Material Girl

A while back, I mentioned that I just had one of those faces that made random people want to talk to me. And I know that when I wrote about it, I sounded more than slightly annoyed with the fact that SO. MANY. PEOPLE were trying to talk to me in one day when I was just NOT in the mood. Now though, I'm thinking that having one of those faces might not be such a bad thing.

Sunday night, I was on the train headed downtown to have dinner with a human being of the male persuasion. (I'll pause here and let you all soak that in. Still pausing. Gathered all that information? OK, good.) Needless to say, I had actually put a little more effort into my appearance that normal (i.e. I had actually dried my hair), and I was looking pretty damn good if I do say so myself. But still. I was not prepared for this trip on the el.

I was just sitting, minding my own business, staring out the window, checking myself out in the window. Wow, I'm so vain, I probably think this song is about me. Juuuust kidding, I was really just checking to make sure that my hair hadn't started springing out in huge frizzy waves since I had flat-ironed the hell out of it before I left. Anyway, point is, I was keeping to myself. This, however, did not stop anyone from chatting me up. First a nice (read: creepy) gentleman with many gold teeth came up to me and told me I looked very nice that evening. That wouldn't have been skeezy in and of itself. But this 50-year-old man then asked for my number and told me I looked sexy from head to toe. Um. And he proceeded to ask me what the shade of my nail polish was. Luckily, I'm quick on my feet (no, not at all, I panicked for about 30 seconds before I did anything other than smile tight-lipped), and I told him I had a boyfriend.

Big sigh of relief. Until about 47.3 seconds later when another fella decided to test out his game on me. This time it was an upstanding young man by the name of Vinny (you should be feeling the waves of sarcasm washing over you right now). He told me he worked for the city. I think he maybe was a garbage collector. Or you know, he was in 'waste management,' to sound fancy. Anyway, I thought the combination of telling him I was headed to dinner and the fact that I was wearing a nice black dress would tip him off that I was going on a date (go ahead and commit that to memory. it's a rare occurrence, like a meteor shower or something), but he was persistent. He told me about 5 times how nice I looked and handed me a slip of paper with his digits. Thanks.

I walked off the train kind of chuckling to myself (and feeling a little more confident, I'm not going to lie. Even compliments from creepers can be flattering.) When I met up with my date I told him I had made some new friends on the train. He laughed and told me that was why he always had his iPod on hand -- that way he didn't have to worry about an crazies from the train striking up a conversation. All of that made sense of course, but that wasn't exactly feasible for me that night. Dress with no pockets and holding a clutch equals nowhere for me to carry any defense against unwanted socialization.

Later, I was actually thinking about it though. Do I really want to ward people off? I mean, YES, those two guys on the train were creepers. Big ones. And, sorry Vin, but I won't be ringing you up, like ever. But honestly, I love having experiences like that because they make amazing, hilarious, interesting, crazy stories. And if you can't tell, I adore sharing stories. I love hearing other people's and I love telling my own. How someone tells a story gives you immediate insight into what kind of person they are. And with me being an aspiring writer, these experiences that appall me and make me feel uncomfortable in the moment are just great opportunities for new pieces. Seriously, I could write a book. Actually, maybe I will.... hmmm...

Anyway, that night, I do remember mentioning to this guy how I actually like awkward encounters (of course, I do like non-awkward ones too). What if I had been listening to my music or reading the Red Eye so intently I could have burned a whole through the paper? Then I would have missed the chance for a fantastic conversation piece. And I said so: "Nah, I love when weird things happen to me. Really, it's the perfect material."

Blinded by the Light

(OK, I KNOW that someone -- or everyone -- knows this song. I think I'm just going to have to start every post with a song title or lyric from now on. Then I can say, "QUICK! Name that song!" allll the time. And you can guess, and maybe even win! Sadly, though, I don't have any prizes because I'm poor, but I could...like... rewrite your resume (that's my job) or tell you you're neat or something. Or you could not get anything but the satisfaction of knowing that you are up on all the hits, past and present.)

