2007-11-14 - 8:00 a.m.

I DID WHAT?????????????????????

Last night was the Thanksgiving play at my little girl's school. She was playing an Indian, luckily, so I was able to re-use the best pilllow case Halloween costume EVER (which I still cannot show you because I'm still relying on others for pictures...) and the presentation was sweet and cute, as they always are. I have a ridiculous soft spot for singing little kids, and often, it can make me mist over or, God forbid, actually cry at these events. Lucky for me, that did NOT happen last night. Mercifully, not once did I have to fight emotions, and that was a huge relief. I don't know WHY I do that. For some reason, hearing those clear little voices, bursting forth from happy little snaggle-toothed mouths too young to know they shouldn't be caught dead in a paper pilgrim hat, just gets to me. Once, when I was pregnant, I lost it during a 5 year old's rendition of America The Beautiful. I was too embarrassed to live. It sucks to have no control.

But last night, I was totally in control, not feeling the least bit weepy, and enjoying myself. That is not to say I didn't get embarrassed at the event. How, you ask? Why, let me fill you in.

My neighbors' child is in my kid's class, and our daughters play from time to time, so we're well acquainted. Last night, upon arrival at the school, I found that the father had suggested that he and his wife save me a seat, since I'm always running late. I thought that was mighty kind of them. I sat on the far chair, of course, leaving the center chair open for the mama, who was with the class tending her pilgrim. (She's a room mother.) Now, being a lonely spinster, I find myself sometimes thinking terrible thoughts about the child's father. He's a strapping fireman with a good sense of humor, just the right amount of cockiness, and really good teeth, and I have entertained many a thought about ripping a big, tattered hole in the fabric of his family. These are ONLY thoughts, mind you, and I would never ever do that, never, ever, ever...(at least not with HIM) and no one has a clue what goes on in my little head. I should also point out that I have evil thoughts about just about anyone I meet nowadays, as the celibacy has gone on now, uninterrupted, FOR TWO YEARS. TWO YEARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRS.

So anyway. On to the thing which rubbed me wrong. So we're sitting there making small talk, waiting for his wife to take her seat and the show to begin, and we start talking about the Renaissance Festival, where I was this past weekend. Turns out, he and his wife and kid have full costumes and are going this coming weekend with his brother, who lives in the Houston area. And he says to me, he says, "You know, my brother, the one you were HITTING ON AT THE NEW YEARS EVE PARTY".

WHAT???????????????????!!! HUH??????? Hitting on? I BEG YOUR PARDON!

Hitting on?????? I don't "hit on" people. I do not DOOOOOOOOOOOOOO that. And besides, his brother is a big fat lunkhead! His brother is a HAMSKULL. I would no sooner hit on his brother than I would hit on his WIFE. It irked the HELL out of me that he would say that. Of course, I didn't tell him that...he had no idea that I was completely put off and pretty much interiorly fuming at his statement. Know why?

Cause guys, it gets old. I talk to people while looking in their faces and making eye contact. There's no winking, no touching, no flirting, motherfuckers. I'm trained to greet people...it's what I DO. I'm a "personality", I'm supposed to make chat with people from all walks of life who come up to broadcasts and want to visit. It's my job to break the ice, to start the convo, to get every name and shake every hand. Why is it that MANY MANY MANY men interpret a woman's friendly, direct AND NOT THE LEAST BIT SUGGESTIVE conversation as a secret plea for dick? Why do men assume that because I can talk to them uninhibited that I am just BARELY containing the urge to strip and throw myself on their face like the deathcrab on Alien?

Obviously, because I did not avoid casual chat with Hamskull the Puffed Up Car Salesman From Houston, he and his brother no doubt discussed how much I want that (most likely) failing weenie, and that pisses me right the fuck off.

Here's a hint: if I want your dick, I'LL SAY SO. If you don't hear me say, "I sure could use some of that hefty crank you got right there", then I'm JUST BEING NICE TO YOU because it is rude to be otherwise.

I swear. It's things like this that make me want to change my ways and clam up and have no personality like everyone else.

Okay, I vented, feel much better now, gonna go get dressed so I can go to work and beg for cock. I mean, talk on the radio. Ciao babies.

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