That walk to work
So I'm at work right now. Yeah yeah yeah, I know... It's Saturday, but when shits gotsta be done, it's gotsta be done. I was working on it last night, but then I was lured away to drink. Actually, there was a chemistry mixer going on in the next building, so I went over and drank while my culture tubes were incubating, came back to vortex them after an hour, then went back to the mixer for another hour. By the time I got back to the lab again, I was in no state to work. Upon coming to this conclusion, I went to a house party. And then I went to another. And then I went downtown. Ok, yeah -- there's a story to be told in there, but I don't feel like telling it. This is a short post, not a bejeezin long one!
And so now I'm at work, sober as a monk... though with considerably less anal bleeding. Actually, I guess I've got a semi-entertaining story about the walk to work today. You know when you've get an itch in the upper extremes of the inner thigh? Like not quite in a "male itch" location, but just on the verge of it? OK well, I had one of those while strolling to work, and -- not thinking much of it -- I went to give the region a quick scratch. Nothing extraordinary there; we all do it! But anyway, just as I was in mid-reach, I glanced to my right up ahead and caught this dude in a parked car staring straight at me. I mean -- It was probably just one of those situations where he'd looked in my direction just a split second before I looked up (not like he was gawking), but it still threw me out of my scratching groove. Not sure what happened, but I think I just second-thoughted the scratch cause someone was looking right at me.
Here's my creative guess as to what happened: Since it was my right hand, maybe my logical left-brain hemisphere (in charge of that side) decided that he was too good for scratching. After all, he was for math and shit, and therefore much to pompous to be caught doing something like scratching the sub-genital region of my leg. So in protest, good ol' left-brain told the good ol' right-hand to pull a Ghandi and go for the passive resistence approach. In other word: It told my hand to just stop. As in, right on my mommy-daddy spot. In effect, I ended up just grabbing myself.
So all this dude saw was this guy walking towards him, who then all the sudden looked up -- making direct eye contact, I might add -- and simultaneously grabbed himself. Good thing I don't live in the Bronx, cause I'm pretty sure that this would have been a show of disrespect resulting in a hail of gunfire.