Kaylee ,'Shindig'
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
I look guys directly in the eye and nod hello and quickly look away.
I do the nod, sometimes smile, but really dislike the eye thing. They painted it like not looking was equivalent to flashing your panties.
I'm all about the "I know you're there. You cannot surprise me. But you also cannot engage me."
I look through/past people. I don't know what it looks like to the observer, though. I have some issues with making eye-contact generally (like talking to my dang friends!) so I'm probably not on the normal stretch on any such continuum.
I avoid eye contact with strangers because I learned, growing up back east, that it could be taken as a challenge/invitation. That many people around you, personal privacy was important. There's a difference between looking past someone while giving off "I have a purpose" vibes and walking around with your head down looking like a victim.
I feel like making eye contact is more of an invitation than not making eye contact, so mostly I don't. I haven't been attacked yet, though that's bound to me more a matter of luck than anything else.
They painted it like not looking was equivalent to flashing your panties.
I never make eye contact with anyone on the street. I don't want to communicate with them, I don't want them to communicate with me, end of story.
Scathing anti-war testimony: [link]
Psst, hey connie!
Pretty sword pens!
Of course, my eye was then immediately grabbed by the itty vibrators below the pens . . .
my eye was then immediately grabbed by the itty vibrators below the pens
I can take no responsibility for the "if you like this, then check out these!" connections...in fact, mildly disturbed by a sword/fukuoku link.
Sheesh! Sometimes a sword is just a cigar, err, or something.
Dammit, I looked at a hamburger blog and now I want a hamburger. On the plus side I can go over there at 11:30 and beat the rush.
Less fun than contemplating the imminent cheeseburger: Emmett's got a sore neck, so he's home with Mom. Emmett is surprisingly muscley for an 8 y.o. and he will occasionally "sleep wrong" and get a pinched nerve. These don't seem like 8 y.o. ailments to me, but he gets them.
His Mom will be bringing him to my workplace at 2:30 today. Which at least relieves me of an afternoon commute, and he should be placated with a small gelato (which I owe him anyway from baseball).
Still, I didn't come in to work yesterday because it was too fucking gorgeous to be filing paperwork on a Sunday. But now I'm going to get behind and I'm stressing. Also, the car failed it's smog check and we already dropped $700 on it to fix that problem. So it can't get registered and blah blah dominoes.
Feh.
When's my cheeseburger? Can somebody set a timer?