Wednesday, April 04, 2007

So I do this weird thing where I don't say "hi" to people. I don't know why I do it, it seems to have very little to do with the person (A.K.A. I am an equal-opportunity ignorer). Although this behavior occurs across the board, I especially withhold my "hello" from people whom I admire. Certain professors, colleagues, snappy waitstaff and sexologists (I forgot to mention that I met Annie Sprinkle, renowned "sexologist" while frothily drinking my soy-latte at a Broadway Starbucks) are all victims of my salutation performance anxiety. All I'm saying, is that if you're reading this, and I ever passed by you frostily, it is not because I'm stuck up and/or don't remember you. The truth is, at the danger of being immodest, I remember almost everyone I meet. That means you, strange cleft-chin stock broker who brushed up against me at Highland Mall.
I remember most names and faces and without exception I usually care what they think. Hence my sometimes conversational paralysis: I cares too much. I also really hate prolonged eye-contact, which has resulted in many humiliating staring contest defeats at the hands of my freakishly large-eyed sister, Andie. Ahh, ole Marble-eye Andie, she was a master. But I was a quickdraw at the surprise arm hair tweezing, so it all evened out.

I think this problem of mine is best summarized by Jodie Foster's performance as "Nell." It is like I have been raised in some backwoods swamp, suckling on moonshine tree-sap and interacting only with alligators and other slithery things. Note that these creatures are undeniably frigid, as evidenced by my recent run-in with an iguana. We had a great time at Trudy's then that bitch didn't even approve my Myspace friend request. Fucking scaly thing.
So, in summation, I am not:
A high-falootin' bitch who is too big for her powder-blue britches.
An oblivious artist who never remembers anyone's name, and/or pretends to forget a name in order to perpetuate the "mysterious artist" mythos.


What I am is:
Nell, or a Nell-like reptillian individual. Thank you, and good night.
P.S.--I just re-watched "Slums of Beverly Hills," which is SUCH a good movie. Everyone should watch it immediately. Also, Natasha Lyonne is so cool.

4 comments:

Jasper said...

WoW, I feel like I just read your diary and I feel kinda dirty. Only I dont know if I need a shower or cigarette. Well I cant remember a name but I can tell if someone blinks too much.

(Mature) Minimonk said...

There is only one sure-fire cure: getting older. Eventually you don't really care what anyone thinks! And you just start talking to anyone you meet (embarrassing your grown children). Only I would enjoy your youth if I were you- only happens once.

dennis said...

So I was hoping your rebuff at the AMOA opening would supress my urge to make social contact the next time I see you--which could be several months or a year from now. Unfortunately for you, I think you're still on my rolodex of acquaintances that I'm compelled to acknowledge whenever I see them--for the rest of my life. And now I know that when you ignore me it's because you admire me. Excellent.

Ali Fitzgerald said...

Sorry Dennis. I'm working on your drawings for that Ok mountain collaborative thingy right now. I'll make it extra dirty as a reparation.