For some reason, my motivation to work out has been nonexistent for the past three days. Which is very odd because if I go more than two days without some activity I get ANTSY. This might be because I'm not allowed to wear my contacts for a while (more on that in a sec), and the only thing I can really do is the elliptical or the recumbent bike while wearing my glasses. I just don't love these. Or really even like them much. I just want to ruuuuun, especially since our weather here has been perfect for it lately. But in glasses, it's not really easy. They slide down my nose or sweat drips on them or they bounce around and mess up my depth perception (my palms have met the sidewalk and many a building corner trying to run in glasses). And honestly, my eyes are so bad that not wearing glasses is NOT an option, kids.

OK, so this is the "more on that in a sec" part. I've been having problems with my eyes for a couple months. I figured it was just dirtier air from living in the city during the summer. Hmm, well, maybe I was wrong. I woke up early Saturday morning and realized that OMG I LEFT MY CONTACTS IN. Normally I wouldn't freak out so much that it required all caps, but with the eye issues, I was worried. Also, I haven't done this in forever. As in, if I did no other thing when stumbling in at 4 in the morning during college (OK, and a few times in the past few months. -- I'm really no good at lying), I took out my contacts. About 4 hours later on Saturday morning, my eyes were blood red, I had tears streaming down my face and I was having major photosensitivity issues. I HAD to get to an emergency clinic downtown because I literally could not see. The problem with that was... I could not see. Which makes wandering around the third largest city in the country really fun.

Or one of the scariest things I've ever done in my life.

I decided that I should probably not go it alone since two feet ahead (if that) was pretty much as far as I could see. So I tried calling T to see if she might be able to accompany her invalid friend downtown, but she was out on a long run. I left her one message saying, "Hey give me a call back... I kind of need a favor, but it's not a huge deal." Half an hour later, I left her another voicemail, this time featuring me crying and throwing around the word "emergency" because, well, I thought I was literally going to lose my sight. After I was on the train because I already decided that I just had to get downtown before the clinic closed, she called me back, fearing the worst. Oops, silly me, I forgot to tell her that the problem was just my eyes and that I needed her to hop on the train with me. She thought I was hurt and/or dead (can you be both? I mean... if you're dead, are you really hurt anymore? did i just ask that?) because I was an idiot and told her I could walk home alone from the bar the night before. So here she was wracked with guilt, thinking she had let her Chicago BFF (because I know that's what I am to you, right?!!?) die a less-than-noble, wine-fueled death. Sorry for the minor heart attack, T!

Anyway, in leaving my apartment, I realized I couldn't wear my glasses because I had to put sunglasses on due to the photosensitivity. But guess what, folks? My vision is at NEGATIVE EIGHT. I am that nearsighted. When they ask me to look at an eye chart without any form of vision correction, all I can (barely) make out is the gigantic E at the top. And really I think I've just memorized that -- all I really see is a big, black, fuzzy block. So for me, walking around Lincoln Park and downtown Chicago with no visual help is practically suicide. Just so we're clear, I know that actual blind people do this all the time and we don't hear about them meeting their maker on a daily basis. And I give them sooooo much more credit for that after this experience. But, you see, even though my vision IS terrible, I'm not used to not being able to see at all. On Saturday, not only was I without contacts or glasses, but I had to keep my eyes shut for most of the time I was walking around because the burning and light sensitivity were that bad. And unlike our severely visually impaired friends, I am not used to being in the dark. And I don't have the city memorized without the use of my eyes. And I didn't have a stick. I knew that when I got off at Wabash and Madison, Monroe would be to one side of me and Washington would be to the other. (Thank goodness Chicago is built on a grid!) But that was about it. I didn't have the number of steps memorized for each block, and of course, there is major construction on Wabash that is blocking the sidewalks, meaning I pretty much had to walk in the street. Great timing, Chicago.

