This week in disturbing events

These two events have nowhere else to go but here, at the end of the week. They stand out in my mind because they disturbed/upset/ickyfeelinged me, in their own separate ways. If I were an annoying Seinfeld character (yes, I am the third person you know in the entire world who despises Seinfeld) I would premise these stories with, "What is up with (blankety blank)?" But I'm not, so I won't.

Monday, 7PM, at Dolphin Gym on Avenue B and 3rd street. I am merrily ellipticaling, minding my own cardiac business, when I see two stationary cyclists chatting. One is a girl, one is a guy. "Oh how nice, they must know each other!" I think, not jealous at all, because honestly it's really hard to casually shoot the shit while racing towards a healthy heart rate. At least for me. Anyway, they chat, then cycle, then chat, then all of a sudden, their necks are stretching and their mouths are veering dangerously close to each other. In a horrible flash I see it all: These two are dating. Sick. These two exercise together. Awwwkward. These two are about to make out, WHILE exercising. Holy shit, no God, please don't do this to me--and there they go, smooching away while riding their bikes to nowhere. There is no kissing in the gym while riding. That is my rule and I think it's a good one. If I wanted to be nauseated by public displays of affection I'd go hang out in the park and watch people on their carriage rides. Not like I've ever done that.

Yesterday, 6PM, Manhattan Mall, on my way to buy two shirts totaling $13.50 (thank you Charlotte Russe clearance rack). A lost-looking woman in a coat and hat says, "Excuse me, can I ask you something?" and touches my arm. She has a herpes-like cold sore on her lip, and there is a big black hair growing right through it, I swear to God. Which is fine, I don't discriminate when I give directions, which is what I thought was about to happen. But it was much, much worse.

"Is this your natural hair color?" she asks, grabbing a hunk of my hair in her creepy claws. "Um, yes." "Veeerry nice! And are these your real nails?" she coos, grabbing my hand, barely glancing at my chewed-down, splitting, decidedly non-fake nails, nails no one would ever shell out money for. "Yeah..." I reply, just as she whips out a crappy old used nail buffer AND STARTS TO BUFF MY NAILS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MALL. I snatched my hand away and ran to the safe welcoming arms of Charlotte Russe. To be fair, as I looked back quickly as I ran, she was standing near the Dead Sea Minerals stand and probably just wanted to help. But look, do not pull my hair and then try to buff my nails, when you're not wearing a beauty person uniform/apron.

People. Stop disgusting me. You are making me lose my faith in humanity. On that note, I am going to Vermont this weekend to restore said faith by ogling hippie boys and their patchwork pants at Magic Hat Mardi Gras. Boo-yah.

VD is for everyone

I'm getting this one out of the way now, early on, so you don't have to spend your day worrying about my feelings on VD. Instead, you can enjoy yourself with a loved one, or you can spend it being bitter and lashing out at all the commercial signs of a love you wish you had. Whatever.

I am not diametrically opposed to VD, unless it really is an actual VD and is incurable and bumpy and nasty. I think it's great that people are reminded at least once a year (although let's face it, you shouldn't need a reminder) that they love someone. I like this day because I get to spend it acting bitter and saying charming things like, "Fuck flowers, stupid Hallmark, you have a sick case of VD, don't touch me," etc, and no one can say anything about it. They just chuckle, thinking, "Oh, that MB. Being single must suck!"

I disagree. All you couples on VD have to think of something that's not contrived, that really means something to your loved one. You have to work hard, be creative, and come up with a gift that isn't silly and is actually sincere—all while pretending, for the sake of your single friends, that this day is not a big deal.
It is a big deal, to everyone. This is the day I can complain about dying alone and shake my fist at marketing tactics. It's a holiday for me as much as you, just a slightly different kind. And people still give me chocolate so I'm not missing out anyway.

By the way, it is hailing tiny ice balls outside—tickly!
Also, if I ever were to be in love and want a mushy poem taped to my bathroom mirror, this one would be it. So, you know, uh, Happy Valentine's Day.

By ee cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands