090714 WackenBloggin Elantras & Stalker.
People have various ways to pass the time. During the winter months I do light PT. You'll see me standing there doing calf raises, inclined pushups against the bollards, stretches. It's WAY too hot to do that in the summer! So to keep from singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" over and over as I've been doing, and off-handedly counting the Elantras that go by, I've instituted a Scavanger Hunt.
Today's Hunt: Elantras with the body style of Mine (2007). I have no way of knowing which are repeat cars mind you.
Currently:
7blue. 7charcoal, 6silver. 3black. 2tan. 1purple. 1red.
Plus one uncounted silver driven by Hubby.
Other crap:
I tend to have guys ask for my number, ring or not. Its just a female thing, it happens to all of us. Captive audience you might say. Why, today I even heard of an E-7 who was caught after flashing various female guards a dildo. Sgt.J (days) apparently did not find it amusing, and held his ID til the MPs came, searched his vehicle, and actually pronounced him DWI. We may be cute, but we REALLY don't wanna take your crap.
Some, as obvious from above, are more insolent than others. There's a lawnmower boy about 23? who bothered us a bit at Knox one day. Today, trapped on the corner, I was a captive audience. Don Juan in his own mind, he leans back in his dirty mower, probably feelin cool with his min-wage paycheck burnin a hole in his dirty jeans, and he asks "So when ya gonna gimme yur number?"
I raise my left hand, tap my very obvious ring, and say "When my HUSBAND leaves me."
"Oh? When's that?"
"Never."
"He in the 82nd?"
"321st, Medic to the Field Artillery." That's right, I say it proudly!
"He's gotta get deployed sometime, I'll keep you warm." His shit-eating grin makes me wanna gag. At this point I'm just done talking, he's not gonna get it, he's too much a Casanova in his own mind, and I just shake my head. He puts his Ears on and says he's headed over to mow along Gruber, and yells back "Have fun thinkin' bout me!"
Sure kid, I'll dream of the glorious trailer we could share, and of planting pot plants in the beer-can flower-pots.
He later drove by, his mower loaded onto the truck, leaned out the passenger window and yelled something unintelligable over the traffic, waving a rag, and blowing me a kiss. I ignored him.
Dear Lord... HOURS later, long after my sense of patience had worn away with the shade, he comes BACK, in a Pizza Hut delivery shirt and blue POV truck, to ask if I want to hop in. My response was a loud frowning "GO" and pointing down the road. I'm pretty sure if I ever see him again I'm going to tear him a new sphincter.
Poor Hubby happened to call RIGHT as I was finishing that paragraph, so I unloaded the offence, fresh on my raw nerves, in his ear. He /soothed/ and will reminds me that the lil pr*ck will be mowing Bragg and delivering pizzas long after we've graduated and moved to the ocean :P Ok, so he said something LIKE that at least; that's just my own dream-ending. It really just bothers me to BE captive like that. My job makes me unable to be rude to him, but decency demands I shut him down! OI.
..I am gonna tear him down next time. If he complains, I'll just claim harassment anyway. Jerkface.
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