After all that, I did make it to the doctor -- who, after looking at my bloodshot eyes, was amazed I made it without major injury and prescribed me with steroid eye drops to reduce the inflammation and clear up any possible conjunctivitis from such bad irritation (ew, yeah, I know). She also seemed a little frightened when she took a look at my eyes -- at least from what I could see. And she made me call T, who gladly obliged to pick me up on the Brown Line (and then cringed when she saw my eyes) so she didn't have to worry about me meeting an untimely death again. Then I popped in some eye drops and about 5 ibuprofen, and had to lie in bed for about 4 hours with my eyes shut with a bag of ice over them except when I was putting in drops every two hours. That KILLED ME. I wasn't tired so I couldn't really sleep. And I'm naturally kind of restless, which doesn't help when I've been told to just lie still alllll day. All I could do was listen to music and you know, be alone with my own thoughts, which is usually not the most stellar plan of action for a nut-job like moi. Like I said, people, that just about killed me.

But do you know what was worse than that about this whole day? (OK, besides the burning sensation and almost dying when I stumbled through a crosswalk that clearly said "DON'T WALK.") The worst part was having to explain to people what my deal was all day. I mean, I know I didn't have to, but everyone I encountered thought I was on drugs. I went into Starbucks in a Dominick's grocery and would not take off my sunglasses indoors. And I'm sure I was looking slightly to the left of the barista and he was thinking, "Yeah, like YOU need more coffee." Then when I had to enter my PIN for my debit card, I literally leaned my face down to within two inches of the keypad just so I could see the numbers. And on the train, I think everyone felt really uncomfortable sitting next to the potential junkie. Who was wiping her nose and twitching occasionally when she looked into the light just a little too directly. And the security guard at the doctor's building and the pharmacy girl at Walgreen's? They were none too patient with scary girl with bloodshot eyes and suspiciously dilated pupils. Until I finally kind of snapped and said, "I'm sorry, having a little trouble with my vision here, so it's just a tad difficult for me to sign whatever paper you are waving in my face." They were suddenly very nice to me.

Every other time I just got on the phone with my mom (let's call her Super Nurse Practitioner for diagnosing me via phone) to give her a loud update of my progress (yes I was THAT girl on the train) so that people could overhear and think, "Oh, poor girl, she's not calling her dealer for a fresh shipment of coke after all." You know what, maybe that was too much trouble to go through. If this ever happens again, I'm just going to show everyone my red eyes, get all Whitney on them, and yell, "Bobby! Crack is WHACK!" Then we'll see what happens.

I've Just Got One of Those Faces...

Apparently I've got that look about me that says, "Hey, you! Yeah, you stranger who I didn't even make eye contact with, come talk to me!" After work today, I got on the Red Line to head to Trader Joe's on my way home. I was tired and sticky from the humidity, and all I wanted to do was read my book and tune out. Guess my face didn't express that clearly enough.

"Hey is that one good?" I looked up and saw a girl pointing to the new David Sedaris book I was holding. After awkwardly popping theTootsie Roll Pop out of my mouth with the one hand that was not gripping the subway pole for dear life, I answered, "Oh, um, yeah, so far... so good..." I don't know what to say to that! I wasn't planning on discussing my literary choices just then! I was far too busy worrying about what would happen if I suddenly pitched forward with said candy in my mouth...would the results be tragic? Would I jab someone with the stick? Would I swallow it whole? Either way, I was caught off guard. Then, once I had pulled the sucker out of my mouth to answer, I was worrying about getting it stuck on someone else on the packed train. And not because I didn't want to offend someone. Nope, because I was concerned that if I did that, they would contaminate it and I wouldn't be able to eat it. Apparently that makes me selfish.

So far this story is kind of a snooze right? Well I'm about to make it... longer. (You thought I was going to say "more exciting," didn't you? Sorry, kid, life's a disappointment sometimes.) Anyway, after I proved to several strangers around me how socially awkward I was by attempting to rearrange my book, my sucker, and my bag as well as carrying on a half-assed conversation with random train chick, another guy stepped forward to join this stimulating discussion. Some kid in a Columbia College t-shirt chimes in with, "Oh, ummm, yeah how is it?" like he's heard of it. Again, I tell them both it's great and he says, "It's a novel, right?"

