A Brief History of Last Weekend, Abridged

Chapter 1: Flash-Ahh

Friday afternoon on TRAX, some 25 year-old (ish) creepy looking guy sits next to me. I don't think much of it and I was just texting anyway. And then--FLASH! Literally. He shows me his yo-hoo, for lack of a more family friendly term. Noticing it, I further dedicated myself to texting and my iPod. In response, he starts waving it like a conductor's wand--desperately trying anything for me to notice, to no avail. I am not one to make a scene. However, because of his little, or in all honesty, big distraction, I got off at the wrong stop and had to walk back.

People such as Flasher Guy inspire me. Who gets up in the morning and says, "I am going to flash a girl today. Yeah!" Such conviction. Don't you wish that everyone was a little more like this?

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Chapter 2: Spiderwoman

After walking home from work, I realized that my front door was locked. Not having a key, I scream profanities while beating the door with my fists. I didn't even have a cell phone to call my roommates & I had an appointment in an hour. F!

I spent a few minutes surveying the house. While I have been skilled at breaking into my own apartments in the past, a second-story townhome apartment is a different feat entirely. The only way in was through our kitchen window. Suck. I got our neighbors stool and used it to jump onto the 2 by 4 on our fence. Seeing the deep slant of our roof and taking into account my fear of heights, I clumsily got off the fence.

Round 2. I surveyed our house again, but the kitchen window again was the only option. I took the stolen stool, boosted my shaky little self onto the 2 by 4, and launched myself onto the inclined roof. Starting to slide, I grappled for anything at all. I ended up with a rusty nail, which was starting to come out. It was enough! I ran up to the windodw & with shaky arms held the window up while I climbed inside. Whew. Maybe the scariest thing of my life as of yet.

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Chapter 3: Silence is Golden

I don't have a car, bike, computer, dresser, or the like. I limit my large purchases. The one luxury I allow myself is a massage once a month.

I hurry into Massage Envy, post-break in, and I am confronted with Vern, a therapist the age of my dad. By no means am I agist, but I like deep massages and somtimes the oldies just don't do it well. Giving him the benifit of my doubt of his strength, I get my little naked body on the toasty bed.

Vern gives me about 15 minutes of blissful silence. Then, as the fatherly figure, decides to lecture. He explained how I shouldn't get blisters when I hike... (because I love them so much?!) and then sees my yellow wristband from the Weezer concert. Pa tells me that I should stop going to such events because people die. My appointment was over and he hadn't even started on my arms or legs. I left disappointed. Vern taught me the most important lesson of all--no grown person likes hearing lectures about retarded subjects. Otherwise, we would all live with our parents.