Is it ADD or am I just bored?

This was originally posted on June 28th 2006. In honor of my fourth blogging anniversary I am going to be re-posting old stuff from 4 years ago and see what happens.

Was that a stare?

Did that girl from across the room just stare at me?

Hmm… I’ll wait and try and catch her eye again. I am sitting, no I’m shifting. Can constantly shifting be simply called sitting? I cross my leg and then switch crossed legs; I adjust my underwear sneakily with my hand in my pocket- pocket ping pong baby. I am half sleeping in a conference room in downtown Albany bored out of my mind trying to conjure up any thoughts of what will get me out of here. Some have writers block, but I have day dreaming block. Trying to pay attention to all this information, and then switching my thoughts to my pen – green triangular, it’s a BIC- wow I didn’t know BIC made triangular pens, cool.

Hey! She looked back over here, that girl, that blonde freckled girl, wearing a black short sleeved sweater over a white button down shirt untucked from her brown khaki pants, not too tight, and heeled open toed shoes. Almost tznius really, though I am sure until I walked into the room this morning she had never even seen a frum Jew in her life. Paige, the names gotta go, but she’s damned cute and I would swear she must have turned around casually so I would catch her and proceeded to give me this look, there was no reason for her to turn around.

Maybe I will introduce myself, no probably not, sometime I thank God for my inability to approach a girl – therefore I never mess up – I never befriend any ladies and go about in a frum fashon, but at least I have something to think about now. Maybe she likes hiking? Maybe she’s into weird music and odd art? No probably not, frum or non-Jewish, all girls are pretty much the same. Frum ones hang out in pizza shops and at the mall and non-Jews at the Bar and the beach.

I wonder what would happen if I removed my shoes and socks and put my feet up. I am staring at the painted toenails being tapped ever so slightly barely hidden underneath the table, they belong to a girl sitting next to me, no one even looks twice. If I did such a thing, the alarms would be sounded “dude, put your shoes back on”, “Geez man, don’t you people have any respect for your co-workers”. Ah sexism at its best- women are not necessarily clean – they just look better naked. Naked guys are just plain nasty.

As you can see training sessions for summer jobs with the State are ever so exciting and you must concentrate intensely as if you were in front of firing squad and awaiting instructions for your release. My iced coffee from dunkin donuts is providing me with the immense pleasure of the ancient art of liquid bubble blowing. The bubbles blown in coffee are way better because they last, unlike bubbles blown in soda, milk, juice and a variety of other beverages – coffee bubbles withstand the forces of gravity and air pressure to supersede all bubbles to the last stand. The will even out last beverages mixed with enhancers such as viagra.

A speck of drool from my straw dribbles down my lip and I catch it before it makes its wet home on my pants just above my fly, I hope page didn’t see that. No, she’s not looking, no one else in the room matters it’s me and Paige. I am reduced to eating my pen, pretending I have a bad case of restless leg syndrom, staring at my neighbors toenails and waiting for darling Paige to glance my way with that reassuring look telling me everything is gonna be alright.

A break, and instantly my muscles relax, I did not even get up from my chair or shift my weight. Merely the knowledge that I am free to move about and talk has stopped my restless leg, and saved my pen from further tooth torture. I wonder if BIC lobbies against cruel and unusual treatment of its pens – maybe that’s why they have pen caps, so you don’t eat the actual pen. Everyone is loading up on rhubarb pie and rice pudding freshly made by one of the full time staff. I am blowing bubbles in my ever diminishing coffee supply and my stomach is growling, and I can slowly feel the yetzer hara eating away at years of practice. Sitting in a fancy restaurant and having everyone ask you why you are not eating the free $500 a plate dinner. Suffering through countless free meals at the State Legislature while I am reduced to frozen less than el-al meals, minus the hot Israeli’s in skintight stewrdess uniforms serving me the dehydrated food. Hey someone’s gotta do it. Having to explain why is like the folks at AOL reading their script to prevent you from canceling your free 6 month subscription- I know it by heart and say it fast without feeling.

The droning civil servant has once again started up the record player- shut up, I want to scream, leave me alone! No, I will sit here being paid $16 an hour- and tomorrow at 1pm it will start. A summer of inspecting camps and eating free kosher meals compliments of the State Tax fund. Taxes going to good use.

Paige is speaking now and I am full attention- she’s actually a very talented speaker, and she is this year’s intern. I was last years intern and now I am full time. Keep speaking honey- she is scanning the room making sure everyone’s eyes are met- there is no pause at mine. Hmm…maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, maybe I just need some loving. I am not lonely one bit, I have my books and poetry to protect me. It is nice to have a lovely lady to think about on those hot, sweaty, cuddling with my fan nights. Not Jewish, eh, I can still fantasize, we all do.

I am already thinking about what I am going to get at Dougies tomorrow night as I sit and watch the young frummies who for some reason think dougies is quality. If quality were judged by grease, bugs, and the poor service, then Dougies would be quality- the store in Woodburne will be run by Niveh kids once again who snort zanax and oxycottin on their lunch breaks while learning musar on the dangers of talking to girls.

My mind is back, Paige is back at her seat across the room with her back facing me. For the next two hours, my coffee gone, my pen develops chronic grooves in its clicker, my knuckles are cracked many times to the dismay of the people sitting at my table, Paige turns around a couple more times, and I find a stash of fancy kosher candies in the semi-kitchen that is the only lifeblood in this cubicle laden rat racer haven. I suck the candy until its last throes and begin to plan where I will ride and think about how flooded it will be from yesterday’s storms’ wrath.