duck-shaped pain

Where I Meet A Clog-Wearin' Man And Do NOTHING About It

This has been a good weekend. It was productive, although I hate to use that term when referring to a weekend nearly past.

I thought I might have to go into work we have a big new project coming up, and there's a mad scramble to get all sorts of things done before it starts. Field notebooks need to be put together, sample bags numbered, tools assembled and antacids stocked up on. Thankfully, none of these duties came to me this weekend, so I could at least relax.

I started to catch up on my large backlog of unread books. I finished Norwegian Wood, finally (more on that later) and started and just now finished My Kitchen Wars, another book which I've had laying around scowling at me forever. It was good to have a reading weekend. I haven't had one in awhile and the weather was perfect for it: overcast, gloomy, rainy and sort of depressing.

I spent a great deal of my weekend down at the bagel shop. I haven't had a chance to go down there on the weekend for some time, due to work, tire mishaps and sheer laziness. I went there Friday after work so I could start off my weekend with some chai, I spent three hours there on Saturday, and I stopped in Sunday morning for another cup of coffee after a breakfast bout with some more biscuits and gravy.

Sometimes when I go there, I'll be the only person writing. I'm not sure why it seems like the ideal place to do so, but most people there are either chatting with friends, doing serious newspaper duty, or just staring off into space while they chew.

Saturday, though, I was not alone. Other people were there, reading books, writing things in their notebooks. One of them was actually a fairly attractive guy I, for one, was shocked. While I didn't actually speak to him, I nicknames him Texture Man due to his clothing; grey fleece turtleneck, tan corduroy pants, brown suede clogs. Yes, clogs. Sheepskin-lined clogs, even. This did not frighten me. Dark brown hair, pale complexion just how I like 'em.

He was enwrapt in some book I didn't find out the title and was concentrating very deeply in writing things in his large spiral notebook. There are two window seats at the bagel shop, on opposite sides of the front window. I had one, he had the other. I wonder if our combined presence frightened away potential customers people might walk by, hankering for a bialy or a carmel muffin, see us, and think that they can't possibly live up to the standard set by the rest of the clientele.

If you're expecting some sort of interesting outcome to the story of Texture Man, I hate to disappoint you. We both just sat there, taking remarkably parallel courses -- reading, writing, occasionally glancing at each other, occasionally looking out the window or staring at other people coming in. That's about it. I smiled at him when I left, hoping not to look funny, he said "hi". Or burped a tiny, subtle burp. Or smacked his lips. Or yawned and then stopped himself. One of those things.

Went produce shopping this evening. Looked at tangerines. Some other shopper and her shopping friend were also considering a tangerine purchase when Shopping Friend said, "Tangerines. Aren't those just oranges for assholes?" Wrong. In my world, assholes get no oranges.Or tangerines. Especially tangerines.

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