February 22, 2008...2:16 am


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“You can’t teach people to be lazy—either they have it, or they don’t.” –Dagwood Bumstead of Blondie

Ok, reader(s?). By now I think we’ve discovered together (me through writing, you through reading, in the loosest sense of the word) that my every day laziness absolutely transfers to my blogging style. I haven’t posted in…well, quite a few days. Look at that, I’m too lazy to look up the number of days.

Don’t feel abandoned, though, because like most lazy divas I have my reasons. First, it’s difficult to double fist a can of Bud and a glass of wine while typing. Second, reading Internet trash gets in the way of me writing my own. Third, this working seven day a week thing was not some hyperbole I threw out there to try to get you hooked on my site. It’s all too real and it means every day I have to make a few unsavory choices many people don’t need to make. Example: do I spend my one free morning each week sleeping in or running errands? Do I do laundry or go on a beer run? Do I use a face mask or give myself a manicure? All leading to the inevitable, of course, do I read Internet crap or sit here and create some. Today, I create.


Manhattan has been sweet to me and our breakup will doubtless be a rough one, but one thing I will not miss is the way I get tossed around on the street like a plastic bag in the breeze. The thing about being so tiny is that it amazes people to the point that they overestimate my smallness. And judging from the way most people, from hurried strangers on the street to awkward coworkers, interact with me I’d say most people’s personal estimations of my size are around 2-3 feet tall and about 40-45lbs (And if you’ve never seen me, take comfort in the fact that this is a gross miscalculation). I say this because without fail about half of the people I cross paths with on the street or in hallways whack me, brush up against me or graze me in some way. Women throw their purses over their shoulders and into my face, old ladies jam their groceries into my arm, men open their newspapers on to my lap. They see I’m small and figure they can move about wildly and freely because there is no way they could collide with such a little speck of a human. And I’m always drowning the urge to say, “Um, excuse me. I’m small, not nonexistent. Now please remove your baby from my lap.”

Worse than assuming I take up zero space on a subway car are the folks in the restaurant who feel compelled to grab my arm while they order their food or ask for a refill. Are they thinking, “The small one needs physical contact in order to hear correctly?” Or, “So small, must touch!” I’m not really sure what it is that translates the observation of smallness into mandatory physical contact. Theories are most welcome.

I’m hoping once I get my car and move to LA this problem will be curbed, at least for the transit part of my life. 

1 Comment

  • i think it’s “so small, must touch!”

    i’m pretty sure the man in the supermarket the other day would have walked right up to you and patted you on the head had i not been there….

    maybe he wanted to check if you were real?

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