Today was interesting.
I had to attend to some business in regards to my godparents’ old house in Glen Burnie. I think the matter could’ve been handled via e-mail, but my godparents wanted eyes on the ground, so they sent me as an attack dog. It was easy stuff, and I fed the foxes that used to chill out with me on the back porch. They looked thin. I don’t think the new owners feed them at all. Poor Scarlet and Silver.
Anyhow, I went to the mall that’s about a mile from the house. I used to work out at a Gold’s Gym situated inside that shit hole. I walked inside and asked about reactivating an old membership. They asked for a name.
Me: Jessica Fizz.
Desk Person: Oh, it looks like she’s no longer with us.
Me: Is there any way to come back?
Desk Person: …she passed away.
About two years ago, my sister, Ellie, and I went to the Gold’s Gym and tried to cancel my membership. I had tried to cancel it before while I was in Korea, but they were very uncooperative and I was miffed at the whole situation. When Ellie and I walked in, again, they were pretty unhelpful and wouldn’t just stop my damned payments… so I broke out the big guns.
Me: Listen… I have terminal cancer and won’t be around pretty soon. I wanted to get a few of these little things out of the way so my family won’t have to deal with it after I’m gone.
Desk Person: Hahaha! …ohmigod. Are you serious? I’m so sorry. Let me get on that right away.
Ellie: *whisper* Jess, I can’t believe you just did that.
I DIDN’T THINK THE PERSON WHO HAD HELPED ME WOULD SAY I HAD *DIED* IN MY FILE!
Anyhow, I high-tailed it out of there before they could put two and two together and see that Jessica Fizz is very much alive and well and told a rather large lie. Whatever. I can go back to LA Fitness. They have a pool.
I also received a random phone call today from a number I didn’t recognize. I picked up and was greeted by a fella telling me Happy Valentine’s Day.
We live in some desperate times, folks. You know how I know? I talked to this guy (his name is Nick, he’s 34, and he’s a programmer out in San Francisco) for over an hour about the most random shit. He was filing his income tax when he called, so when he got busy rifling through his papers, he put on a podcast for me about James Blunt sounding like a chicken. Afterwards I asked him to make chicken squawks. He did.
I heard some drilling sounds coming from his side of the telephone; I asked him if he was murdering someone. He laughed and said he was scanning all of his paper work and shredding them afterwards. Apparently he finds it wonderful tidying things up; he even told me how he mopped his house yesterday.
There was definitely a lot of flirty talk too (it’s fucking Valentine’s Day), and I have to admit, I liked the attention. Then he sent me some topless photos while telling me about this online banking website that sounds like the bee’s knees (schwab.com). The dude is sculpted. I sent him a photo of me in a dress. He said he’d like to fuck me in a dressing room or in the library while I’m studying. I blushed and had to pull the phone away from my face because the heat was too much.
I told him I had to go for a run. He said he liked talking with me and that he’d call again.
I dunno how this kind of shit happens to me. I reckon one of the guys wrote my number on a bathroom stall somewhere… or posted it on the Internet.