They Broke the Mold On Me

The sinister "they."

I already have a pre-hangover. There are many social obligations I have, and I have to work Saturday AND Sunday. Full days. Sucks, but I could use the overtime. I need to get a computer and stuff. And pretty things. Let's not forget the pretty things.

I don't have much time. I'm working still and I have to run home and get all rock-stared up for the evening. I bought a fedora. It's, like, super awesome and makes me feel totally rad and like, pretty, and stuff.

It's so hipster I can hardly stand it. But Kristen informs me if you admit your fear of becoming a hipster, than you sir, are no hipster. So I'm safe.

Plus, I'm a paralegal and I think that exempts me from the hipster category altogether.

But I will share this quick story because it's the kind of thing that can only happen in New York. Well, no, not really, but I feel I must be becoming a real New Yorker because I consider New York to actually be the Center of the Universe.

Robert wanted to go to Duane Reade. I wanted to smoke a cigarette. So basically, we needed a midday field trip out of our building. I wasn't finished smoking so Robert went in without me. I stood by the bookstore that's next door. I was looking at all the books, seeing if any interested me.

Not that I was particularly interested in this one, but it just so happened I was staring at it.

Someone taps my shoulder. Jeez, Robert, that was fast.

No, not Robert. It's a woman jogging.

"Hey, that's me! That's me! I wrote that!"

Holy shit, she's right. She's right on her own cover. And I'm looking at her sweating and looking at the cover with her all empowered and stuff...

What do you say to this?

I just look at her and smile.

"CONGRATULATIONS!"

And off she runs, apparently there was a damsel in distress she needed to attend to. Godspeed, my dear superhero. I have a cigarette to finish and then I'm gonna go buy condoms.

Happy Weekend, kids!