| 11:45 a.m. | So when's the NSA gonna show? | 2003-04-29 |
| Reaped | I�m beginning to see the light. Hoooooo. Well I�m beginning to seeeee theeee light. Aw now baby I�m beginning to see the light. Here we go again. Playin the fool again. Here we go again, thought that you were my friend. All right. Scenes from the weekend. -----0------ Somewhere, deep in the Cursed Blook Mines of Ur, a party of tatterdemalions beat an 8 legged cat creature to pulp with war hammers. In the distance, a ringing phone. �Hello?� �Yes, I have a relay call. This is the FBI. We know what you�re doing and we�re gonna FUCK YOU IN THE ASS!!� �Oh. OK. Thanks.� The 8 legged cat creature runs off. The phone rings. It�s the FBI again. They still want to fuck us in the ass. We shrug & turn our attention to a group of tree throwing hill giants. The phone rings again. Slavek the Dwarf takes out down giant with his maul of destruction. And again. The mage answers. Then hangs up. �Yep, still the feds.� And once more, just as Slavek is struck unconscious by a boulder & lies bleeding at -13 Con, it rings again. We begin to wonder why, in this age of domestic terrorism, the FBI has time at 2 o�clock in the morning to threaten a bunch of dice tossing geeks with repeated ass fucking. Eventually it stops. -----0------ On the fifth page of the paper, Saturday edition. A large advertisement screams, �The American College of Obstetricians & Gynecologists are a bunch of baby killers! Show your support for life all this week by joining our rally at their annual conference. Stop the killing! We like our women barefoot & pregnant and the world overpopulated!� It is this same conference I would be tabling for the Nat�l Library of Medicine on Monday. Pro-lifers beware, I�m WORSE than a baby killer. I support freedom of thought & basic civil liberties! I am (duh duh duh!) a LIBRARIAN, muthafukkahs! So keep your brainwashed fetus brains outta my way! ------0-------- Unfortunately (thankfully?), no pro-lifers got in my face to describe the many ways my soul will burn in the ninth circle of hell, so no heated encounters for me. (Disappointing, I was looking forward to cussing them a blue streak.) I parked too far away. Their signs were very nice though. Lots of aborted fetuses & flames. Not too many people: the basic gray haired lunatic redneck raving bible verses, a couple of his women in long dresses praying, several bored looking children. Enter the conference with no visible problems. A couple hours later, my partner must empty the 5 double lattes he�s drunk throughout the day. The one-eyed snake waits for no one. It�s a slow day, not many people interested in Pubmed or free post-it notes when not less than 5 pharmaceutical companies have enlisted complimentary Starbucks to woo the doctors. I stand at the exhibit, smile the 1984 smile that says, �I�m approachable AND informed. Come talk to me!� And wait. For awhile. My mouth starts to hurt from smiling too much. My dainty shoes pinch my feet. As I begin to crave a cigarette and free Starbucks someone approaches the booth. �So do you use Pubmed in your practice?� I begin. �Oh. Heh. I�m just checking out your laptops,� he replies. Polo shirt, khakis, his ACOG badge reads �Event staff� or something. I make a small joke about the crappy dial up connection. �Oh no. That�s not me. I�m actually with the FBI. Keeping an eye on the protesters outside. Hey, you like Seinfeld?� He pulls out a second badge, this one with the name �Art Vancleave�, George�s alter ego on the show. This must be some kind of Federal mind trick. I�m still reeling from the FBI thing. Maybe that wasn�t a prank call. �That�s funny.� I say. �So you saw the ad in the paper on Saturday?� He hadn�t & wanted it. So I give him my card & tell him to put his address on there so I can send it to him. Maybe about this time I should mention this was not an agent that had been hit upside the head with the ugly stick. He actually kinda resembled my high school history teacher, Mr. Heartthrob, who was only 5 years our senior & eventually dated someone from my class. (Though, as every red-head will agree, he really wanted me but I my intelligence & wit was far too threatening for him.) In much the same way, I was getting the flirty vibe from Secret Agent Man. So I played. I was bored, hopped up on coffee & Ritalin, & c�mon, he might have been the Feds but he was da-yumn cute, with a sense of humor. We chat some more about restaurants in the area, work, it turns out he was the guy that had to restrain the drunk asshole on the plane in the news the other day. A hero�s job is never done. So finally, he�s been there almost an hour. It became time for me to mosey on home. That�s when Secret Agent Man starts dropping the hints. �So can anyone use the library? When does it open? When are you working?� I see this barrel shoot coming on before he even does, & this depresses me. It�s coming, I see it in his eyes, it�s almost here, and then, �Do you want to get together for lunch sometime?� �Well I only have half an hour�� �Well, which one of these restaurants would you choose tonight? Would you like to go to dinner with me?� Can you hear a pin drop? The needle slip off the record? The nails on the chalkboard? Secret Agent Man, you�re breaking my heart. �Sorry,� I squint & crinkle up my nose, �but I have a boyfriend.� Rack �em up, shoot �em down. Fish in the barrel. The simplest way to end a conversation. Not exactly a hero�s prize. I quickly add, �ButifIdidn�tI�dcertainlywould.� Shake his hand, nod enthusiastically. Tell him he�s giving a good image to the Feds. Then it is time for me to go. In an alternate universe, the one where I�m single, I would have done it. He was a nice guy & there�s something intriguing about the FBI. Probably too much X files when I was young. & he was hot. Even considered doing it anyway, but I know that would not stand with the crab. I hate lying. Well, not hate it, (I�m actually an excellent liar, as this journal evidences), just like to save it for extra special occasions. Something I used to do as a minor was lie badly about small things (no mom, i absolutely did NOT leave the milk on the counter, bwah ha haaa!!) so as to get in trouble, & save the good lies (yeah mom? we're going on a canoe trip all weekend. I need forty bucks for, er, gas...) for big stuff. But that's a tangent. In sum, observe yet another chip in this crumbling relationship. For some reason, this is still bothering me today. Probably due to a stupid fight over cigarettes this morning. (As in, when i went to bed, they were in my work bag. This morning, the lighter was on the table, the cigarettes were gone, & Crab & friend had "nothing to do with it".) So. Could I do it again, I woulda just gone out anyway. Of course then it�d turn out he was the Baton Rouge serial killer & I wouldn�t be writing this anyway. Coulda woulda shoulda, the story of my life. ---------0----------------- In conclusion, the only ass fuck I got was the 10 dollar convention center parking fee. The FBI wanted more than just my ass to fuck, I think. Strange days, these. Uncanny encounters with authority figures need to cease & desist soon, before paranoia drives me over the ledge. Though if Secret Agent Man walks through the library doors, fuck it, I ain�t saying no a second time. ---------------------------0--------------------------------- End transmission. |
Sown |
| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
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