Distant Relations. And Boobs.

I often compose entries in my head while I’m walking to and from work, or while I’m on errands. They’re usually pretty good, only none of you would know that, because by the time I get home and sit down to write them, they’re gone. Poof. Out of memory.

I think I need a RAM upgrade.

(Oh, a computer joke! Ha ha ha! Dear god, I’m a dork.)

I found out a couple of weeks ago that I have a cousin who owns a business about a half-mile away from me. How did I manage to live here for well over a year and only just find this out? I have a terribly small family, so we all know each other quite well, and I thought it was quite odd to suddenly discover this new person I’ve not only never met, but never even heard of.

As it turns out, she’s not actually my cousin. You know how you have your cousins, and then they have their other cousins, and while you might know them, they’re of absolutely no relation to you? Yeah. This woman’s that. Oh, and there’s a generation gap thrown in, too. If you’re curious, she’s my father’s mother’s brother’s wife’s sister’s kid. So, that’s who she is, and she’s six blocks away, and I’ve been supposed to have gone and introduced myself to her for weeks now, only it’s been impossible because her hours coincide exactly with my work hours. Today is the first day I’m able to get myself over there, and, you know what? I don’t want to. What am I supposed to do? Walk into her store and say “Hi! We’re not related at all!”?

Blech. I mean, I’ll go. My mom’s been bugging me about it for weeks. And I’m sure it’ll turn out that she’s completely awesome and I’ll be glad that I went in, but still. It could be awkward. I hate being awkward.

I have never been able to spell the word “awkward.” Thank god for spell check.

Creepy Dinner Theatre Guy is getting creepier and creepier by the minute. The other night, he spent about twenty minutes ogling my breasts and then offered me money to let him touch them. He might have been kidding. I don’t know. But this is a fucking job, dammit, and you don’t talk like that to people you work with. In fact, no, you just don’t talk like that to anyone. The only people who are allowed to joke about paying to touch my breasts are people who are already allowed to touch them, and that includes people I’m dating, best friends, and gay boys, and that is it.

Although, you know, I do have bills to pay.

So, who wants to touch my breasts? (.Y.)