Naturally Dumb
In times of stress and surprise I guess your true colors come out. My true colors are I'm as dumb as a brick. Two proofs:
Proof the first.
I was sitting at home alone upstairs doing some work, when I heard someone call out. It was only after I responded, "What?" that I remembered I was home alone. And yet, I thought, there's no way that voice came from outside. My first thought was that I had finally gone crazy; I was hearing voices! I was a paranoid schizophrenic. Then the voice called out again. Okay, this time I was SURE I heard it for real, and it wasn't my imagination. My second thought then was that there was a ghost in my house calling to me. It was about 3 in the afternoon, and my mom later reasoned that it couldn't be a ghost when it was that bright in the day, but this is what I discovered about myself: in my head, it is FAR MORE LIKELY that there would be a ghost in my house than an intruder. The idea that a stranger was walking around my house while I was in it was simply not a candidate. When the voice called out for the third time, it FINALLY registered that it could be an intruder, and I'd better investigate.
It turned out it was my neighbor bringing over some food. I put part of the blame on her, because her methods were definitely unorthodox. Instead of coming around the front and ringing the doorbell, she went into the backyard, tried the back door, found it open, and stepped inside before she started to inquire if anyone was home. Talk about weird. No wonder it was the last thing I considered! Still, it turns out I'm even weirder, so as they say, people in glass houses. I'm more likely to believe in ghosts than intruders, and I'm more likely to believe I'm crazy that either of the above.
Proof the second.
I was at a mixer yesterday hosted by the Ivy Plus Society (the Ivies and a handful of other snooters they don't mind demeaning themselves with, like Stanford, Oxford, and MIT) when I had my first real, candid celebrity sighting. It's actually so pathetic, I'd rather forget about it: it was the Millionaire Matchmaker from the show on Bravo. Except at the time I wasn't sure if it was her or just someone who looked like her. I think she shed some pounds, because she was definitely missing a few chins. I nudged my friend and said, "Hey, that woman at the bar: isn't that the Millionaire Matchmaker?" My friend couldn't confirm because he had no idea who that was. As I was explaining to him that it was a tv show, etc, I started to dismiss my initial impression. I mean: what are the chances that this bimbo went to an Ivy League school?
DUH!! It didn't occur to me until THIS MORNING, when I was getting out of bed, that mixers like these were her JOB! Why would I just assume that no one would want to be at this party unless they had that soft spot that only alumni can have? Well, probably because these events are so awful, I naturally thought that everyone else in the world would avoid them. Still, I must be retarded for forgetting that this is a city of golddiggers...and that justified or not, I'm a part of this potential pool of gold that must be dug. It's easy to forget when you're ass poor like me.
Proof the first.
I was sitting at home alone upstairs doing some work, when I heard someone call out. It was only after I responded, "What?" that I remembered I was home alone. And yet, I thought, there's no way that voice came from outside. My first thought was that I had finally gone crazy; I was hearing voices! I was a paranoid schizophrenic. Then the voice called out again. Okay, this time I was SURE I heard it for real, and it wasn't my imagination. My second thought then was that there was a ghost in my house calling to me. It was about 3 in the afternoon, and my mom later reasoned that it couldn't be a ghost when it was that bright in the day, but this is what I discovered about myself: in my head, it is FAR MORE LIKELY that there would be a ghost in my house than an intruder. The idea that a stranger was walking around my house while I was in it was simply not a candidate. When the voice called out for the third time, it FINALLY registered that it could be an intruder, and I'd better investigate.
It turned out it was my neighbor bringing over some food. I put part of the blame on her, because her methods were definitely unorthodox. Instead of coming around the front and ringing the doorbell, she went into the backyard, tried the back door, found it open, and stepped inside before she started to inquire if anyone was home. Talk about weird. No wonder it was the last thing I considered! Still, it turns out I'm even weirder, so as they say, people in glass houses. I'm more likely to believe in ghosts than intruders, and I'm more likely to believe I'm crazy that either of the above.
Proof the second.
I was at a mixer yesterday hosted by the Ivy Plus Society (the Ivies and a handful of other snooters they don't mind demeaning themselves with, like Stanford, Oxford, and MIT) when I had my first real, candid celebrity sighting. It's actually so pathetic, I'd rather forget about it: it was the Millionaire Matchmaker from the show on Bravo. Except at the time I wasn't sure if it was her or just someone who looked like her. I think she shed some pounds, because she was definitely missing a few chins. I nudged my friend and said, "Hey, that woman at the bar: isn't that the Millionaire Matchmaker?" My friend couldn't confirm because he had no idea who that was. As I was explaining to him that it was a tv show, etc, I started to dismiss my initial impression. I mean: what are the chances that this bimbo went to an Ivy League school?
DUH!! It didn't occur to me until THIS MORNING, when I was getting out of bed, that mixers like these were her JOB! Why would I just assume that no one would want to be at this party unless they had that soft spot that only alumni can have? Well, probably because these events are so awful, I naturally thought that everyone else in the world would avoid them. Still, I must be retarded for forgetting that this is a city of golddiggers...and that justified or not, I'm a part of this potential pool of gold that must be dug. It's easy to forget when you're ass poor like me.
posted by Rex at 11:23 AM
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