She likes cats. Probably because they're the only thing that likes her.


An undetermined number of weeks ago, I spent the night with my fairly new friends the Hippy Chicks out at a local bar which goes by the name of the Loop. This was my second night in said establishment, my second time out with these girls. On this particular night, we were all partaking in alcoholic treats and treasures. An indulgence now and then won't kill you, right? Right. So, approaching the magic hour of midnight, we all (except the driver, the poor girl) were in somewhat altered states. People were coming and going from the table, and amidst the melee of to and fro traffic, there sat down in particular one heavy-set, psychotically drunk young... er, woman. Sure, that'll do. Anyhow, she found her way into the part of me that I usually only reserve for the truly virtueless. I suppose with the added affect of alcohol, I was definitely not in the mood to put up with pathetic, irresponsibly over-drunken ramblings. That's just how it is. She was annoying, and I let her know... in my own special way. I teased and made fun of her in the irresistible way I can sometimes, and even her own friends had hearty laughs at her idiocy. However, it seems she was so inebriated that she didn't quite realize exactly what was going on. No, the poor drunken wretch kept coming back for more. I didn't quite understand why myself, but I kept dishing it out for her anyhow. Days later I was informed that indeed this female had inquired about my phone number to the head Hippy, Nervous English Class Girl. Much to my relief she did not disclose the information pertaining to my digits.
Fast forward a couple weeks to Saturday night. Once again, I join the compliment of the Hippy Chicks on a journey to the Loop, with a few stops beforehand. As the night went on, the events simply weren't that fascinating, so we got up to leave the wonderful establishment. I was stopped by a friend of mine from back home as we were leaving, and we had a short conversation as the Hippy Chicks converged around the door. We spoke of the earlier-in-the-night punk show that I and the girls had missed at a place called Milk, he told me how great it was and I expressed my dismay at missing it by such a sickly short margin of time. During the short exchange between us, there right beside me, directly to my right, appeared the girl of weeks ago, as if she were conjured out of fat air. The conversation with my punk friend ended, and he turned back to his alcohol. So I was left with this frightening spectacle who had an affinity for cats. She said nothing, but had a strange smile plastered upon her bloated face. I knew not what it meant, exactly, but it disturbed me nonetheless. It was something like a large carnivore would wear before devouring it's helpless, dinner-plate bound prey. Frightening. Anyhow, she stood there with that look, this frightening slaw of a woman, with eyes a little wider than last I saw her, a sign that she had perhaps recently consumed less alcohol than when last we met.
She did nothing. She said nothing. I stood there a full fifteen seconds (count it out, it's longer than it sounds in silence), giving her a chance to just frigging say something, but she stood there like some gelatinous statue, skin quivering and rippling ever so slightly. After that, I simply turned and left her to stand there. What else could I do, really? Everyone else was at the door, waiting solely on me, and she certainly didn't have anything to say (not that it'd be very important anyhow if she did), so I turned and left.
Once again, fast forward a little for me. To today, Monday. I was in a very good mood. Very good indeed. Before leaving for sociology class, I heard the new Eels song that I've come to adore, and it perked me up just that much more. The world? My oyster, yessir. ‘You're goddam right, it's a beautiful day', as the song goes.
On my way to class I was writing poetry in my head, it was all coming to me very naturally. All the rhymes worked, it all flowed together, a wondrous occasion indeed. I got into the classroom as the last class was filing out, climbed a few flights of stairs to my usual row of seats and found a delightful one. I put my feet up, threw my bag down and watched the people leaving the room. Out of the corner of my right eye, however, I caught a glimpse of something. Well, I suppose ‘someone' would be more appropriate. It was her. The lush, the drunk, whichever you choose to call her. Really, I don't think she's all too deserving of a nickname. Anyhow, I turned my head the other way, just in case it was her, and had a mental snicker remembering the series of events in which I have come to be somewhat acquainted with this beast.
In any event, it was her after all. It seemed she had class in the same room in the slot before I did. However, she did not simply pass me by, as I thought. In fact, I did not know what to expect when she walked down the row of seats in front of me. People such as this are often tempermental, and usually chromosome deficient... and on those, I was not let down. So she walked down the row to be right in front of me. She looked heartily distressed, on the verge of tears even. Hmn. I cocked my head to her, puzzled, and that was when she made my day truly complete.

She said to me with struggling breath, "I just wanted to make sure you saw this," and produced the middle finger of her right hand. With that she left in a rather big huff. I wanted to call after her in my best convience-store-employee tone something to the tune of ‘Thank you, have a nice day!' yet thought better of it, and actually didn't have time to, so I let this poor mental case have the moment that seemed so very important to her. She in fact stormed off, in a way that made me think she wanted to get out of there before she broke down and started crying.
Such a strange event makes me wonder a little. For instance, I wonder if she feels I was hurt by the gesture. Yes? Well, if she knew how many times a day I see that particular finger raised at me, would she still have done it? Would she still go through with the big effort and show for me? So many uncertainties on such a mindless gesture. A gesture which, in the end, forced me to leave class early because I simply couldn't contain my bouts of laughter during the sermon provided by the professor. It was the funniest thing to happen to me in a long time, so this just goes out to that particular beast: Thank you... thank you for being an idiot, you spectacular fool!

But you know, despite all the uncertainties that surround the event, one thing remains the same...

You're goddam right, it's a beautiful day.

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