Monday, October 23, 2006
 | You'll Find it at Freddy's. I regressed a little bit on Saturday. I've been bragging for a month now about how much calmer I feel, how de-stressed, how much less anxiety I have now that I am back in Portland, but this weekend I had a brief relapse. I'm in the produce section of Fred Meyer to pick up a couple things before heading to Miss Ashlee's for dinner. I pass by this guy with a thick scruffy beard in a bright orange t-shirt who decided at that precise moment to let out a belch. Not a burp - a long, gurgling, resounding belch that was released just as our paths crossed. "Jesus Christ!" I shriek as I glare back at him. "What?!" asks Bearded Orange slob. "That's disgusting!" I declare and storm off toward the lettuce... just in time to catch another slovenly moron, buzzed head and white t-shirt, with his index finger shoved up his nose farther than I thought was humanly possible. ARE. YOU. SERIOUS. "Oh my GOD what is WRONG with people???" I shout to no one in particular as I exit the produce section at lightning speed, another belch echoing in the distance. About ten minutes later, I pass the two disgusting creatures again in the dairy section. I should have guessed that the two were friends. It even made me wonder for a second if I had been the victim of some belching/nose-picking practical joke a la Candid Camera or Boiling Point - but a second glance at these guys makes me quite certain that they weren't at all prank-savvy; they were just miserable poor-mannered pricks. As if on cue upon seeing me, Orange lets out another impressively revolting belch. "You're an ASSHOLE." I hiss. "Hey that's no way to behave, that's rude!" says Buzz. "I'M rude??" I demand as I whip around. "He belched in my ear like a _FUCKING_ _ANIMAL_!" I enunciated every letter of the last two words like I was in Tracy Salter's Acting Styles class. "Such language! Get right with God!" Buzz says with a sneer. The Slobs continue on their way.. completely unruffled. THEY were unruffled. I, on the other hand, was absolutely boiling. This is how I felt everyday when I was in New York: angry, bitter, on the edge of exploding, wanting the asshole-of-the-moment get what was coming to him. I can blame New York all I want for these random incidents of rudeness, but Saturday it happened in Portland. So really, I think it's time to find some coping devices. Obviously I am in a better spot than I was two months ago, but I still have to be prepared that every now and then I will come across an asshole and have to deal with it. Even Portland has assholes; in fact, one of them just invited my parents to go to Argentina with him next spring. What? Yesterday after an afternoon of intense dress shopping, Cintia and I returned to my apartment to decompress. Cintia curled up on my couch and was asleep in minutes. I opened my doors and windows, played the appropriately-titled "Music for a Sunday Afternoon" mix (*shout-out* to Roommate!), sipped on a Diet Snapple, and caught up on little household chores that had evaded me all weekend. During this, I felt this intense warmth come over me. I didn't think there was any way I could love another Conduit of Hope kid like I love Jonathan - and then Cintia walked into my life. It started out as me reaching out to an exchange student, but now she is a true friend. She has quickly become one of my most favorite people to hang out with - her charm transcends any language barriers. And she keeps me grounded. I think she must be an old soul. I don't know how somebody can have so much maturity and poise at 21 when she has never even ventured out of her own neighborhood until six weeks ago. I was brimming with quiet positivity all day Sunday for no apparent reason other than the satisfaction of being in a good space with good company. As a matter of fact, I was in various good spaces with various good company all weekend. Lots of loving affirmation from important people in my life - affirmation that, I hate to admit, is still very necessary for me. The more I think about it, the sillier I feel about my altercation with the Slobs at Fred Meyer. I don't know that my behavior was any more dignified than theirs. They were participating in gross bodily functions in public, yes, but I screamed "FUCKING ANIMAL" in front of a bunch of people - I don't remember who all was around, but with my luck it was most likely old people and children and nuns. Maybe I should feel sorry for the Slobs. Maybe they didn't have proper Southern parents like I did to teach them manners or to let them come home for dinner twice a week. Maybe they don't have friends who drink coffee or red wine with them and listen to all the minute details of the latest interaction with an ex. Maybe they don't have people who call or e-mail to check in and don't hold it against them when they aren't returned right away. Maybe they don't have brunch buddies. Maybe they don't have international friends to give them some perspective. Maybe they don't have Super Nanc. Maybe they don't have Portable Roommate. So I regressed a little bit on Saturday.. but just a little. |
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