The Sunny Side of the Skeeve

I’m back. And, by back, I don’t really mean I’m back to daily blogging. I've chosen to stop pushing myself and admit that those days are o-v-e-r.

I mean that I’m back to being my regular, snarky, obnoxiously cheerful self. I feel better than I have in months. After all, even the worst situations can be great opportunities for absurdity and humor. Life gets pretty skeevy sometimes, but I choose to live on the sunny side of the skeeve.

Here are a few examples from last week:

Sunday, Noonish, Frager’s Hardware:

I step up to the register, plunk a new rim cylinder (it sounds dirty, it's actually a deadbolt thingy of some sort) in front of the cashier. She looks me up and down: scraggy hair, sliding makeup, tipsy, wobbly, anxious. She takes a look at the clock. She takes careful note of the earliness of the hour. She says,

Cashier: Breakup?
Me: How did you know?
Cashier: We get a lot of young women in here changing their locks.
Me: *blush* She thinks I’m young!

Sunday afternoon, Mimosa ‘o Clock, Starfish Café:

The Refugee and I celebrate Breakup Sunday in high style: brunch, mimosas, Carolina vs. Duke. We order drinks for our mascot, Mr. Rim Cylinder. The bartender makes Psycho-shower-scene noises every time he overhears our conversation, and we race to the bottom of the bottomless mimosa special. (Confidential to Refugee: You must write that Breakup Sunday post!)

Monday evening, Cleveland Park, holding up my end of the bar:

I observe the bartender fishing out an olive from the jar with his bare hands. I become grateful that I’ve never really cared for martinis. Then I ask a friend to (very briefly and from a distance of several feet) skim over all of the potentially compromising cameraphone pictures of me to verify that, should they ever come to light, at least I look pretty damn good.

Thursday, 6:30 pm, corner of M and 19th Streets NW:

Homeless guy: Hey, baby, I’d do you for free!
Me: Oh, you’re very kind to offer, but I have plans this evening. Thanks, though!

Saturday, 8:00 pm, a house party in Adelphi:

Chatting with a dad, and playing with his kid. This baby just loves me. He's laughing, cooing and gurgling out a stream of extremely shiny drool. We're getting along famously. That is, until he punches me in the head. Yes, to make my week complete, I took a beatdown from an infant.

Lessons Learned:
Beer good, photos bad, friends good, new locks good, life good. Also, babies have a mean right hook, anyone I ever date will look like a prince by comparison, oh, and don’t ever order a martini at Atomic.