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The Craigslist Bomb

First of all, I hate going for coffee. At least buy me a cocktail, buddy! I even googled cocktail lounges that I could get to on the bus. (I am NOT looking forward to taking the bus once the rainy season sets in again.) But he insisted, suggesting that we could go somewhere else if we hit it off. (Oh great, I’ll know that I’m a failure fairly quickly.)

And I REALLY hate going for coffee at 2 in the afternoon. So whatever.

But I went, and I got there early, so I had to walk the whole strip mall (which is hell, with limited funds in your pocket). Found a nice shoe store to spend my first paycheck at, if I ever get one. Did a tour through the new mini Walmart. I’d never seen one of those, but it was kind of nice; the office supplies and electronics departments are right up front.

 

Bought some candy and a banana (I have to eat the banana first, so I don’t feel so bad about eating the candy.), then headed back towards the Starbucks, looking for a free rag to read. What’s up with Seattle? I can never find The Stranger. I have to look online. All the  rags are having a hard time these days, advertising revenues have dropped so drastically. Got back to (that coffee shop that we all go to even though we disagree with their politics) and decided to look at the menu so I would know what I wanted. Better to have iced coffee.  It IS afternoon, afterall. And it’s overcast. Of course. We are in Seattle. I haven’t woke up yet, even though I’ve been awake since at least 7 am. Decided that white chocolate mocha thingy looks good.

Went back outside to wait for my bait … now why would he be “bait”? It rhymed, but it doesn’t make sense. Huh. So I go to wait for my “date”.  A date in a coffee shop is such a cheap thing, I already know it’s going to be a bust. And he won’t invite me to do something else, because he will be looking for someone younger than me. (His upper limit was 45, but no one believes I am 54, so I decided to see if I could get away with it.) He is older but he has money so he can get away with being picky.

I’m waiting out front, wishing I had something to read, to distract me from the fact that I got there SO early. This is why I am NEVER early. I cannot stand to wait for people. I am too cheap to buy the Seattle daily, and there are none lying around in that coffee shop that I shall not name. They always make sure to toss leftover papers so you have to buy their own. Must be a corporate policy. Tells you a lot about the company, I would think. Nor will they let the freebies distribute there. They are all about income and profit. I’m surprised they don’t figure out a way to put meters on their plug-ins so that they can charge their customers for using them.

I was going to take the 2 o’clock bus and get off at 2:08 but I didn’t know how far the walk would be from the stop, it was the first time I had ventured out using the bus system here, and he said 2 so I ended up leaving shortly after 1. Stupid idea. I hate waiting. (And he figured 2:30 after I said 2:08 so that just added to my anguish.)

A woman who looks like she could have been a meth head at one point in her life (but so do I, with my nasty dental issue goin’ on) stops to ask me if I take any supplements, my body looks nice. (Actually, I’m getting fat, having laid around for the last month wasting all my time watching TV.) Nothing, now. I even left my vitamins in San Diego when I bailed. We talk about the overcast and she brings up the radioactive fallout from Japan. Great. Another reason not to have moved back to Seattle. But I spend so much time indoors here, even when it’s nice out (what’s up with THAT?) that I’m not getting a whole lot of exposure to fresh air. She seems nice, though talkative … (like I am sometimes, but not lately.) I like her outfit — olive tones, a favorite — but I don’t complement her on it for some reason. I haven’t felt like being particularly nice lately, I’m so burnt out on people.

I’m anxious for my”date” to show up, but not while I am talking to her. She has too much make-up on and has been even more ravaged by time than I have! Later I realized that she had gotten into the driver’s seat of a (fairly ratty) motorhome. At least she HAS a home. I have no room to talk.

I’m posting this now so the virus doesn’t delete it and will continue my story in a moment. The meet and greet!

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