Week Two
This week’s post has been increasingly difficult. At one point, out of frustration for lack of material, I even went so far as to say “hello” to a passerby walking his schnauzer, who, in return, gave me a calculated, close-lipped smile and chin raise that was, frankly, too normal on which to waste another word. Now, I reflect, as one should do as often as one can because reflection is good for the soul. Plus it occupies the time if you’ve forgotten your phone while pooping.
As I look back upon the week, I realize I’ve gathered a healthy collection of eaves-droppings. Eaves makes droppings like rabbits or deer (or my sister’s dog, Buster, who continues walking whilst he poops); little bits for you to pick up on your way. Nothing strenuous or out of the way, but surely enough to keep you interested on your journey.
Count the poop references and tell me what kind of week you think I had.
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I sat next to our open balcony door to enjoy my coffee and journal when I heard the following tidbit from the balcony adjacent ours. She was using her outside voice talking on the phone. This is the same outside voice that has, on other various occasions, clued me in to her profession as an actress who just needs “to find the right agent” because she is sick of dropping tupperware in informercials or re-enacting strange deaths for SpikeTV murder specials.
“I just love when someone really attractive is really nice as well,” she said with a tone that indicated they aren’t common. She obviously didn’t see me vigorously waving and jumping up and down from across the way.
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After laying out in the sun, enjoying a book, I took a dip in the pool. From my place in the deep-end, treading water and trying not to mouth breathe, I could hear a young gentlemen whose aroma, even from the pool, could best be described as “skunky”, discussing religion (as skunky people tend to do) with a neutral-smelling companion.
“I’m just saying, the church of Satan welcomes everyone.” His friend nodded along as if to say, “ain’t that the truth”. I could tell he probably wasn’t the most devout Satan-worshipper though. His Harold and Maude haircut and rainbow flip-flops indicated he probably has more of an affinity for contrarian worldviews than for the lord of darkness.
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Later in the week I decided to enjoy a few moments of solitude in the jacuzzi before beginning my nightly routine. The lukewarm water and knowledge of used band-aids floating around has a way of calming the mind before a night’s sleep. My hopes of solitude were taken behind the barn and executed when I arrived however. A beautiful young woman was bobbing by the tub’s edge speaking to a handsome gentlemen who had propped himself against the same edge. I slowly lowered myself into the tub and joined their conversation. When I say “joined their conversation” I mean, “listened intently while looking in a different direction that, to the observant eye, would demonstrate that I am probably contemplating something hefty and existential like the meaning of life or the way to make a combination pizza-grilled cheese.”
Their conversation was relatively uneventful, only providing such highlights as “Every once in a while I’ll hotbox with the security guards so they’re on my good side” (said he) and “you seem like you probably know how to use a saw” (said she). However, I was left with a few conclusions (assumptions really but who cares because you don’t know them and they don’t know me and judging is fine and shhhh).
Conclusion #1: She’s into him. She was laughing at all his jokes which could only be considered jokes in a world where, I don’t know…what’s something ridiculous… where a blatantly racist cartoon-character of a businessman could be a viable candidate for the nations chief political office. Well shit.
Anyway, she was really into him. If you really listen and have a mind for putting clues together, you could come to the same conclusion. She kept asking about his nightly plans, asking him about his breakfast plans, asking him if he’d sleep with her…even the least opaque of clues doesn’t slip past me.
Conclusion #2: He wasn’t picking up on this in the least. If he was paying attention to anyone at all, it was himself or, at best, the monkey playing cymbals in his head.
The situation was especially cringe-worthy because I knew both of them assumed the other was on the same page. On the one hand, I feel for him. I’m always amazed at how even the brightest of masculine minds are still condemned to be an idiot in the baby-days of romantic intrigue. Certainly, if given time and the right combination of food and sunlight, men can prove to be romantic, thoughtful and genuine. But of course that takes patience and prolonged exposure to women’s toiletries. Thus, given he didn’t come off as the brightest of minds, I can assume the breadth of his awareness-lack knows no bounds. It doesn’t seem to bother him though, because, as he expressed several times in their conversation, he’s had no difficulty acquiring short-term romantic accompaniment (that’s my way of saying “one-night stands” because ew gross).
I also feel for her, because, she is making a really unfortunate mistake, at no fault of her own. She proved herself to be thoughtful, intelligent, and very rational; however, the grave mistake is that she interprets his listening and his being “nice” as equivalent to being romantically interested. The worst part about this mistake is that it really isn’t her mistake. It is the fault of men. So many men are unkind, unable to listen, and so disgustingly self-interested that when a singular gentleman can hold prolonged eye-contact (even though he’s still probably watching roadrunner do circles in his brain), some women tend to swoon. Let’s even assume he actually is listening and interested, that doesn’t equate natured kindness.
Ladies, if you ever want to know if a man is kind, watch how he treats a waiter or a child passerby. This method isn’t without it’s flaws, but it’s a better barometer than if he “listens”. Men would gladly listen to 40 minutes of nails on a chalkboard if it means they’ll get 30 seconds (because let’s be honest) of sex.
Hearing him say, “You sound like you went to a good school” was the signal for my exit.
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My last recollection from this week was also the shortest encounter. It conversely had the deepest (help me Lord) impact.
I had just moved my wet laundry from the washer and placed it all in the upper-dryer in the corner of the laundry room. The wall of dryers is directly opposite the laundry-room’s entrance with a distance of about 17 feet between them. With my back to the entrance, I faithfully loaded each wet item into the dryer. I started the tumble, paid, and turned around to exit. Imagine the following within the perfect timing construct of all decent sitcoms. That is exactly how it happened.
Just as I turned to face the door to exit, a fully naked, adult man walked into the laundry room, smiled at me, passed me on my left, took an item from his dryer, turned around, passed me again, said “sorry” confidently and exited the laundry room. He walked with two hands completely “cupping” his, um, self and shuffled like a penguin to avoid any awkward cheek separation, mindful of the fact that his most intimate crevasses should remain private despite the body-confidence he blatantly expressed by entering a very public area very naked. The entire thing unfolded in less than five seconds. I dared not move a muscle the moment I saw him entering for the specific reason that, since the event was a perfectly extracted “sitcom” moment, I knew there would be awkward door-dancing if I tried to exit the room while he entered.
After healing from the initial shock, I came to a few conclusions.
Conclusion #1: This man was washing ALL his clothes. If he lived in a more luxurious facility with in-unit washers and dryers, he could do laundry and sit naked in the privacy of his own home. He is the victim here.
Conclusion #2: This man has just been sitting buck naked in his apartment for the entire duration of a wash and dry cycle, killing the time.
Conclusion #3: I am thankful to God above that I was not in the laundry room when this man loaded his laundry.
Conclusion #4: If I’m ever to emulate this man’s steely confidence, I should probably start working out.
And that’s WEEK TWO.