A few weeks ago, I finished up my shift at the gym and trekked over to the Trader Joe's which is conveniently across the street from work so I don't have to navigate their cramped parking lot Tetrislike with my car. I had worked the 5:30am-2pm without a break and it showed. When you wake up at 4:45am, the only thing you think is clean underwear and caffeine, and not necessarily in that order. Sweaty and tired, I stumbled through the aisles selected random items which I would hopefully be able to turn into food later. I found a spot in line and made the slow crawl to the cash register when I heard it:
Excuse me, are you the Slackmistress?
I turned to face a totally cute girl with blue and blonde hair in a Trader Joe's t-shirt.I was positive my deodorant had worn off hours ago, and I was sporting the eau de gym towel (used), my jeans were sliding of my butt as I had forgotten a belt and my hair was a scraggly mess as I had washed it the night before and slept on it wet.
My head screamed: Deny, deny, deny!
But I didn't.
I introduced myself and we chatted briefly, her name is V. (::waves hi!::) and she's a blog reader. The other people in line looked at me, impressed.
Y'know, I'm an actor, said the cashier.
So am I, said the person behind me.
I'm nobody, I assure them, I just write a blog.
Yesterday I was picking out asparagus when I ran into her again, this time I was just as tired and just as sweaty but I was now sporting a zit inbetween my eyebrows that resembled a third eye. We chatted about cooking - I told her about the college I threw where I served ramen with ketchup, because I had spent all of my money on filmstock - and she told me that she preferred the McDonald's dollar menu. It had been a long day and I could feel myself starting to physically wilt.
Anyway, I'll let you shop, she said, I didn't want to bother you, I wanted to just say hi.
You're not bothering me, I told her, this is the best part of my day!
I hope she believed me. Sometimes I blog just because I want to celebrate my good fortune. Sometimes I blog as a bitchtool to complain. But I always blog to connect with the reading audience. So what if I didn't look my slackmistress best? What's better than running into someone who likes what you do and doesn't get stabby about it?
Excuse me, are you the Slackmistress?
I turned to face a totally cute girl with blue and blonde hair in a Trader Joe's t-shirt.I was positive my deodorant had worn off hours ago, and I was sporting the eau de gym towel (used), my jeans were sliding of my butt as I had forgotten a belt and my hair was a scraggly mess as I had washed it the night before and slept on it wet.
My head screamed: Deny, deny, deny!
But I didn't.
I introduced myself and we chatted briefly, her name is V. (::waves hi!::) and she's a blog reader. The other people in line looked at me, impressed.
Y'know, I'm an actor, said the cashier.
So am I, said the person behind me.
I'm nobody, I assure them, I just write a blog.
Yesterday I was picking out asparagus when I ran into her again, this time I was just as tired and just as sweaty but I was now sporting a zit inbetween my eyebrows that resembled a third eye. We chatted about cooking - I told her about the college I threw where I served ramen with ketchup, because I had spent all of my money on filmstock - and she told me that she preferred the McDonald's dollar menu. It had been a long day and I could feel myself starting to physically wilt.
Anyway, I'll let you shop, she said, I didn't want to bother you, I wanted to just say hi.
You're not bothering me, I told her, this is the best part of my day!
I hope she believed me. Sometimes I blog just because I want to celebrate my good fortune. Sometimes I blog as a bitchtool to complain. But I always blog to connect with the reading audience. So what if I didn't look my slackmistress best? What's better than running into someone who likes what you do and doesn't get stabby about it?
