Lemon Grrrrrl
New Yorker
Well after lurking in here for a couple of weeks, I had a story in my head that I finally sat down and wrote this afternoon. It's really quite dorky; nothing much, especially compared to some of the brilliant stuff that's being posted here, but it's my first try, so go easy on me, okay?
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I suppose I should introduce myself, but I’m not really sure how. You can call me Miss Invisible; that’s basically how I live my life, and how I suspect others do too, but since I’ve no clue what it’s like to be them I can only write from what I know. Does that make any sense? I hope it does. I pretty much just float around from place to place, unnoticed, and really, that’s fine by me. I don’t wish to be well known. Sometimes if I’m looking for an item in the grocery store and I can’t find it, I won’t even ask about it. I figure, if they really knew how to market and sell what I needed, they would have figured out how to get whatever it is I need in my face. Sometimes. Yeah, okay, make that most times. Then at the front when they ask “Did you find everything you needed today?” with a cheerful tone and upbeat smile (which I just can’t stand because it’s so fake and I can totally tell they’re just doing it because their manager is nearby), I just quietly nod my head and go straight for the little machine to swipe my debit card. I don’t even look at the person who’s touching all of the items I’m buying; all I can think about is just getting into the car and going home. Yeah, getting into the car. One place of refuge outside my home. I can crank up the radio and pretend I’m a great rock star and sing to my heart’s content. With the windows rolled up, of course. But in that space, I’m well known and well loved and everybody wants to be near me. And I want to be near them.
Once in awhile though, something Sparks in me. Suddenly I have a burst of confidence and I am a force to be reckoned with. I’m not a bitch, mind you; I’m just – very self-assured. Those are the days I do speak up, I do ask for the item I’m looking for in the store. Those are the days people are forced to see me – not because I’m some grotesque figure, or because I’m causing a scene in order to get what I want, but just because I have that – that Spark. I don’t really know where it comes from and I don’t really know why it doesn’t stay around. There are some places that evoke that Spark in me – I’ve recently figured out the gym is one of those places. Why? I don’t know. But people there think I’m one confident cool chick when I’m at the gym. Now, to look at me, you’d think I’m more of a “Body by McDonald’s” type than anything else. So it’s not like I have some amazing, inspiring body that people aspire to have or anything. I guess it’s because I have a background in human anatomy and I really understand how to use the machines. Even the people that work there ask me my opinion about things – health matters, mostly. A couple of people at my work also have this idea of me as a really self-assured, easy going person, and I’m perplexed by this. I don’t think I’ve done or said anything special, but their image of me as a cheerful, upbeat, confident person hasn’t changed.
But most of the time, I’m Miss Invisible. People regularly don’t realize I’m nearby, and I usually will just patiently wait if they’re in my path and I can’t find an alternate route to take. I’d rather do that than alert them to my presence. I’ve been ran into quite a few times, followed by a quick apology and a scurry off by the offender, too busy in their own life to even really notice they’ve just bumped into a human being with flesh and blood and real feelings.
I suppose I should take the time to tell you right now that I’ve never really strived to meet them. I’ve been a big fan for a long time, but I’ve always been content with just going to shows and seeing them that way. Which doesn’t mean I don’t get excited when I read or hear about other people meeting them. I guess I may be afraid they may see Miss Invisible too, and skip right over me and then of course I’d be crushed. Of course I have that fantasy that Bono would want to pick me out of the audience to dance with me, but I know it won’t happen because I’m Miss Invisible.
So when I go on vacation, Miss Invisible stays at home most of the time. The Spark comes out and I am very confident and self-assured and just basically a happy person. I made that pact with myself a long time ago about vacations – no use wasting bad energy getting all pissy about something when I could be having a good time. So, when, let’s say, someone accidentally spills a hot coffee beverage all over my new shirt that I bought special for this vacation – uh, I’m jumping ahead of myself.
My friend and I are roaming around The City, excited to see the boys play tonight. I always try to see them in a place I’ve never been before, and this City was magnificent. So many things to see and do, so many places to shop. Of course it’s more window shopping than anything else, but still fun to look at what I could afford if I weren’t blowing my life savings following around some band. So we go into this one store, one with a big rotating door and we’re both looking up and marveling at how big this store is and wondering how everyone around us isn’t completely amazed. We gallivant around for a while, giggling like little girls and acting like we’re going to buy this or that. A little while goes by and we decide to go get something to eat. We’re still giggling as we leave (wondering if any of the boys ever come to shop here – OMG do you think he’s been here? We could be looking at the same things he was looking at!!!) and as we come outside to be greeted by a shower of warm sunshine, we turn the corner and I become aware of someone on his cell phone and for a small moment I silently curse that person, because it just bugs me to no end how people can just yack away on a phone in public. It just seems so rude. But I don’t really have time to process that thought because he suddenly runs right into me. Then I realize there’s a very hot liquid substance that’s just ruined my new shirt that I bought special for this vacation and oh wow now it’s burning my skin as I pull the shirt away from me and say “Oh man that’s hot!!!” and I’m almost laughing about it, remembering my rule about not getting pissy while on vacation. I suppose by definition that must include getting hot coffee poured on my new shirt that I bought special for this vacation. That U2 shirt I bought from U2.com, the one with the Harley-esque logo on it, which now reeks of a coffee beverage (I don’t drink coffee all that much so I’m not sure exactly what flavor it was). Luckily at least I used the 25% off coupon, I guess. I look up at the offending individual, and instantly recognize his face – I mean, who wouldn’t recognize Larry Mullen, Jr., especially after he’s just spilled hot coffee all over you?
