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Well, the movers finished up today. What a mess, but I suppose I should be grateful that I didn't have to do it all myself. Moving is a pain, but at least I didn't have to do the heavy lifting. And the moving guy hit on me! WHAT made him think we had anything in common?! It should have been apparent from the contents of my home, my appearance, my demeanor, whatever, that there was NO common ground. I have never understood that about some guys... they will totally ignore the obvious and run it into the ground anyway. If I'm really interested, I'll make eye contact. I'll encourage you. If I don't, no amount of whining or repetition will change my mind -- it will just make me plot your demise. Why did this scrawny early-twenties slang-speaking soul-listening-to calling-some-woman-from-my-phone-on-company-time guy think that I wanted anything to do with him? Me, with the tattoos and the Aleister Crowley collection and the Mozart and Tool CDs (don't ask, I don't know) and a couple of weird-looking framed certificates on the walls... lots of people would balk, to put it mildly, at the thought of handling the contents of my altar, and that doesn't bother me. It keeps life simpler. But this idiot just ignored "Man has the right to kill those who would thwart these Rights" and went right on pestering me about how he could get in touch with me. Ugh. I just don't understand. (Maybe I'm too picky, but geez...)
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