take that away from me and my Ass Ravager Bill. But til the day I slip on the cootchie shorts and slip off my dignity, I guess I'll have to find new ways to cope with the general shittiness of life. In the distance, I can hear the faint bubble of a bong rip and I know that everything will somehow, someway be okay.