Knights of Nasty

Sometimes you know when a bad day is coming, like when the alarm goes off when it is still dark out and your bed is cozy and the house is cold and there is nothing you would rather do than stay tucked up in bed and somewhere deep inside your inner most heart you know, you just know, that the day is going to be rough. Sometimes you awake and know the day is going to be less than shiny because it has already been a crappy week and all you can do is morosely and half heartedly hope for better, but you don't really believe it and so the day turns out like the rest of the week. The warning for my unexpected and uncomfortable day came a little more subtly. I took a nap yesterday and it was one of those naps where you awake so disoriented you could swear someone is out to get you and they must be peaking in the window with a can of bubbles, waiting to attack you with creeper love and all you can do is stumble around and curse the chairs you keep stubbing your toes on and the food that will not prepare itself and the dance bag that will not fill itself with tape and shoes and deodorant and water bottles. This was my initial and lasting reaction from my nap yesterday. In an earlier blog I have discussed falling asleep when its light and waking up when its dark and you must refer back to truly realize the terror therein. Unfortunately, it wasn't just the nap that made for a positive warning sign. Another glaring problem was the fact that there was not a single part of my body that was not in serious pain after my excursion through a day of dance. I lay in bed, after nap and rehearsal, and contemplated why on earth I would do such a thing to myself... every day of my life. My feet were both bruised (still are, I might add), my ankles were exhausted and sore, knees bruised and sore, hips bruised and crackly... need I go on? I'm not complaining, thus is being a dancer, I'm just trying to paint an accurate picture of the blatant warning signs that I missed. On top of all this and my discombobulation is the fact that I have had writer's block for days, which is truly awful. It likes to come up behind you with a sneak attack, being very seductive and stealthy, stealing inspiration out of your brain and taking it to use for its own selfish ends. Things are of course still happening in life, but none of it seems either interesting or appropriate to disclose to the world and the sneak attack tells you that's okay and you should continue to not write. Of course, these are filthy lies, but sometimes the seduction gets the better of you and you give in to such rumors. So you see, the warning was complete, but still I did not adequately prepare for today and have the incidences to prove it.

It all stared with the inappropriate anatomy hanging from the truck in front of us. That was a “Really?” moment, where I slammed on my breaks and yelled, “Really?!?” at him from my closed car, wondering if it was possible for someone to be so ridiculously immature and just straight up... gross! We proceeded to pass him and not make eye contact, because we all know THOSE kinds of guys are just waiting for some girl to make eye contact so that he can make a nasty face at them. Our first stop was at the UPS store, which I would have thought was pretty safe and innocent. And it was, for the first several minutes, but I was not to make it out there without an experience. My roommate and I get stuck on phrases, not something I am proud of, but it happens, and lately it has been, “Oh no...” whenever something doesn't suit us. I believe she had just called herself an idiot for not mailing her mom something along with her initial shipment, while at the same time an old, long haired, camo pants and dirty t-shirt wearing guy had just walked in. My response to her degradation of self was our usual, “Oh no...” and his was, “Oh yes...” Oh gosh... Really, greasy, long haired man? I, in terror for my life, chose to simply ignore the man and keep my back turned. I admit, there were several moments of severe discomfort as I wondered if he wouldn't just come over and grab a handful of my you-know-what (my butt, if you didn't get that). Not that I wouldn't just punch his nasty, greasy lights out, but its still pretty uncomfortable to be violated, plus I'd rather not touch his greasy lights, if it could be at all avoided. Needless to say, I hoped to avoid the experience... which I have, for now.

Next, our travels took us to Ross, at which location I found nothing that I needed and spent most of the time on the phone with an irate friend. I didn't understand why she was so mad, its not like a faculty member stole her first piece of student choreography... oh yeah, they did... As I wandered around the store blabbering and listening, I came into full view of an almost certifiable playboy bunny. She had the tramp stamp tatoo of the bunny, she had the earrings, she had the eyebrow ring, the intensely glittery cheeks, she had the cropped shirt, the bare midriff... lets just say this girl defined trashy. It made me sad and not jealous of her nice stomach at all. It was mostly shocking though... who told her it was a good idea to go out in public like that, to degrade herself so fully? Oh yeah, maybe her nasty boyfriend who looked as though he hadn't seen a bar of soap or stick of deodorant in years. I mean, I don't judge, but when I can see your body odor and hear your bad breath from 300 yards, it may be time to reevaluate your life. Just a thought...

Our final destination was Wal-Mart, a good, solid final destination, in Dallas, home of the beefs and morons. I just needed my oil changed and had no idea a trip so directed could so totally change my life. The roommate kept insisting they would be closed, but we proceeded to our destination anyway and found we had an hour before they closed down for the night. So, I hopped out of the car and told them what I wanted. It was easy enough, and then we proceeded inside. By the time we got done wandering around the store, my car was done and pulled out of the garage. We checked out without much incident, but still had to make it past the nasties who work in the garage. One was younger and mostly just friendly and jovial, farewelling us with a, “Have a good one!” The other, though, a broken down 40 something guy was not so friendly. Or I guess you could make the case that he was more friendly, in his way. He said nothing, choosing to leer instead. It was one of those moments where my modest clothes did nothing for me and I was visually raped anyway. It was irritating, because I know he looked at me and my roommate and made the same nasty comments about us that he would have about playboy girl. My lifelong efforts had no practical use tonight. After we jumped in the car, he was still looking after us with that nauseating grin on his face... Eww! I just threw up in my mouth, you gross old turd! That right there is a poor man, in that someday he is going to be in a wheel chair with a colostomy bag and no one to comfort him but his playboy magazines and lotion. Cruel? He practically got down on his knees and begged me to say it, so I'm not going to feel bad about it.

Unfortunately, our adventures were not done for the night. On our way out of Hickville, a guy in a truck gave us some intimidating, threatening looks, which actually freaked me out a little. I refused to look back at him, as my roommate danced in the passenger seat, and took off as soon as I could, turning while he went straight. On our route home, my oil pressure was not up where I like to see it, especially right after an oil change, and I began to doubt they had actually changed the oil. The awful thought occurred to me that they may have done something nasty to my car. I'm actually a little uncomfortable about it right now...

Finally, safe at home, I took a look at the receipt I had been given and found the words, “Oil Kid” accompanied by a phone number. After a double take, my roommate and I enjoyed a good long laugh and immediately started plotting. I can usually tell when a guy is digging me, not just when they want me to, but if they are super shy and awkward. This guy showed his interest by being like a board. Maybe he thought he was playing the 'cool card,' but whatever. Just as the gross garage guy begged me to call him an old horndog, this kid is asking to be messed with. I have a few ideas floating in my head for him... But we'll just see which way the cookie crumbles. I may decide not to waste the effort, even for my own enjoyment. Over all, it was a day filled with nasty guys and sadly my faith in the male breed has taken a rough blow. To be honest, I'm a little nervous to even venture out of the house after my recent experiences... Perhaps I'll stay here and hope nobody bothers me. Or maybe I'll venture out and give human beans of the male variety another chance, hoping that maybe one of them will reverse my generalizations and ideas.