Holy mary mother of god, it is fucking hot!! Took a little walk this morning to the metro to go to Hollywood/Vine farmer’s market, and met a nice cholo named Tony…as he passed me he looked me up and down (no better way to make me mad), turned around and walked with me a block or two…he said hey girl, (in the best rico suave homeboy style) what’s up, looking for a party? I think I heard that right but am not sure because I still had my i-pod on to protect me from strangers (didn’t work with this guy…he was persistent). Still, Sunday morning?
Can you hear me?
Noncommittal shrug. (I was still hoping he’d take the hint…boys, if a girl doesn’t take out her headphones when you talk to her on the street, you’re not going to get her number)
You like to smoke weed?
Come on girl, why not, did you quit or something?
I quit, it did nothing for me.
What?? Nuh-uh. You like chrystal?
Do you like to drink?
No, I never drink. (though I do hate to lie on a Sunday)
Where you going?
The metro, and here we are.
Don’t you want my number?
No thanks, I’m married and have lots of kids (The second lie is always easier). Take care now.
A brief moment where i feared he was going to get on the train…i thought about trying to convert him to mormonism if he continued, but luckily, he accepted defeat…while admiring his courage, i have spent some time this afternoon staring into the mirror trying to figure out what gave away my tendency to spend wild and crazy Sunday mornings tweaked out with a joint in one hand, chrystal in the other, and a forty clutched between my knees…I’m really really hoping it was just wishful thinking on his part and my long legs…
I mean, do I look like a stoned meth fiend??
I know, I know, my room is a dead give away but I swear I’m cleaning it…