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June 28, 2000
Fmuck!
I feel like I have a whole lot of random, rambling things to write about -- I was waiting for them to form themselves into some sort of coherant topic, but it seems they want to remain rambling, so here we go...
Monday. Hot as hell and humid. I decided after work to go swimming at the YMCA down the street from my house. (Well, my first choice was to sleep at work, since it's somewhat air conditioned, but for some reason my boss didn't seem too pleased by that idea). The pool there is fairly large, and never seems to be used -- a plus, I thought, since the sight of me in a bathing suit is something I don't want to inflict on the public at large. I got there, and as usual, the pool was empty. It was also too warm to be even slightly refreshing -- kind of like swimming in your own bathtub. I was hoping for cold water, and this was about body temperature. And not overly clean -- not disgustingly filthy, but not clean, either. But I figured what the hell, I'm here, may as well swim... and so I was happy for about 15 minutes, until a teenage couple came in to swim. That in itself didn't bother me -- watching them make out all over the pool was what bothered me. Now, a bit of smooching doesn't faze me -- I remember well enough what it was like to be a hormone-charged 15-year-old looking for a bit of privacy. But I really think they were actually having sex in the pool at one point. Um, hi, I came to swim, not to watch the live sex show, thanks. I think they really wanted me to leave, and I would have loved to, but they were making out right up against the ladder -- right where my towel and shoes and such were. I would have had to (ick) climb right over them, and I really didn't want to go anywhere near their little patch of water. Besides, it was pouring out, and I wanted to wait until it stopped raining to head home. After an hour or so, they finally moved, and I made my escape.
An aside -- I'm at work, and the library is nice and silent. Silent, except for the guy using the computer across the room who just belched very, very loudly. I have such a glamorous job.
Yesterday -- hot again, and humid, but with thunderstorms. I like summer thunderstorms. I prefer to be at home when they hit, because I can open the windows there, and sit and watch the lightning and smell the rain. Here, the windows don't open. I went to Lee's after work, to meet her two new cats, and to partake of her air conditioning. (I am not a fan of hot weather. I need to move someplace that doesn't get above 70 degrees. Either that, or I need my own little climate-controlled bubble to walk around in.) Patrick and Lee and I patted the kitties for a while, then headed for Friday's for dinner. (Patrick has already mentioned this on his Exclusions list -- go join it, right now. Go on, I'll wait.)
Now, you all know how Friday's makes their waitstaff wear lots of "flair," right? Little buttons, funny hats, stuff like that? I thought I had seen flair before... but nothing quite comes close to the Beefy Flair Guy we saw last night. He had, instead of the usual pins and buttons, little toys and action igures attached all over his upper body. He was bristling with little plastic arms and legs. His pocket was stuffed with Pez dispensers. He rattled when he walked. And he was huge. Arms like tree trunks. Big, buff, burly guy... covered in little toys. Patrick and Lee were staring at him in a combination of amusement and lust -- me, I was just scared. I was sitting closest to the aisle, and figured if he so much as brushed against me as he walked by, I'd lose an eye or something. God help anyone who actually bumped into him -- they'd have to be hospitalized for multiple puncture wounds caused by dozens of little plastic action figure feet.
Our own waiter was far less dramatic, in spite of his stupid hat. His name was Frank -- Lee and Patrick were too mesmerized by Burly Flair Guy to notice when our waiter introduced himself. When he gave us our check, he had signed it with something that looked like "Fmuck." Patrick and Lee, having missed his introduction, pondered whether his name really was Fmuck -- so the catch work for the rest of the evening was "Fmuck!" Amused me to no end.
Patrick's version of the story is much funnier -- go join Exclusions and read it. Particularly his imaginary exchange between Burly Flair Guy and Fmuck.
Posted by Mary Ellen at June 28, 2000 03:13 PM