An Eight-Ball Wasn't Love

Danielle and I were wondering about a disturbing trend we've noticed lately...what is it with cute guys with ugly or slutty or bitchy girlfriends? Why don't they get a clue and sway our way? We fucking rock.

And I forgot to tell ya'll the funniest story from my visit to Dallas. Danielle and I were standing outside the downtown Dallas bus station, smoking a cigarette. This super-hot guy walks by and we are both checking him out; hard. He stops, comes back, and asks in the sexiest European accent if he can borrow my lighter. I say sure and hand it to him and he pulls out this really skinny cigar...it looked hand-rolled, and in my experience, those are usually filled with ...marijuana. And he asked me if I smoked. I was so confused because I was just certain that this guy was not about to just light up a spliff on the street in public like that and since I was holding a cigarette and obviously smoking, I say "yessss..." Just then, a security guard taps the guy on the shoulder, and addressing all three of us, advises that we cannot smoke out here, we must go around to the backside of the building. When I saw the guy's face when this happened I knew instantly that yes it was indeed a blunt, however tiny. But the security guard was talking about the cigarettes. So, in a flurry of yessir's, we scurried around the corner of the building to freak out over the trouble we all could have just gotten in, which was craziest for us girls because we had no idea what was going on and it all happened so fast. We were both ready to be like, I've never seen this guy in my life; he just asked me for a lighter, heh. So the three of us get around the corner and are all like, Oh Man! Holy Shit! I Can't Believe That! And we notice...this guy has suddenly lost his "accent." I don't think many Europeans use the term Dude. He was faking it to try to holler at us! It backfired, to say the least. Now that's fuckin funny.

I was walking downtown tonight, like I sometimes do, and it is laundry day so I was wearing my bohemian but a bit low-cut blouse and then my favorite underwashed jeans and leather boots. I was walking across the bridge, rocking some Spoon, and then I got to do one of my most favorite things...eye-flirting, or as Danielle so graciously and succinctly put it, eye-fucking. This guy was hot too. He never stopped looking at me and I never stopped walking. I was bold enough to look him in the eyes, but demure enough to look away a couple of times before coyly smiling as we passed. It was an eye-gasm. I then crossed the bridge into downtown and here comes a man walking out of one of the larger buildings and he stops in front of me to cross the street. He was perfect; I fell in love. His 3/4 length coat, his leather-bound notebook, his just out of college backpack, the way his pants fell onto his leather shoes. He was so fucking cute. The curls at the ends of his sexy, barely-there shag bounced as he walked across the street in front of me. It drove me wild. I followed him, breathlessly, all the way down to Sixth Street. On occasion he would glance backwards as people sometimes do, but I lowered my head and hid behind my hair. I couldn't let him see me. All of a sudden, the thing that had warranted much-craved attention was the very thing that made me feel like a whore, and I couldn't let him see me like that. I was ashamed, I fell further behind him and watched him swagger into the bank across the street from mine. I watched him through the window until he got onto the elevator. He never saw me, I made sure of that. But I loved him. And I would have loved him right there on the street if he'd have allowed it. But he'll never know such things. I think it's better that way.

Jam for the Day: Possum Kingdom by The Toadies