So the whole cliche' of "Oh My God! You met him online?! What if he's an axe murderer? What is he's a rapist!? Do you want to borrow my pepper spray/handgun/sword of +5 pervert prevention?" is really starting to grind on that one nerve between the base of your skull and the start of the back of your neck.
I should have never even mentioned anything to Heike, but being the little overachiever that she is, had him more thoroughly Facebook stalked than the NSA could have managed in their deepest of wet dreams. Turns out, he may -not- be a natural "bad-boy black" in hair color.
Sometimes, I wish I could gingerly put my hands on either of Heike's shoulders and shake her a little.
Just a little.
Until she becomes so confused as to -why- I'm shaking her, that she forgets to keep looking up every little detail of life before living it.
If I am to be =HORRIBLY MAIMED AND/OR SLAUGHTERED= by some guy on the internet, that a friend of a friend of a friend knows from somehow or somewhere, then I really doubt going through every picture he's publicly posted on his timeline is going to save me.
I went out to the bar, a neutral one of varying amounts of usage.
I wore an outfit of somewhere on the scales of "I may be a easy" and "Could be an undercover cop, so don't slaughter me". Sensible but sexy.
No heels, at Heike's suggestion, in-case I need to "make a quick getaway".
Cleavage on a scale of "Your buying the drinks" and "Hello, you'll forget my name, won't you?"
Maybe not as sensible, but first impressions are fun to fuck around with.
Turns out, Waldo forgot we were meeting tonight ... thinking we'd be meeting on Saturday instead of Friday? I think?
Walking home, in my sensible shoes, I looked up to the night sky lost in thought. There was a general haze, a glow from the lights. It was quiet... for Chicago. And in this deep, introverted moment, all I could ask myself was "Where's Waldo?"
....
-Yvonne "Just.... I don't even... Why?" Schmitt
Page 14: Apr/04/2014
FOR THE RECORD:
Not all men are jerks?
This journal will eventually be a Lifetime movie.
His name is Waldo.
He added me on Facebook.
He is a friend of a friend of a friend.
He likes my posts.
He is in a band.
He plays lead guitar. (which is a total step up from Fatticus's Back-Up Bass, to clarify)
He has a motorcycle.
He has tattoos.
He does NOT wear eyeliner.
He may be my Kryptonite.
His name is -Waldo-.
-Yvonne "Maybe it's a nickname?" Schmitt
His name is Waldo.
He added me on Facebook.
He is a friend of a friend of a friend.
He likes my posts.
He is in a band.
He plays lead guitar. (which is a total step up from Fatticus's Back-Up Bass, to clarify)
He has a motorcycle.
He has tattoos.
He does NOT wear eyeliner.
He may be my Kryptonite.
His name is -Waldo-.
-Yvonne "Maybe it's a nickname?" Schmitt
Page 13: Mar/30/2014
Finally finished re-reorganizing the Art reference section in the basement.
The book cover's colors are now commingling in ways other people's forefathers fought against in time's before my own.
It's visual chaos, but we can "find things" and it's "like every other shelf" like "every book store in the world."
Like Heike has been to -every- bookstore in the world.
I bet France does things by color. They love color. That's why they have Fashion Week there.
Good Store Ideas:
==> Start a store (or take over the full management of one store in particular = insert malicious hand rubbing here) and file everything by color. Call it "Fabulous". The gays (Totally PC to say in Chicago) will get behind it, and really that's all a successful business needs.
==> Have some sort of master catalog to explain how "Fabulous" will work. Like, book title, author name, it's in red... but sort of an auburn, near orange, but dark red section.
==> Rethink "Fabulous". Colors are complicated and the more cattier folk will be all "that's not mint that's granny smith" "No! It's juniper!" It sounds like more headache than this store really.
==> Hammocks in the basement? (Brainstorm on how to prevent hobos and hipsters from sleeping in them)
Good Yvonne Ideas:
~~> Buy myself a hammock. Figure out where to put it in my room.
-Yvonne "Jesus I'm bored" Schmitt
The book cover's colors are now commingling in ways other people's forefathers fought against in time's before my own.
It's visual chaos, but we can "find things" and it's "like every other shelf" like "every book store in the world."
Like Heike has been to -every- bookstore in the world.
I bet France does things by color. They love color. That's why they have Fashion Week there.
