From Bad to Worse.

This is not any indication of the year. I hope.



So yesterday, I woke up exhausted from the night before. I had mad insomnia after the ball drop and 2009 was upon me. My thoughts were running wild and I couldn't contain them enough to fall asleep. I think i finally closed my eyes around 2 but feel asleep at 3.



There was a girl,Marisol, who worked at the bookstore a month or two ago who i instantly befriended. We got along so well that when she left we promised each other we would hang out and see a movie. Because we are both slightly obsessed with Emile Hirsch we have been talking about seeing Milk (biopic about Harvey Milk, the Mayor Of Castro Street, who was the first openly gay man to be elected and serve in office. He was later assassinated but his legacy is strong in the gay (and straight) community because of his fight for equal rights for all people regardless of sexual orientation. I love him). We have emailed each other back and forth, and finally managed to find a day to hang out. New Years Day.



I put the whole 'Porter' thing behind me and spent the whole day hanging out with her. It was pretty amazing. We saw Milk and squealed every time Emile made an appearance. The movie was stunning and exceeded all of my thoughts. It doesn't matter what you personally think of Sean Penn, he played the hell out of Harvey Milk. He was brilliant as Milk and I was left almost in tears at the end. She was too, but we both laughed it off and decided to grab some pizza after the movie.



As were exiting the theater one of the girls who worked there stopped me in the hall. She asked if I was Beckett and I of course nodded with some apprehension.



"You work at the bookstore downstairs?" She asked even though she some how knew the answer.



"Yes."



"You're the girl 'Porters' been talking about. How was the date?"



Marisol laughed out loud. Seriously. I told her about the 'date' thingy while we waited for the movie to start. She said she saw it coming from a mile away and was sorry she hadn't warned me. When she was working at the bookstore she said she sort of thought he had a thing for me because he kept agreeing with everything I said. So of course when the girl asked how the date went , Marisol laughed because i had already told her everything. She stopped laughing when she saw how serious the girl looked and she excused herself and went to the bathroom.



I told the nice girl that the date went okay i guess. That the movie wasn't something i would really see but I had an good time.



All of sudden she looked so relieved "Thank God. He has been talking about this for a long time. I am like his big sister and all he has talked about is you and that date. He came upstairs last week (because the movie theater is located on the 3rd floor from where i work) and was so excited that you agreed to go. I'm glad you had a good time"



Yeah. Great time. When Marisol came back she apologized for laughing and then asked me what I was going to do about the whole 'Porter' thing. A part of me wants to ignore him, and hope that he will get the picture and ignore me back. And then another part of me wants to take him aside and tell him that i can't be who he wants me to be and that i am not looking for a relationship with anyone who isn't Sufjan Stevens. I kid.



So after the movie Marisol and I grabbed some lunch. We have a lot in common and spent the better part of the hour discussing books, movies and boys we like. I forgot how much i missed having friends. The whole not eating alone thing is kind of cool. She offered to drive me back to my house so I could change clothes and then she could drive me to work. On the way to my house we discovered that we both have an interest in travel and art and she added that sometimes she just wants to 'go to Ireland' for no reason at all. I think I love her.



When we arrived at my job (after I changed clothes) I was greeted by one of 'Porter's' friend who also works there. Me and this dude have had some problems in the past (he's a douche and I don't like it) so I was taken aback when he came up to me and said "why did you ditch Porter last night". Marisol once again laughed out loud but regained her composer a lot faster the 2nd time around. I sort of laughed and said that I didn't ditch him I just had to go home.



Marisol and I parted ways after a hug and promises that we would do this again (we are thinking about going to an art show so when can pretend we are some critics or something) and i saw on the schedule that Porter was closing with us that night. Any attempt to go unnoticed by him was quickly abandoned when we ran into each other in the break room. I said hey and then ran in the bathroom and cursed out the bathroom stall.



The whole night he was trying to get my attention. He hugged me inappropriately in front of my manager, he whispered my name some aisles over, and he asked me to go to his band practice after work. I said no, and that i was tired...he is a persistent stalker. Okay, that word is a little harsh but kind of true. You know when you can feel someone staring at you. There is like this weird heat that surrounds you and suddenly it feel as if cameras are watching. I was standing at customer service which is adjacent to Cafe. I was talking to a co-worker and all of a sudden I felt that heat and when I turned he was staring at me but looked away quickly.

They know how to pick me.

I shouldn't feel bad for not liking a guy. But I just don't like him. I don't like anything about him. I don't like that he's into guns. I don't like that he is a janitor and a bad one at that. I don't like that he touches napes and stares at me weirdly. I don't like that he doesn't stir my passion. That he doesn't make me want to see him everyday. He is just this guy. A guy that I don't feel anything for. I have to do something about this. I have to let him know that I am not looking for anything with anyone. Yesterday I was trying so hard to be distant so he would get the picture and yet...he didn't. So I have to do something or remain the object of someones weird desires.