WHAT?!?! NO, fool! Sorry, but I'm a huge fan of David Sedaris. It's totally fine if you aren't knowledgable about an author, but don't act like you are because you want to join a conversation. Ask an intelligent question like, "Oh, that looks interesting ... what type of writer is he?" I will be far more impressed. After that, we all started talking (with noticeable awkward pauses every minute or so) and the conversation went from David Sedaris (go get When You Are Engulfed in Flames.... so good! Or really any of his stuff, just go, quick, read some of his work!) to his family to all families being dysfunctional to his actress sister Amy Sedaris to Sex and the City to Kim Cattrall being one hot cougar. Um...what? None of those transitions were mine. I don't think I even really contributed but both people kept talking to me like I was the one carrying the conversation.

Then I got to my stop and had to elbow my way off the train. After which, I breathed a sigh of relief. It's not that I don't like people or talking to strangers. I love both really. But I just wasn't in the mood today and felt like I was forced into chatting because I just so happened to share five square feet of public transportation space with two other people. So you can maybe see how I was happy to get off that train and go back to being anti-social. Of course, though, I didn't get off that easily. Going up the escalator, a man turned around to me and commented, "Man! That was tough getting off of the train, huh?" Maybe I seemed bored or maybe he was in a hurry, but lucky for me, he didn't really pursue it. Still, everyone thought I was Miss Friendly today.

Just when I thought that the last person I would have to talk to for the day would be the checkout guy at Trader Joe's... I passed a Columbia College shirt. Who promptly whipped around and said, "Heyyyyyy....wait a minute! I know you from the train. So tell me more about this book." Nooooooo. No, random college boy, I do not want to tell you about a fabulous book that you have no intention of actually reading. That's what I wanted to say, but I was too tired to come up with an excuse not to stand in the natural dog food/Larabar aisle talking to him. And, I've been told, I'm not really mean enough to snap at people like that. (At least not in person. But oh man, hand me a pen and I will give it to you good. Alas, I didn't have a pen and he might have thought me crazier than average by writing out my responses instead of, you know, verbalizing them.)

So he asked me if this book will give him a different perspective. What? Yeah, sure. My answers were apparently not good enough so he went on, "Like, I'm a film major, so I want to see things differently." Well I'm a writer, would you like to hear about how I'm seeing you? Or about how this encounter is pretty torturous and how I would really like to go back to checking out the nutrition labels of all of the weird health bars rather than chat it up with you? Or how I'm getting slightly annoyed that you are taking up the entire aisle and disrupting the flow of traffic and aggravating your fellow shoppers? And aggravating ME since I am now that annoying girl in grocery store by association because people think we actually know one another?! [Deep breath]

I let him go on while I mentally ran down my grocery list: Yogurt? check. Apples? check. Wine? No, silly, you still have some in the fridge. But would another bottle really hurt? If you are planning on drinking it all tonight, then yes it would. "...and like Stephen King... his stuff, it's like..." Strawberries? No, those didn't look very good. Oatmeal? check. Oh! He's done talking! Run while you can!

After a few (long, painful, agonizing) minutes, mister self-involved film major decided he should go. I'm not sure why he didn't notice my glazed-over eyes before, but I was thanking my lucky stars he finally got the hint that I would like to skedaddle. Also, why was he talking to me for so long anyway? Is he lacking in the friends department and was just SO excited that someone would finally listen to him? Or was he trying to hit on me? If he was then a) homeboy needs to work on his game and b) ew, I was all sweaty and humidified. Oh, right. And c) I'm a little too old for him. I don't go for the younger boys. At least not anymore. (What? It was just a silly little three-year phase in college!)

Finally, my day of unexpected socializing was over. I did have a close call though. I went to grab some hummus and saw that same t-shirt boy in the cold foods section. So, in the spirit of awkwardness that governs many of my choices, I decided I could go without and rough it for a few days. And with that, I headed for the checkout, trying to look as unfriendly as possible.