neverbeencool

For two days now, I’ve planned on sharing the unabridged Director’s Cut version of a story I hinted at in my People Who Make Me Want to Puke on Kittens post, the tale of Carlos and the Chocolate Salami. But then something happens between when I wake up in the morning and get to the office that totally fucks it all up, and I end up writing these rambling posts that go nowhere.

So, here you go. Another rambling post that goes nowhere.

First, I’m really starting to hate my commute again. And thanks to the magic of Google Talk and my BlackBerry, I can share this morning’s events with you by lazily copy-and-pasting a transcript instead of actually putting any thought or creativity into the presentation.

7:09 AM me: God, I fucking hate the people on the fucking max.

Herbert P. Wanglefonker: he he… what today?

7:11 AM me: Some fucking gray haired man, a little wider than I am, practically sitting on my lap. Open seats everywhere next to people smaller than me, and he’s all up in my bubble. Not even edging out into the aisle or anything like a normal person would.

And he smells.

7:12 AM And I wish him AIDS.

Herbert P. Wanglefonker: he he

I pretty much never sit. Avoids a lot of that.

me: Probably already has it. Does AIDS make people smell? I didn’t think so, but I’ll have to look it up.

7:13 AM I like to try to read, so standing fucks that all up. Plus I’m tired from the three-soon-to-be-four late work nights.

7:14 AM Dude’s lucky I don’t have anything to make a shiv out of…

Note: “Herbert P. Wanglefonker” is a pseudonym. I thought Aaron H., er, A. Hockley… um… my acquaintance might not want to want to be associated publicly with me or my blog, so I offered to change his name to protect his identity. Mission accomplished!

So while I was sitting there, pulling a Riggs and dislocating my shoulders so I could fit into my new, smaller seat while not reading my book, I had the pleasure of watching the lady in front of me enjoying hers.

A lot.

Like an unhealthy enjoyment, at least for a public place.

Like every few minutes, I’d see her pump her fist with excitement, or bounce up and down, all giddy about something that happened in her book. I thought maybe she had Tourette’s at first, then I happened to catch a glimpse of the title of the tome she clutched with quivering excitement.

Which brings us to the until-now-undiscovered sixth recipient of the coveted People Who Make Me Want to Puke on Kittens honor: Middle-Aged Women Who Looooooooooooooooove Harry Potter.

Sweet zombie Jesus, people. Women with graying hair should absolutely not ever be so excited about the goings on at Hogwarts that they’re pumping their fists and shaking their booties on the train. Especially if said fist-pumping, booty-shaking action scares big old men away from the empty seats next to them and into my personal bubble.

Act your age, people. Put down the Harry Potter, buy yourself some Tom Jones, and get your freak on. At home. Away from me.

Tomorrow, I swear, it’s all about Carlos and the Chocolate Salami.