I was doing a lot of running
2005-07-25, 4:43 p.m.
I was doing a lot of running around in the car on Friday for work, listening to my new Iggy Pop cd which made all the trafficky driving a LOT easier, and thinking about what a lustful young punk-poser I was 20 years ago. OK, 21-22 years ago. Rats. 23 years ago.
I mentally calculated Iggy’s age, which I believe would be 57-58 now, and I thought, yeah, I’d still quite happily do that. That would be fine with me, optimal even, because look at the man. Sure, his face has always looked like that, young or old, but he is one fine physical specimen from the neck down. And besides, I like funky fucked-up looking faces. ::shrugs::
Which led me to, hmmmm, not obsess over, but rather, contemplate my state of physical disarray after the Lil Guy golf…you know, I was perma-damp, kinda stinky, and dressed in shorts and a golf shirt with grassy running shoes. See how I obsess? I mean, contemplate endlessly?
And I thought who am I kidding? I’m a pudgy, sweaty, decidedly unsexy two-dimensional 41-year-old soccer mom, for God’s sake. And I’m not even a soccer mom – I’m a GOLF MOM. I have lost my edge. Iggy wouldn’t have me. The horror…the horror.
Here’s a snippet of puzzling conversation that was behadden (new word! Do you like it?) amongst Don, DW and myself on Friday night.
DON: I like Jeff. He’s always in a good mood, to the point of giggling. You know, that high-pitched giggle of his.
ME: I like him, too. He seems to be simultaneously enjoying the moment, as well as enjoying a funny little world in his head. Always giggling, snickering, and muttering under his breath.
DON: I know! He repeats whatever made him laugh, like he’s committing it to memory. He’s a little strange, but in such a good mood, you have to like him.
ME: I should try that – being in a good mood all the time. Maybe people would like me. I would like to be a little bit more likeable.
DW: ON NO. You don’t need to be any more likeable than you are now.
DON: Nope. You are plenty likeable as it is.
DW: Too many people already like you too much.
I have no idea what any of that means, although I talked it over with the wife of the Mighty KB, and she and I agreed that half the town must have a secret crush on me. She says she does, at any rate.
Lil Guy left this morning for his one-week trip to the coast with Mr. Surly and the entire family. This is the trip that I used to be a part of, too, and it always coincides with my birthday, and for many years, I celebrated all my birthdays at the coast in the condo. There is chronologic photographic evidence of me with beach hair (not the good kind – the kind that looks like a cat has been sucking on your hair) and a sunburn, in need of a shower, blowing out the candles on a birthday cake.
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