He took it out of your hands?!?! I would have clearly hit him, or demanded the driver kick him off.

communication difficulties

why are you attempting communication with a smelly man on the bus who takes things out of your hands?!?! I feel like I need to run up there and be a protective mother.

Or, more precisely, why does the smelly man who I think likes me, but I can't really tell because he is deaf and we have communication difficulties, want to examine my kindle when I am reading not=particularly good BDSM porn about Panic at the Disco! He just took it out of my hands!!!!!

OMG. One might hope that would be a deterrent, but maybe not...

I'm pretty sure the rest of the week isn't going to go much better.

Today had one redeeming event: I was complimented on my pace, form and distance in the pool tonight. Apparently, I maintain a constant pace that was considered pretty impressive given the distance I swim. Complimenter is a really good swimmer (most of his strokes are just a smidge faster than mine, plus, he can butterfly) so I can feel preeny. Usually end up sharing lanes with him a couple nights a week, so it wasn't just the RAGE tonight.

Now I am going to eat strawberries and spinach and growl every time I think of tomorrow.

I would not normally read that, but I am scraping the bottom of the fanfic barrel. I need a new fandom that has a lot of long, piney fic. I even started to go back and re-read Spike/Buffy and Josh/Donna stories. I re-read just about every harry/draco or draco/neville story, as well as remus/lupin. I am out of things to read!

I feel like I need to run up there and be a protective mother.

OK, I just flashed back to when I was walking through Times Square with a bunch of high school girls, and some nasty guy (probably a comedy club flyer guy) started trying to talk to one of them, and I got all horrified and said, "She's SIXTEEN." Super motherly-ish.

Or, more precisely, why does the smelly man who I think likes me, but I can't really tell because he is deaf and we have communication difficulties, want to examine my kindle when I am reading not=particularly good BDSM porn about Panic at the Disco! He just took it out of my hands!!!!!

Hah! Some guy looked over my shoulder on the metro in DC once when I was reading Star Trek slash fic. And was very enthusiastic about it. I don't think I'd give a shit now but I was very new to fic and fandom and was kind of freaked.

But he didn't take it out of my hands, jesus. Not on.

Oh- and I am trying to communicate with him because I may be totally misreading him and he just wants to know how the kindle works. He only talks to me when I have the kindle.

I am annoyed with myself, because he always wants to see the kindle, and I took it out anyway (usually I just do something else when he is on the bus).

I was designated mother hen for my cousins, but no one would believe I was as old as I said, or they were as young, so it never worked. Plus I might kinda be badly behaved sometimes. But not like them!

Sophia, SPN has lots of long fic. And I totally wanted someone else to suggest that before me. Sigh. That's what I get for websurfing at the gas station.

Sophia! Big Bang is coming!

I know I keep asking what are undoubtedly stupid questions, but I'm just gobsmacked.

Just as I was, when my boss gave me this journal last year! I was all, "What? You mean - what? Seriously?" This journal is Speshul and must do things its own precious way. Which includes a table of contents printed in subject order but NOT in pagination order. And articles published on-line and *paginated* months before the printed volume goes to press. Yes, that sound you hear is me slamming my head on the desk. PLUS, it had a 90 article backlog when I got it, with more coming in every day, and the Society was calling me within a week demanding to know why all their articles hadn't posted yet. What? Seriously? The Society liaison doesn't much like me, and I bet she *really* doesn't like me now.

Sorry to rant. It's just been a horrible day, and the Boss-boss hasn't even heard about it yet. I want to cry from sheer frustration and anger. I hate making mistakes. I really hate being put in a position where mistakes are virtually inevitable, but of course that can't be mentioned.

oh, and let me just add, this isn't even "my" journal, though I'm kinda glad at this point that my name *isn't* on the damn thing. I had to do this one to "cover until we hired someone" while also keeping up with my own, full-time journal. This is just the last straw, really; I've been miserable with this for a year, I'll be done with it in a couple weeks because they did finally hire someone, and now this? It's like a brain-eating zombie that just won't die.