Wednesday, September 06, 2006
redheads and bow ties
Here's how I know that I really need to get laid:
I was sitting innocently enough on the bus the other day, listening to Joan Jett as per usual, when this fairly stunning redhead got on the bus and sat directly in front of me. I am exquisitely prone to falling for redheads, especially if they're female. The red hair factor by itself is enough to drive me to distraction, but if they have freckles too, I'm pretty much done for.
This girl was incredible, and I was pretty glad I'm not a boy because just watching her hair curling behind the seat a couple of inches away from me was enough to make me all out of breath and tingly. I had the strangest and most misplaced desire to wind my finger through one of those remarkable red spiral curls, and for just a second I wondered how she would react to it. Of course 
I did nothing, but I certainly thought about it. I always knew it was possible to be this turned on just by looking at something beautiful, but it was the first time in a while that I'd really felt it. It was absolutely exquisite torture. She got off the bus before me and I let out the breath I'd been holding for, oh, five minutes or so. This is just one of the many ways in which my life has become ridiculously frustrating lately.
The good news this morning is that I have a job, or at least a job to do tonight. I'm helping serve "cupcakes and port" (what a hideous combination) at a party downtown. The bartending guy finally called me back, and rather than actually interview me to ascertain that I wasn't psychotic or incompetent, he simply invited me to come work for him tonight. Now the problem is that I don't actually own a black skirt or black pants, which I need to adhere to his dress code, and I can
't think of anyone girly enough in my size to borrow something from. And I have to wear a bow tie. This will be a first. I can see the list now:
Lost virginity: age 17
Lost bow tie virginity: age 22.
Good effing times, indeed.
And that's what I look like with straight hair.
Time for breakfast, and skirt-hunting. Oh joy.
-N
