So I'm sitting in my living room, inexplicably watching the series premier of Gossip Girl. Perhaps I feel that the alliterated Gs will soothe the gaping hole left by the departure of Gilmore Girls. Perhaps I like to imagine how cool it would be to be a fantastically wealthy 30 year old teenager. Or perhaps it's Wednesday, and the CW marketing people are really, really good at their jobs.
Whateva, I'm bored so I think I'll blog.
A warning in advance. Please try and see beyond the repeated use of the word "pole" in this post. That's what it is, and I'm not running to thesaurus.com to sideline our immaturity.
So today on the subway I wanted to punch someone. More than usual. And a specific someone. So there I was, commuting home. Being a gentleman, I was standing, holding the center pole so that others less burly and masculine could grab a seat.
Oh My God, the girl that plays Serena is only 20 years old. She looks like she's at least 37.
So there I am, minding my own business when this woman comes on and heads towards the pole which I am using to steady my balance. She then proceeds to half lean, half wrap, half stand against it. She is using an absurd percentage of this pole. During rush hour. And I still have to use it.
Oh yeah... Jenny. That's more like it. Seriously, Serena looks like Helen Hunt 4 years ago.
And it ends up that the way she avoids hitting my hand off of the pole is by maneuvering herself so that my hand is in the hollow between her shoulder and cheek. This is not a good thing. This isn't some kind of dear Penthouse letter, where I never thought this would happen to me. This woman was tired and busted. Like she had just finished a triple shift at the sweat shop. The heebie-jeebies started crawling down my spine.
Wow, that guy with the eyebrows is such a bad boy. He's trouble. So scheming, with an undercurrent of dangerous. We'd better watch out for him. Or he's a DBag who is not convincing at all. And appears to be made of some sort of porcelain.
So I'm stubborn, and won't move my hand, because I was there first, and there are other people whose space I'm not about to intrude on because of one crazy... Oh God, her hair is hitting my hand. There goes next week's appetite. Still, I hang on. Perhaps the train will jerk and I'll get to punch her in the face, completely by accident. I'm sure it's not the strangest prayer the Lord has received since he created the earth 6,000 years ago.
Oh my God, I know that place! I watched a terrible bagpiper there! Just think, I could have seen the taping of a terrible TV show there. Wow, this show totally gets what NYC is like.
Ok, she just breathed on my arm. That's the last straw. It's either move, jostling people and apologizing like a madman or projectile vomit on other commuters. My God, it's like she's trying to absorb the pole in some sort of amoebic digestive process. You sicken me, woman.
But not as much as Gossip Girl.