Lunch Break Diary: An Attractive Woman Sits Near Me

10 Sep

There is an attractive woman sitting across from me.  A very attractive woman.  A “9,” in the parlance of those people who use numbers for these things.  An “L.A. 9.”

She looks familiar.  I feel like she was the casting assistant on some movie I worked on.  It is completely plausible that such a person would be sitting across from me on that bench. But if it is her, she doesn’t recognize me, or doesn’t want to acknowledge me.  Maybe it’s not even her though. All good looking people essentially look alike. All perfect looking people.

I would never in a billion years go over and talk to this person.  I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to say, aside from some obviously fabricated ruse that was just basically– I think you are good looking, and I would like to have sex with you.  There is no other reason on the planet anyone would ever speak to anyone out of nowhere, except maybe abject loneliness.  And yet here I am.  I am thinking about her.  I am writing in my stupid journal about her; she is looking at her phone and eating a ham sandwich.  On wheat bread, with lettuce peeking out from the crusts.  Homemade sandwich.  Someone made her this sandwich, or she conscientiously packed it for herself.  Good for her.  More people should take the time and care to prepare their own meals. It’s good for your health, it’s exactly to your tastes, and it saves money.

But I can’t believe people aren’t asking this girl out to lunch every day, wherever she works.  Every man and lesbian on the planet is just like me; they can’t come up with some ruse to pretend for six  to eight hours that they don’t want to have sex with her so they can have sex with her.

Never in a million years would she ever remember what type of sandwich I was eating.  She also has a can of regular coke.  Not diet coke, regular. Two hundred calories.  God bless her, this woman.  The last person in Hollywood who can enjoy a fucking regular coca cola.  I certainly couldn’t.

She stands up to throw things in the trash.  Her coke can, her sandwich wrapper.  This is a moment when I can actually look at her without quickly looking down, pretending not to look at her.  Fully take her in without getting caught.  I wish I were like the Terminator, who can scan down a visual image and call it back up perfectly.  I wish I would be able to masturbate to this girl later.  But you can’t; no guy can– you try to beat off to a girl you’ve only seen briefly and her face quickly morphs into someone of the same approximate face shape and hair color, but invariably less attractive.

She has moved benches now.  A guy talking on his phone has vacated the bench that’s in the shade.  Easier to leer at her now, at an angle. With her back half turned toward me. No doubt in disgust at my clownish appearance and obvious interest in her, like a dog’s interest in  a fresh piece of shit in the cat’s litter box.  A shameful and debasing interest.  Now the guy is here to feed the koi. I should say something to the guy feeding the koi. So she can hear my rich soothing baritone.  So she can hear how quick I am off the cuff.  I wish I had taken the time to build rapport with the koi pond caretaker so I could bullshit with him and display my sharp wit for her; she would notice me.  Then the next time I see her here I could talk to her.  I did not do this though.  Because the person who feeds the koi is not a hot chick, so who gives a fuck.  We are all the person who feeds the koi.

Maybe she’s over there on her iphone composing an essay about me.  Who is this guy at his little laptop; why couldn’t I ever talk to a guy like this.  He looks so intense, like he’s really concentrating on whatever masterpiece he’s hunt and pecking into Microsoft Notepad.  I wish I could go talk to him and lead him by the hand into that bush and have him fill me with babies.  I hope he has a small penis and is into classical guitar and writes a blog about drug induced impotence and prematurely ejaculates, is what she is thinking.  He is probably the man of my dreams but I am too chickenshit to talk to him so I’m just gonna sit here and pretend to play with my phone like a jerkoff.  And my stupid fucking ham sandwich.  Why Lord, she asks, can’t I be the type of person who talks to people.

10 Responses to “Lunch Break Diary: An Attractive Woman Sits Near Me”

  1. Yoda September 11, 2012 at 8:17 am #

    “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to say, aside from some obviously fabricated ruse that was just basically– I think you are good looking, and I would like to have sex with you.”

    why don’t you tell her that then? (unless youre seeing her at work)

    • Hailey September 11, 2012 at 3:12 pm #

      Of course he’s seeing her at work. Or at least near work; he’s on his lunch break. And he thinks she’s in the industry, so he can’t say it. She’s probably a colleague. (In my head that last sentence is in the same voice and cadence of “Could be a crackhead!”:

      • Yoda September 13, 2012 at 4:34 am #

        oh who cares hailey, he should have gone for it anyway. sex is by far the most important thing in life.

        also the fact he cant say it says a lot about the society in which we live

  2. vsoze September 11, 2012 at 1:03 pm #

    You like classical guitar? My man…

    • Anonymous September 11, 2012 at 3:54 pm #

      I don’t think playing classical guitar lures in the women. I don’t know about Mr. Tacos, but it hasn’t helped me. A woman who is already into you will like you more if you play classical guitar, maybe, but then you take very good care of your nails if you play classical guitar and that just makes you look feminine. Not attractive. Overall, a net zero.

      Besides, to have a woman know you play classical guitar you have to have it come up naturally in conversation or have her see you play guitar. What are you gonna do? Practice in the park? That’s trying too hard. You can’t force it. Otherwise you’ll be like someone advertising the fact that he went to an Ivy League school. You’re asking for approval by boasting playing an instrument, attending an Ivy or bench-pressing 200 pounds. You’re (non-verbally) saying, “The only attractive thing about me is that I play the classical guitar.”

      • aneroidocean February 20, 2013 at 4:21 pm #

        You’re thinking like a man, trying to describe how women think. That’s idiotic.

        Women care a lot more about if you’re able to keep them on their toes, make them feel the full range of their emotion, be more interesting than them, etc…

        They could give a fuck if your nails are in perfect condition and that you might consider that “feminine.” They care that you’re playing a song they like or find interesting, not what your nails look like.


        Trying too hard is to NOT play classical guitar because some woman MIGHT consider your maintained nails as feminine. You’re a sap, anon, you’re a sap.

  3. Anonymous September 12, 2012 at 11:37 am #

    janice dickinson and andy warhol do blow on the disco floor in studio 54, but they wish they were smoking freebase.

  4. fake girlfriend September 12, 2012 at 6:56 pm #

    An LA 9 is so far away from a Berlin 6.

    • Anonymous September 13, 2012 at 3:44 pm #


  5. Anonymous September 13, 2012 at 7:43 pm #

    I think I saw her too, did she look like this?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: