The Day Off

Maybe I'm just a melancholy and morbid kinda gal, but for me, today was the perfect kind of day: cold, (about 40-something, and currently 37 degrees) and rainy. Not extreme downpours, but a slow drip, like a leaky percolator. And I didn't have a damn thing I had to do. Since I went out dancing last night after my workout, I slept in, with Kassie snoring (and shedding) right next to me. Also, as luck would have it, I would be getting a massage later on. My mother had bought my grandmother a gift certificate for a massage and she never used it (I know! Who on earth could possibly pass on a free massage?), and since my mother is friends with the massage therapist, she let someone else use it instead even though it was way past its 6-month expiration date. My father didn't want to, and my mother is even more body conscious than I am, so I was next in line, and I took it. I'm no dummy. I may be fat, but I'll get a massage, especially when it's free. So I rolled out of bed, showered, and put on some fleece sweats and headed out the door.
The massage was great, but I didn't feel so relaxed that I just wanted to roll back into bed. Instead, I grabbed some soup at Atlanta Bread Company and sat and read about Julia Child and one woman's quest to complete all of the recipes documented in (the best cookbook ever written, the acme of all cookbooks) Mastering the Art of French Cooking. When I needed a scenery change, I trucked my chilly-but-fleece-covered butt over to Borders. My favorite thing about Borders is the kind of people-watching one can do there. You have all types there: the students (which vary from the giggling high school students to the very quiet and very studious med students), parents, little old ladies, comic books guys. (The manga kids stick to their section and don't often frequent the cafe. You'll find them sitting on the floor by the shelves.) And then there are the weirdos. Oh, the weirdos. There is a woman that is there every time I am there, and I swear she does nothing but sit at Borders, often bringing her own lunch, and read stacks of magazines and nap. Lately she has taken to bringing a portable DVD player and watching movies, without using headphones. Highly irritating. I don't know what her story is, nor can I figure it out. The only time I have ever heard her speak was to respond to a nice young man who asked her if she was ever a substitute teacher, because he thought remembered her. She responded that yes, she was at one point, and to tell him he had already introduced himself before on a different occasion, and refused his handshake. Yeah. Weirdo.
Today there was a different kind of weirdo, even though the aforementioned one was there as well, napping. A young man sat at the table next to me as I was setting up my day planner for the new year, and it looked like he was on a date with a young lady. I don't know if I'd call myself "nosy." I think I prefer the word "curious." You'd probably call me "nosy," though. Don't deny it. Anyways, since he was within earshot, I picked up what he was talking about. And in the hour or so I was there, I don't think the girl got five words in. She just sat there with a smile plastered on her face, listening to this guy talk about his career as a teacher. He kept talking about how his students would definitely remember him and his odd teaching methods, some of which involved rewriting misogynistic rap lyrics into parodies, and his reassigning class tasks with unorthodox "ghetto" terms. I can understand trying to get kids' attention. I can understand wanting to get through to them. But this guy, with what he was commenting on and the anecdotes he shared, seemed to me like he just loved hearing himself talk. I used to have two springer spaniel puppies that would bark at each other every night while I had dinner with my family, not because they were fighting, but because they realized how much they liked the sound of their voices. There were distinct similarities between this guy and those two pups. I couldn't really tell if the girl was into him or not. Her body language indicated that she was faking it, but I could be wrong. At the end of his epic spiel, he looks at her and says, "You're a very good listener." Did he catch on that he was rambling?
And I realize I'm rambling now. Rats. At the same time though, as annoying as listening to this guy was, I wonder if I am any different from him, through this blog?