Not a love song.
I am not a city girl. Specifically I am not a Washington DC girl, for it is the only city with which I can claim some acquaintance. It is the *cool* place to be. In this the capital of Nerd, you score points for riding your bike to work, having an iPhone, and knowing wines, ethnic food, and what is best for other people. It is busy, loud, and crowded. And it is not for me. It is impossible to be left alone here. To an introvert such as myself it is unthinkable to talk to a stranger for no reason about fuck all. And despite how commonplace this has now become for me, it never ceases to blow my mind a little each time it happens. The ballsy in me devised a strategy to cope with this unsolicited, unwarranted, unnecessary pestering. Whenever I’m accosted by crazy woman/man/guy (I think guy) with the biggest gauges in his ears I have ever seen, I’ll just hand them a flier. This flier will list references, and they will function as they do on a job interview. These will be people Freak Jane/