Retarded Brain

I had to leave work early because I thought I was going to collapse from tiredness.

My first clue was the ten minutes it took me to figure out a hole-puncher. I picked up the thing, stared, and started hitting it with my paper, thinking, "This creates holes in paper somehow..." Then I just kept pushing the lever, and I wasn't sure how to get the paper in there. Something in my brain just...didn't connect.

And then the visitors.

The building most of the visitors had to go to for some artist workshop was right there as soon as the visitors walk in. It's to their right. I got so confused and disoriented that I told the workshop visitors to take the free tram ride over to the southern end to get to the same building.

And it's like, ten feet from where we were all standing.

Then I told the visitors to hurry because the building would be torn down soon.

An hour later, I realized what huge amounts of misinformation I engaged in. So then I asked my boss if I could take the rest of the day off.

Bahhh...

Nooo...

I don't wanna go give tours tomorrow. I want to have orgasms.

Ahhh, this is the plight. Of life.

Most of the guides are leaving since the season is over. This is bad for a couple of reasons.

One guide who is leaving has been there forever, and I always go to him when I fuck up. So he's like my buffer. He has saved my ass on many occasions, and he very rarely gets angry with your stupidity, because he's very patient and god-like.

One guide is very clueless and confused. She's always freaking out and panicking for some reason. So...basically...she makes me look BETTER.

With both of these people gone...I'm just average.

Eeek. Help.

22,399 Word Count

Sometimes it's hard to juggle school and work and my own personal writing.

But then I'm walking past Bryant Park and see this poster. And then I know that all is well in the world.

Ohhhh holy hotness.

Although I wish his crotch wasn't so obviously stuffed. I mean, come on. It's really OK to have an average-sized penis. Let's put it this way: If that thing is real, I'm making sure it stays the hell away from me at all costs. That would be like the thickest schlong in the world.

Olympic God

I actually had an OK day today. Thinking about attractive men makes everything go by better. This girl I work with develops a new crush every week just to make things interesting. Safety guys, firemen, the emergency medical people, other tour guides, repeat visitors, artists who are throwing their exhibitions...

This gorgeous, OLYMPIC GOD walked by. I was talking to some woman about where the bathroom was or some shit. But we both stopped. Completely. And stared.

This man had his shirt WIDE open, revealing a perfect set of golden abs. It was like from the movie 300. He had 300-style abs. It's an adjective now.

We both stared until he had gone. And then I continued like nothing happened, and she started paying attention again. It was like we developed this understanding, this bond of appreciation...

and then I realized:

OH MY GOD. We're acting like MEN.

This guy was just hot enough to drag us down to that level.


So even as the economy crashes around me and houses are getting foreclosed and tuition goes up, I still have hope for the future. Because there are 300-style abs out there, and they're not purely digital.

Is it 1985?

I'm not going to lie - some atypical school and camp groups do come. Most of them are normal, but the normal ones are never the ones that stick with you. It's always that group that says, "fo' real???" at everything you say that you remember.

Or a group like this one.

There was a group of about twenty-thirty students in a camp group a while ago. From the Bronx. And the biggest kid had something on his shoulder that I hadn't seen in a while.

A boom box.

A boom box.

I just have to say it one more time...

A boom box.

Is it 1985? Who carries a boom box over the shoulder in this day and age? And who the hell would bring one ON A TOUR??? On a spoken guided tour?

My fellow guide tried to ask the leaders of a the group for some cooperation. Nope. They thought it was perfectly fine. The boom box was acceptable to them.

Ugh. I need food.

Mobs of Children

School and camp groups love dressing their children in really bright colors...like bright pink or bright green. The most common one is bright yellow...probably because yellow doesn't indicate either gender like pink does.

It'll be a calm, calm day. All will be still. Birds chirp, squirrels copulate, women wearing huge high heels fall on their asses to provide a good laugh. A buff jogger will come by and make me stare. A fat jogger will come by and make me feel good about myself.

And then a massive yellow wall will descend upon me like a wave. With their questions. With their incessant demands for water fountains, bathrooms, and educational experiences. DESCEND

What's worse - the camp guides and teachers feel like tour guides are babysitters, and then they can just leave. This is legally not the case. You don't know how many teachers I've had to chase down yelling, "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! WE CANNOT ACT AS CARETAKERS!!!"

So about my book, ALEX.

Or, rather, Alexander(A), which is what it will be called.

I'm looking for a 40,000 - 50,000 word count. So far, I have a little over 18,000. I'm almost halfway there. As for the content - it's (roughly) a coming of age story. Of a transvestite.

It's more complicated than that, but I don't wanna give too much away.

:-D

What the hell?

I had a weird-ass visitor that I have to write about.

So this guy...just continuously kept rubbing his belly...while I was trying to give my tour. It was extremely distracting.

Not only was he obscenely rubbing his big, big belly...with that shirt dark from sweat stains...but he was also licking his lips and asking strange questions.

"What's the weather like in San Francisco?"






I wish I could kick people out.




I wish I was a really big, powerful man. Who could throw whole human beings.

Good news - broke 17,000 words today.