Wednesday, September 07, 2005


and then a tangent became a story...

oooh this is a from D.C. post. See, even when I'm on the road and away from home, I'm still (semi-dedicated) to my blog.

on that note, Bub, if you're reading this, please make sure you feed Major Tom!

So, i'm tempted to say that so far things have been uneventful, but that would be a lie. Or a mistruth. The ride down was fantastic. The weather was perfect, and my dad let me borrow his ipod car adapter, so E and I had great music all the way down. I got to make a re-appearance as a DJ, and as E was the only listener, she got unlimited requests. I didn't actually hold up any signs during the trip, but we waved to a few people. I sang to one guy as we zoomed past, and he did this HORRIBLE eyebrow raising move that made me snap out of my whitney houston mode and feel like an utter fool.

but that feeling only lasted for a minute or so.

after arriving in our nation's capital, E and I met up with T and C-note in our favorite bar. Seeing as how it was Labor Day, no one was there since they had already gotten drunk the preceding days and nights. In fact, after a while, it was just me and E shooting pool and playing "All by Myself" on the jukebox.

We ran into a few people from CUA, and it was nice to say hi to them. I felt like a loser because I happened to be wearing a shirt that said "catholic university", and I felt like it may as well have said "can't move on." But it was good that I had least changed out of my running shorts and sneakers and put on some makeup and brushed my hair, that way I looked semi-respectable.

Speaking of running shorts. On the ride down, we stopped at a gas station/dunkin donuts. After I got my bagel, I went to the car and took off most of the cream cheese that had been liberally applied. Then I walked back to the door of the DD to throw away the extra gooey stuff. The gas station attendant, summing up my outfit and longish legs said "Tell me. you run track, don't you." I replied "no, I don't run. anywhere." (which is true. I avoid running as much as possible.) He then said "Basketball, then? Do you play basketball?" Because I felt bad for him and I didn't want to ruin his dream that every girl over 5'8" plays basketball, I said "yeah...I middle school. BUT then I played volleyball in high school" - I said that because I felt like a lazy slug.

And whenever old ladies meet me, often the first thing that they say to me is "wow, you're really tall." or "you're a tall one." or "your parents must be really tall." (for the record, I'm taller than both of them. but I do have lots of tall relatives)

I guess the point of that long torturous tangent is to say that EVEN though I'm tall, I do not play basketball. I'm sorry, but if you're a short skinny male, I don't automatically assume that you are a jockey. And while I appreciate the niceness of strangers and my apparent approachability, it gets a little old insisting to people that I don't play basketball. And I'm not even that tall! (I'm a shade under six feet.) And random people (usually super short women) will sigh and say to me "wow, you're so lucky to be tall" in this envious voice. That makes me want to shake them, because being tall isn't all that's cracked up to be. Even though they've come a long way, pants are often too short. Old Navy ones look ridiculous on me. Almost every store has a petite section, but how many stores have a "long" section? My feet are larger than the average woman's, which means that Steve Madden, Nine West and most department stores don't carry shoes that fit me. And sure, I can see over large crowds (and at my new church, straight to the front of the line to the priest at communion) but at the same time, I rarely feel the feminine feelings of delicacy and daintiness. And guys. Let's not even go there. Many of them don't want to be with a girl who they don't feel manly and huge next to. That's understandable, but it also cuts out a biggg segment of the male population.

So when these short women are sighing and looking at me, I'm secretly sighing and looking at them. What would it be like to be short and cuddly? And to have pants that fit fine, and to have a whole array of shoes available to me? To sit in a movie theatre and not have my knees knock against the seat in front of me? To plop down on guys' laps, feeling as light as a feather?

And while I know that I wouldn't actually trade places with them for anything in the world, it would be nice to live in someone's size 8 shoes, just for a day.

The ultimate irony of all this is that when I meet a tall guy, the first thing I want to say to him is "wow, you're tall" in this awe-struck voice. If I get it, then they must get those comments a thousand times more frequently. I saw a guy in CVS today who had to be close to seven feet tall. I pictured him trying to get into a car, and not being able to fit in anything smaller than an SUV.

When I get this driving urge to talk about someone's height, I understand the gas station attendants and the old women of the world. I know that there's just something about someone taller than you or different from you that just makes you open your mouth and say inane things.

and that's okay.

hahhaha, i love you meg. I get the same thing about being short and it's annoying! "wow, you are SO SHORT, i mean, I've NEVER met anyone as short as you! You could totally pass for a 16 year old, and you are, what? 24??!!"
One time I had a girl turn me down for a date because I was "too short." I am the same height as her, 6'!!! What the heck? I try to branch out and do a gigantic freak of an Amazon woman a favor and look what happens!
hahaha you jerk!
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?