Good Store Ideas:
==> Start a store (or take over the full management of one store in particular = insert malicious hand rubbing here) and file everything by color. Call it "Fabulous". The gays (Totally PC to say in Chicago) will get behind it, and really that's all a successful business needs.
==> Have some sort of master catalog to explain how "Fabulous" will work. Like, book title, author name, it's in red... but sort of an auburn, near orange, but dark red section.
==> Rethink "Fabulous". Colors are complicated and the more cattier folk will be all "that's not mint that's granny smith" "No! It's juniper!" It sounds like more headache than this store really.
==> Hammocks in the basement? (Brainstorm on how to prevent hobos and hipsters from sleeping in them)
Good Yvonne Ideas:
~~> Buy myself a hammock. Figure out where to put it in my room.
-Yvonne "Jesus I'm bored" Schmitt
Page 12: Mar/26/2014
My help is sometimes so unappreciated here.
Heike, my dear little business cousin, is so convinced that if we "organize" everything in the basement reference, the store will have -way- more people in the door.
Like there's some sort of magic fairy organization committee that will signal to all the clamoring people on the Chicago streets that our store is not a "sty for stray books".
=Apparently= organizing the Art section by the color of the covers is not ironic enough for her.
I've taken the liberty of printing the very impressive picture for future historical use.
-Yvonne "You're welcome, future historians" Schmitt
Heike, my dear little business cousin, is so convinced that if we "organize" everything in the basement reference, the store will have -way- more people in the door.
Like there's some sort of magic fairy organization committee that will signal to all the clamoring people on the Chicago streets that our store is not a "sty for stray books".
=Apparently= organizing the Art section by the color of the covers is not ironic enough for her.
I've taken the liberty of printing the very impressive picture for future historical use.
-Yvonne "You're welcome, future historians" Schmitt
Page 11: Mar/23/2014
Upon reflection of the previous page,
A guy asking you out and then brushing it off as nothing/joking about it, and then leaving with another woman with whom he was obviously involved with ... didn't make it "getting hit on".
So, rewriting: Yesterday, I dodged a fucking bullet there.
-Yvonne "Dodged it like The Matrix" Schmitt
A guy asking you out and then brushing it off as nothing/joking about it, and then leaving with another woman with whom he was obviously involved with ... didn't make it "getting hit on".
So, rewriting: Yesterday, I dodged a fucking bullet there.
-Yvonne "Dodged it like The Matrix" Schmitt
Page 10: Mar/22/2014
Today was relatively, sort of alright.
It was one of those "I'll throw my hair in a bun and not give a fuck about my makeup past the obligatory mascara" days.
Okay.
I got hit on. Which is nice.
A man came in. He brought a few books up. Obligatory back and forth. Type in register. Asked me if I was single and if I wanted to go out sometime.
Which any normal girl would have been like: "Like, Oh My God! Of course!~ Totally! As if! Facebook, Pintrest, Twitter. Hashtag: This is Great. Hashtag: Happens all the time"
And to which I replied with: "What?"
And he replied with: "I was just checking to see if you were paying attention."
And~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A woman came up and took his arm and asked if he was all done here.
Fuck.
Just fuck,
-Yvonne "Fuck. " Schmitt
Page 9: Mar/18/2014
Pro-Tip: Never drinking again means never drinking again. St. Patrick's day made me such a liar. This hangover is to remind me of such things.
I may or may not have accidentally put this journal up on the shelf of hand-written books sometime between this entry and the last entry.
The hipster kid that discovered my error brought the book up to the counter asking if we had a sequel to this "very foul, depressing book"; this book. He was looking for "heavy" material to cut apart and pasting it into some sort of a "Nazi-esque" meets "Orwellian" collage of broken dreams in America (I shit you not).
So... this is the obligatory "I'm sorry I almost sold you book" page.
-Yvonne "Maybe I should put a sticker on you or something" Schmitt
I may or may not have accidentally put this journal up on the shelf of hand-written books sometime between this entry and the last entry.
The hipster kid that discovered my error brought the book up to the counter asking if we had a sequel to this "very foul, depressing book"; this book. He was looking for "heavy" material to cut apart and pasting it into some sort of a "Nazi-esque" meets "Orwellian" collage of broken dreams in America (I shit you not).
So... this is the obligatory "I'm sorry I almost sold you book" page.
-Yvonne "Maybe I should put a sticker on you or something" Schmitt
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