Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- when you least expect it, the past jumps out and bites you in the ass Most of today passed uneventfully - slept in, went to work, yadda yadda. But I had the misfortune to be standing at my register, calmly checking out somebody, to hear a startled voice behind me say, "Geni?" I turned to see one-half of a couple I had hoped to spend the rest of my life not ever seeing again. She was thrilled to see me, babbled on and on about how they didn't know we were back in town (Bemo and I have been "back in town" for two years now, and it's no accident that this lady or her signifigant other haven't recieved notice) and asked for my phone number, address, and made mad plans to "get together and picnic or camp out or something." Her SO used to be one of Bemo's best friends, until his cult-leader like qualities, rampant hypocricy, womanizing, and other sterling qualities made us see through his snappy patter and innate charisma. He used to be a rather good-looking guy, but has now gained quite a lot of weight and has no front teeth. He has wrapped himself, leech-like, around this woman, who used to be a likeable, cheerful woman, and the two of them have fused into one toxic entity, trailing shit behind them wherever they go. Health issues, money issues, family crises, all of these are used by this couple to pull people into their little spiraling black hole. Needless to say, I do not want to go on a fucking picnic with them. So it means monitoring the Caller ID, because I was dumb enough to give our number - couldn't think of a polite way to refuse, and I knew if I gave a fake one they'd simply come back to my weekend job and find me. My hands shook for an hour after they finally left. Fuck. 11:16 p.m. - 2003-07-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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