Alright, I've gotta go off on two things that happened to me today. Maybe being unemployed and having no source of dependable income is wearing my patience thin…but sometimes, I just don't get people.

I was at Panera today working on some schoolwork (and by working on schoolwork, I actually mean talking on AIM and writing some emails) …and anyways, I'm doing my thing, minding my business, when alas, I'm out of soda. So I get up to go get a refill, and I walk by this booth full of fat people. And by full of fat people, I mean there's 2. One fat person to each side of the booth. Now, let's get something straight here. These women weren't husky. They weren't sturdy. They weren't chunky. They didn't have a little bit of paunch to them. They were houses. Each pushing 350, seriously. Both of them are eating a "You Pick Two" I notice…but not just one "You Pick Two"…they each have another "You Pick Two" stationed nearby for future grubbage. And by future grubbage, I actually mean the absolute milisecond that they realize that can fit what's left on the first plate into their pie hole. I find this more amusing than anything else, but as I peruse further at the two mountains of female at each side of the table, my stomach begins to churn, and I'll tell you why. I gaze down at their feet. I don't know why, something told me to do so. And now, looking back, I wish I had told this 'something' to shut up. Neither of them were wearing shoes. Orrrrrr socks. Now, I'm not a judgemental person, I understand that sometimes, you're wearing flip flops or whatever, you're sitting, relaxing, and you slip them off under the table. Whatever, no big deal. Almost no one needs to even know about it. This, however, was not the case. There, right beside the feet, if you could see past the cankles (I had to adjust my head so that I could)…were their shoes, socks tucked haphazardly inside. I couldn't believe it. They had actually taken the time to untie their shoes, remove them, and follow up with the sockage. Now, I'm convinced that they did this through some sort of miracle big toe manipulation, as I don't see it as possible for either of them to reach around their stomachs (which were also doubling as a shelf for their saggy, non-bra contained breasts at the time) and do it by hand like any regular sized human beings. Anyways…I threw up a little bit in my mouth and totally lost my appetite. I'm not a denouncer of feet like a lot of people, I think that there can be cute feet…but not when they've got a solid 350 lbs riding on them. They're fighting a battle that cannot be won. I almost felt bad for the feet, maybe even did for a second or two…but then I felt bad for myself, because this is the first time in quite some time that Panera had baked potato soup and alas, I no longer had any desire to eat it. I was too wrapped up in self pity to even begin to think about their piggies.

The other thing that happened (and I promise I won't go on as long about this one) was while I was getting my hair cut. (A little sidenote, the woman cutting my hair was actually rather large herself…but that's neither here nor there.) Anyways, this lady has probably cut my hair 7 or 8 times, yet for some reason, she always feels the need to say "Wow, you've got some thick hair" while running her hands through it. Yes, I know I have thick hair. I have since I was a little kid. Look at the birdsnest I had atop my head in middle school lady, this isn't news to me. But then…she goes "If you cut your hair very short, it'll stick up. That's how come you don't do it, you don't want it to stick up. I can tell." You can tell? Oh really? That's your fucking job lady, congratulations. She looked at me when she said it with this real shit-eating grin on her face like I should be impressed by the way she read right through me and the front I was putting up and realized that I didn't want my hair to stick up. Now, if she were to say to me "Wow, your hair is really thick…you became confused about where your life was going when a long relationship fell through, so you moved back home where you're unemployed and you live with your parents, and you're still unsure. You thought a change of scenery would do you good, and, although you do feel that you're back where you belong, you are still unsure of what it is that you want to do, and where it is you want to be. I can tell." Ok, bring on the shit eating grin, THAT shit is impressive. But your fat ass telling me that I have thick hair that I don't like to stick up is no more impressive then your physique. I'm thinking to myself 'Alright VidalSassoon meets Dr. Phil…do me a favor, cut my hair and shut your damn mouth. And before you even get to it, I don't care that your biracial child has thick hair too.' (She alllllllllways transitions my hair to her kid's hair, to her kids. Like clockwork, everytime. I couldn't care less if I tried, I really couldn't. And another thing, There's a difference between thick and nappy, just so you know)

Phew…alright, that felt good. Does everyone think I'm a horrible human being now?