Wednesday, May 26, 2004

I sat with a morbidly obese man on the bus on the way to work. He took up two seats and his pants (the word "parachute" does not begin to describe them) were held up with these meathook suspenders that resembled rope. Rope-pants, I say.

I felt sorry for him when he was forced to turn sideways to get through the door while the man with the uncontrollable drooling watched on forlorny, deep in meticulous thought.


"Excuse me?" I said, wailing. "Why did you mention my name [in your conversation with Ms. B]?"

I stood beside Dior Boy as Ms. B, blissfully ignorant, tip-toed away.

"Nothing, it was nothing," he replied, shyly. His discomfort mirrored by his hasty retreat to the nearest classroom.

"No, tell me," I pressed on.

He paused mid-step, his backpack drooped dangerously low against his flat denim-wrapped ass.

"I said I'm glad that [*insert something about achieving proficiency and, I think, getting his name carved into our foyer wall; I was too self-absorbed, trying to think of a potential come-back to notice what he was saying*], but that Lily wouldn't say that's necessarily a good thing."

"Aw ... I wouldn't say that. I love you lots!"

He furrowed his eyebrows in a way that said, "You lying sack of shit."

"But I love you!" I shot back, sarcasm barely escaping.

Abed (Shotgun Toter's insecure ex-semi-lovar whose existence I've refused to acknowledge since last semester) walked by that very moment. I stuck my arm out, striking his neck, then hugging both of them.

"And this gorilla too! I love you both!"

Abed: "You're ... choking me."

The prior then spent the rest of Teacher Advisor staring at my bra through the unbuttoned parts of my dress shirt when I bent over (which I did not notice until later, bien sur.)

So now we're all on good terms - but I have a sneaking suspicioun that their fear of face-to-face confrontation played a part in keeping their Lily-lashings at bay.


Love/hate relationships: It's the spice that prevents life from going stale.

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