The moustache and goatee on my face has garnered some interest from work-related folks.
My boss used his thick Chicago aaaacent for this observation:
"Yoo look like uh littl' Frenchguy."
I used to have a nemesis at a Lincoln Park post office, an African American woman with a contrarian streak. For awhile it became a great hassle to pick up the daily mail run. Over time it's gotten better, and since my facial hair, she seems even more friendly.
"You look like a secret agent or something."
We talked about Europe for a spell.
She loves Germany and Switzerland.
I agreed.
But she doesn't like France.
I held my tongue.
A receptionist, also African American, noticed the change, too, and paid me a few compliments.
Then...
"Are you on Facebook?"
She just turned 60.
Seems the conquistador look I'm going for is a hit with the "sistas".
Am I allowed to use that word?
No.
Even with ironic quotes?
Maybe. But you really shouldn't.
It's summer kind of, so it's slow.
I don't mind.
I'm still recovering from the residual backwash of jet lag.
At a house in Wilmette, I attempted to deliver an envelope, only to be greeted by a wooden sign.
"Gone to the beach," it said, engraved in craft fair cursive.
A two hour nap occurred on tony, tree-lined Astor Street, steps away from a Frank Lloyd Wright. When I awoke I had no idea where or when I was.
I thought I was still in the UK.
For dinner I made South-of-The-West Charburgers.
Hamburger patties rolled with roasted corn, diced poblano peppers, onions, and black beans, seasoned with salts and powders, poked with a raw, sliced jalapeno and topped with cheese. Lauren, who is not a burger lover, actually loved it. Especially the bites that didn't singe her tongue with pure capsaicin. For some reason, she likes my dum-dum grub.
I selected some dopey Moog music for a night of card/board games while Lauren removed the shrink wrap from a game called Sequence. We learned it and she quickly beat the pants off of me. Then we switched to Outburst. It was discovered that I completely suck at Outburst. I suck at Outburst even more than I suck at Sequence. Though at least I was having fun while sucking at it, as opposed to getting touchy, pouty and belligerent (see Bowling, Ping Pong, Twyla Tharp dance lessons, doing a Harold, etc).
But despite the lovely day and recreational evening, I truly ended the day a loser.
Verdict: Loss
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