Procrastination Nation

Things that Robert is thinking about that keep him from accomplishing anything.

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Monday, July 28, 2003
I'm Officially an Old Loser
Last week I was reminded how old I've become while visiting a local (Maryland) pizza chain. After a hard day of cleaning my mother's kitchen--a story for later when I have more time--we decided ordering pizza would be better than cooking. Of course, I wasn't so exhausted that I wanted to pay delivery price plus tip, so I drove to pick up the pizza. I look like hell with my t-shirt and shorts covered in years worth of dust and dog hair, a sweat-soaked baseball cap, and what I thought of as hip glasses, but which, when I'm capless, elicit comments like, "You look just like Drew Carey!"

Next door to the pizza place, located in one of the earliest of the small strip malls of my hometown, is the Mystical Piercings and Tatoos place (or some such name). As I'm walking out of the pizza place I notice an Eagle Talon parked next to my car and then a guy in his late teens and two girls, one about 15 who looks sort of plain and the other who's probably 15 but dresses like a member of the Britney Spears Fan Club.

I slowed down to let them get to their car first and I keep my head down for fear of being one of those guys who gawks at teenage girls. Of course, I'm obviously related to those guys because I had instantaneously rated how pretty they were and which girls from high school that never talked to me, except to get answers to tests, they reminded me of. Nevertheless, I didn't gawk, so that makes me a better person.

However, as they get to the car, they stop to let me get in my car first. As I'm getting in the car, the prettier of the two, as she turns to get in her car smiles and says, "Make sure you tell them to tip you well," before ducking into the car.

So now, this is how I'm seen by young pretty girls: not only am I someone who looks like he would be in his 30s delivering pizza--didn't she notice that my pizza did not have the pizza-box cozy or that my car didn't have a logo on it or that I obviously write for a very funny satire newspaper and have a following of dozens who regularly read my blog?--but I look like someone who is obviously so pitiful that I need to make more money just to keep up with the other poorly-paid pizza delivery guys. Thanks for the reality check, hon'.

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