Last night I went to the glorious world of wonderfulness that is: The Apple Store. First of all, the effing store is amazing. They have an iPhone next to every single computer in there just in case you’re in the Apple Store and you DON’T ALREADY HAVE ONE. So as my awesome boyfriend sorted through the iPhone cases they had in stock to find the perfect one I set out to play with one of the new macbooks with the glass keypad. I really didn’t care about doing anything of substance, I just wanted to play with the whole two finger/three finger/squeeze/stretch/flick option. Oh, so so dirty.
Anyway, as I woke one of the computers up from it’s nap I decided to open Facebook because it was of course the first website that came to mind. My social life is not so completely in demand that I would need to check my Facebook from the apple store – but I DID need to check my Farmville. However someone had already found it necessary to check their Facebook, update their status, keep in touch with a few friends… and he HADN’T logged off.
Now for a son of a bitch like me a computer with someone else’s account logged in is seriously some exciting stuff. My mind began to reel with the horrible effed up shit I could do and the havoc that was about to be wreaked on this poor asian boy’s social life. What to do first? Change passwords? Become a fan of Gay Porn – or better yet – DOG FISTING?
On the flip side of my son-of-a-bitch is the decent human being that usually chimes in after I reel through all the possibilities of being an asshole. I decided not to be a total dick and just change his status update to “I’m a fucking dumbass that isn’t intelligent enough to log out at the Apple Store.” OH BURN. His little Halo 2 online friends are going to be razzing him on that one for the next 100 battles at least. His WOW clan probably abandoned him.
Seriously though who is so desperate for social attention that they have to check their Facebook in the few minutes they’re looking around at the apple store. ::NO COMMENT YOU BITCH:: This coming from me – the guy whose boyfriend refers to his iPod touch as his wubby. Yeah, I love it. It never leaves my pocket. It IS my wubby.
And that was the Apple Store. Before that I made the waitress at the italian restaurant we ate at horribly uncomfortable because I kept staring at her, then asked if she grew up in Dexter NM because she looked just like a girl I went to elementary school with. The creepy part is she has the same name too. I think she was lying.
Then this afternoon the boyfriend and I went to HIS gym, and see normally I go to my cute little community center gym that costs $9 a month where there’s usually myself and a large, overworked black man and maybe a few senior citizens in the entire gym. This wa LA fitness. I totally wasn’t used to this, and Señior Sex Noises working out on the bench a few down from me was toooooootally making me uncomfortable. WHO says things like “YEAH! GIVE IT TO ME! COME ON! LETS GO! NOW PUT THREE FINGERS IN!” while they’re working out? It was so hard for me not to erupt in raucous laughter as I did my bicep curls.
I don’t know what to do when people talk to me in the gym either. I’m sorry, are we having coffee? Is the parking lot at Target? WHY are you talking to me? This guy asked me the hated question – How effing tall are you? Mind you I’ve been asked this question by everyone on earth I encounter since I was 15. Cashiers. Attendants. Hookers. I shot him my quick 6’8″ answer hoping he’d sniff me then go along his way but no – he followed up with How much do you weigh? WTF? Who the hell are you? Why do YOU care how much I weigh? WTF?? Then I remembered Oh yeah, this is the gym, people WANT to weigh more. So I upped my weight by 20lbs. GO AWAY NOW. So he went on talking for another hour or so then found someone else to annoy. Meanwhile Señior Sex Noises was shoving an entire barbell up his ass… or so it sounded.
Really – WHO DOES THAT?? I couldn’t help but think he REALLY shouldn’t have rigged that last cycle of ‘roids in the locker room just now. How high WAS this man? I prefer to maintain a little anonymity at the gym – I don’t like to sneeze in the gym in fear of someone noticing me much less re-enact the last scene of “On Golden Blonde”.