You can cut MY grass any day.

I got asked out today.

And yeah, I know you don't think that's newsworthy, but it totally is, believe me. Because it, like, never happens to me. Ever. Well, ok... obviously it's happened a FEW times, but really hardly ever. So here's how it went down:

This morning I was doing my laundry (in black dress pants and a blue tank top) and while I was en route to the laundry room, I noticed that my apartment complex's landscaping company had already started for the day (at the lovely hour of 7 am). So there I was sans any kind of eye make-up or hair straigtening, being chatted up by tan, burly men, who would probably be spending the rest of their day gazing at nothing but shrubs and grass.

They talked to me while I was on my way to put my clothes in the washer.

They talked to me while I was on my way to take the clothes out of the washer and put them into the dryer.

They talked to me while I was on my way to take the clothes out of the dryer.

And then, I grabbed the kids, and we left to walk to day care.

Landscaping Guy: Hey, do you work in a salon?
Me: Um, no. Why?
LG: Oh, because you're dressed like you're going to work in a salon.
Me: (Laughing... because that's what I do) Oh, no. I'm a librarian.

Fast forward 10 minutes, as I'm walking home from dropping the kids off at daycare.

LG: Hey, come here a minute.
Me: Um, yes?
LG: Uh, I was wondering if you would be opposed to going out to dinner with me sometime?
Me: (Totally unsure of what to say, because as I've previously mentioned, I DON'T get asked out) Oh, I sort of have a boyfriend, but thank you for asking! That was so sweet of you. Really. That was so sweet. (Attempting to shut myself off from using the word "sweet" because I'm sure I sound stupid by this point).

Then I went inside and called Brian. Because I needed to tell someone, and he was the likeliest candidate.

As I headed to my car to leave (to meet Brian for coffee and chat at Starbucks), I stopped to ask Landscaper Guy his name. And to tell him mine. Which Brian said was not a good idea, but which I thought was only fair, since this guy had gone to the trouble of asking me out, even though he risked being rejected.

Anyway, yeah. That was a long story about something that other people probably have happen to them on a daily basis.

One of these days, I'll be more awesome. I promise.

Sniff sniff

You know how sometimes a smell can hit you with a memory so strong that you actually have to stop what you're doing because you've kind of forgotten everything else for a moment? That happened tonight.

It was a towel, and I had just taken it out of the dryer, but for some reason it had a slightly different scent than the rest of the clean towels; it smelled like L's laundry. And that's really weird, because L hasn't lived here in over a year. L's laundry always smelled a little bit metallic, I think. This will sound weird, but if you go to a clothing store and end up carrying around a bunch of hangers, sniff your hand afterwards (although try to do it when no one is looking, because you don't want people wondering about you)... that's the smell that L's laundry used to have. And I loved it. I don't know why exactly, I just did. (Yes, I KNOW I'm weird.)

Getting that little whiff of the towel sent me tailspinning into about 15 different memories all at once, and I'll admit that for about 5 seconds I couldn't move. After that, I was ok, but sheeeeesh.

Maybe it's time for new towels.

Cock-a-doodle DON'T

Ok, I'm supposed to be blogging about "home," so here goes: Want to know what woke me up this morning (hey, it works with the NaBloPoMo theme... I was HOME when I was asleep)? A rooster. At, like, 5 am. A fricking ROOSTER, for goodness sake!

Anyway, down to the real business of today's blog:

Today I was working at the adult desk and a guy came in to see if we had a fax machine he could use. We don't. I mean, we HAVE one, we just don't allow the public to use it because we're mean like that. Anyway, I kind of wish we did, because (and I am SO not kidding here) this guy looked EXACTLY like Mark Wahlberg. I mean, not dirty and scruffy like Mark Wahlberg usually looks in his movies. He was all clean-cut and nicely dressed, but still...

And yes, I will admit, I have been absolutely and completely sure that I saw movie stars in random places before. Most memorably, Richard Dreyfuss in the Dalles, Oregon; and Greg Kinnear in Port Clyde, Maine. My family STILL picks on me for the possible Richard Dreyfuss sighting, and that happened 13 years ago. So I hesitate to mention things like this.

But seriously, people. This guy was a dead-ringer for MW. And you never know... it COULD have been him. I'm just sayin'... I think he was kind of looking at me like he was waiting for me to say something. I didn't take the bait, though. No way was I gonna be like, "Hey, has anyone ever told you that you look JUST like Mark Wahlberg?" He probably gets that all the time.

Ok, I know you're all thinking, "Would she just shut up about Mark Wahlberg already?" You're right. Shutting up now. But if he comes in again... I'm not making any promises.

Duck, duck, goose.

Yesterday, a good-looking guy around my age, who I've never met before in my life, threw a stuffed duck at me. When it landed at my feet, it went, "quack, quack." Then he giggled. Like, actually giggled. For a while. (I should probably take a second to tell you that I was in a toy store at the time).

To be honest with you, I'm not sure what that whole exchange was about, but I thought it deserved mention for three reasons:

1. I don't get flirted with by strangers that often.
2. When I do, they don't generally throw stuff at me. At least, not since I was 16 or so.
3. Although cute, that guy was probably slightly insane, which just goes to show... it's REALLY hard to meet normal, non-crazy men.

And when I DO meet non-crazy men, they have the tendency to confuse the heck out of me. Maybe I should stick to the cuckoo ones...