What’s up, my dizzles? Nizzles? Frizzles? Whatever.

I am writing to report there is nothing much to report. Isn’t that the best? Maybe I am just checking in to say I have not hung myself in tiny pathetic despair yet. Today I met a man at the bank who asked me what I was listening to. “Those are some big headphones,” he said. I have the BEST answer to keep away guys who actually talk to me, especially when I am in my slightly punk rock but mostly retail bimbo mode (read: actual attempt at having…an appearance, there may be eyeshadow involved): JAZZ. Or hip hop. That dries things right up with Mr. No One Knows I Am Wearing Girl’s Pants. But Avast and Forsooth he took it to the next level.

“What kind?” he said.

At this point I was tempted to go all Candy Dulfer on his ass for lulz and victory, but I told the truth that I was listening to like 60s style stuff. And he was all, tell me moar, so I told him I was listening to Carumba by Lee Morgan. Then he was like, “OMFGBBQapocalypse” because he is all into the 60’s jazz trumpet as well.

Then I got quizzed, at which point a line was starting to form behind me.

“Do you have The Rajah?”

“Yes.”

“Last Sessions?”

“Yes.”

“Cornbread.”

“YES.”

“I think that one’s OUT OF PRINT.” A vein was bulging out in his forehead and I was kind of excited that there was bulletproof glass between us. He asked me if I use the internet to download music. Bitch, I downloaded YOUR MOM.

“Yeah,” I said. “I am notorious internet pirate.” It is important to start dropping articles when one speaks of these matters. He scribbled a website for me to get Blue Mitchell albums I am missing, and he invited me to come back many, many, many times. I am not kidding. And, duh, it’s my bank, so I think I will.

This seemed auspicious to me, because after drinking delicious godfathers and telling srcsmgrl that I would not be dating EVER AGAIN JUST LAST NIGHT, I decided to start dating again this morning. You don’t know me, I’m still a mystery to you. One thing I have discovered about my mysterious self is that, and this is not going to be what you expect, which is that as soon as I say one thing, I do the opposite–NO! This is to tell you that sometimes I wake up and I’ve just snapped. The switch goes off. Some people may call this behavior manic, and those people don’t know where their dog went or who keyed their car. Others call it DECISIVE, and those people have smoothly-surfaced autos and dogs that they can cherish in the right now, and not just the memory.

Meeting weird random man at the bank made me think that maybe I’m not a total leper and maybe I can have a conversation with someone. Because of my interests and likes (wine tastings, aforementioned Ye Olde Jazz, Broadway musicals, bed and breakfasts, reading socioeconomic analysis about China) sometimes I feel like my best match is probably a fifty-year-old gay man. Probably not going to happen. But, you know, it’s been like six months. W00t unassailable human spirit in the face of common sense and the actual possibility of me actually being happy! That’s cheerful. Yeaaah.

In other news, I was offered a fulltime job on the third shift, but I decided not to take it. I am already feeling fairly isolated as it is, and I think going graveyard will just up that. It pays less than retail job, so I think I will just stick out RJ since they are still threatening to make me fulltime there. I had a bubble tea today. GOTTDAM I LOVES THE MALL. Mall old friend I embrace thee. I will never leave you again, even if I get a better job, which I will soon.

P.S. It are snow here, let me out.