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cute girl with booger
Tuesday, April 13 1999
I was just reading a little something about the shitty (and I meant that literally) life of a flight attendant. Jesus H. Christ.
Speaking of shit, I was about to take a dump in the bathroom on the first floor of the workplace office building, and I could tell it wasn't going to be a good dump either. It was going to be one attended by all manner of unpleasant sounds and feelings. But I have my dignity and was waiting for the gentleman at the faucet to finish up washing his hands and checking himself in the mirror. Jesus H. Christ, he was taking a long time. Then it occurred to me that perhaps this guy actually got a kick out of hanging out in bathrooms listening to other guys crap. I could easily see someone having such a perversion; I've certainly heard of worse. A guy who feels he has no power in his life might well get a rush of empowerment from hearing the sound of someone defenselessly on the toilet engaged in a humiliatingly cacophonous turd squirt. But not me; I especially hate it when someone I know is on the crapper trying to engage me in a conversation amid grunts and splashes.
The other day while I was peeing in the urinal, I looked down and noticed an unusually large amount of pubic hair adhering to the porcelain. I'm weird when I see a "cause" that looks easy and painless to join; I wanted to contribute! So I gave a tug on some of my pubic hairs and sprinkled them liberally on top of the darker ones already present. After getting all the loose ones, I plucked out a few as well, but that was painful and I wished I had a pair of scissors. It would have been awfully hard to explain what I was doing if someone had caught me. "Oh, I'm just contributing to the toilet hair transplant effort!" It's been my experience that relatively few people understand the workings of an artist's mind.
In the evening, Kim and I went over to the Brazilian girls' apartment to help a handful of others celebrate Pete (Ludmilla's boyfriend's) birthday. I even drank a few beers, the first drinking I'd done since Saturday night. When we weren't gossiping and eating finger food, we found ourselves discussing the virtues of irony. I have to say that this group is the one most similar to my old Charlottesville crowd. I feel like they're my people, a breed apart from the dreary Schteve masses crowding the housing market of San Diego.
The funniest thing that came out of the conversation was when Kim mentioned reactions to her nose ring in Ann Arbor during her recent trip back home. One guy she ran across could see the inside metal part hanging down in her nostril and decided he should tell her about it. "You have something in your nose," he said, "and the bathroom's that way." I wondered about the thought process that had occupied this lad's mind. "Cute girl with booger, hmmm, whatever shall I say...?" Cute Girl With Booger would be an excellent name for a rock and roll band.
Eventually the party (such that it was) moved back to our apartment. It didn't go on much longer though; I needed to hit the sack and of course Kim had to tuck me in in her own special way, a way alienating enough that the others all moved outside to give us privacy. They almost left a casualty houseguest behind in one of our comfy chairs, an earnest, extroverted pot-smoking Japanese dude.
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