“I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so, very sorry, I guess I could have paid more attention. Are you okay?” I hear in that lovely Irish accent of his. I’m too busy trying not to drool as I listen to the voice to actually hear what he’s saying, but I’m surmising that maybe he’s apologizing.
“Oh, yeah, hey, things happen, ya know?”
Geez, girl, is that the best you can come up with? I mean, seriously. How cheesy does that sound? I immediately think of the
smiley at this point. Have I mentioned that I think in terms of Interference smileys? Well I do. All at once, I was 
! 
! 
! ! 
! 
! and !
“I can’t believe I did that! I wasn’t even talking to anyone, I just put it up to my ear sometimes – ”
Now I have to stop here, because almost all of my experience with Larry talking comes from PLEBA, specifically the caption threads, where Larry always uses “me” instead of “my,” so it was very weird to hear him say “my ear” instead of “me ear” and I have to stifle a smile. The ‘inside joke’ smile.
Anyway, he says, “I can’t believe I did that! I wasn’t even talking to anyone, I just put it up to my ear sometimes so people don’t try to come up to me and everything.”
“Well, did you at least get to enjoy any of the coffee?” What was I supposed to say? I don’t know.
“What? Oh, well, yeah, I took a few sips. Are you okay? Oh, no, and it’s one of my favorite U2 shirt designs too!” he says, noticing for the first time exactly what shirt has been spoiled. (There’s the ‘my’ again!)
“
,” I think to myself. I realized at that moment he never would have even cared what shirt I was wearing if he hadn’t spilled his coffee all over it.
“Well, can I at least buy you a new shirt?” he offers.
Larry Mullen Jr. has just offered to buy me a shirt??? What am I supposed to say to that? C’mon, think, think! You have to be clever!!
“Oh I’m sure you’re really busy. Our hotel isn’t terribly far away, I can go and change and be good as new.” What? Why would I say that when the hotel is 25 blocks away? Dangit!
“No, no, I insist.” He persists.
“But if I just put a new shirt on I’ll just smell like coffee the rest of the day, and no offense, but the smell of old coffee is just gross to me.” Why would that be offensive to him? I don’t know.
Maybe I should point out at this time that my friend is just standing there with her mouth agape, watching the whole thing. She’s, uh, admiring his physique, as I suppose I could be if I weren’t too preoccupied with trying to seem like spilling scalding hot coffee on me is something that happens all the time. Maybe I should also point out that by this time, the coffee has run down to the waist of my pants, nestled nicely there. I tried to casually move my pants around, away from me, without anyone noticing, but of course he did.
“Oh shit, it’s all over your jeans now too! Oh, sorry – pardon my French.”
There’s the use of ‘my’ again.
I sigh as I realize these jeans are the only pants I have with me, outside of my pajama pants. And all the cool kids at the concert will laugh their heads off at me if I wear my pajama pants to the show.
“Not to worry, dear, my husband was in the Army for 17 years and my brother was a truck driver. You probably couldn’t say anything that I haven’t already heard.” OMFG! I just called him ‘dear!’ I am such a dork.
“Well, here. I can’t just do a spill ‘n run.” Now that’s an awfully dorky thing for him to say. But it’s cute. Mainly because he’s the one saying it. I watch as he takes out his wallet and fumbles around for cash. I *try* not to notice what else is in the wallet, but I spied a family portrait and a picture of a darling little baby in there, and realize, wow, I know the pictures he has in his wallet now. He goes to hand me some money but my eyes are still on the wallet. I tried not to be rude but it was so hard not to be at that point. I realized what was happening by that time so I quickly readjust my focus and look at his hand. “Here,” he says, “I insist.”
“Well, since you put it that way,” I start. How lame. I never quite finish the sentence. I compose myself and then say, “Well, I suppose asking for a hug is out of the question now, huh?” as I chuckle.
He chuckles too and reaches for my hand. He takes it into both of his and looks me in the eyes and just smiles at me. I swear this moment lasted an eternity. I remember how soft his hands felt. I’m sure he would have smelled terrific too, except all I could smell was coffee at this point.
“Uh, maybe I could have a hug then?” my friend suddenly pipes up in a squeaky voice.
Larry smirks, turns to her and obliges. I am instantly jealous and happy for her at the same time. “Do you happen to have a camera on you?” he asks.
“Well, I do,” I reply, “but it’s in my back pocket and my hands are much too sticky to touch it.”
He clears his throat, motions towards my back pocket, and says, “May I then?” with quite a devilish grin on his face.
Oh gee, Larry, may you reach into my back pocket to retrieve my camera? I don’t know, let me think about it. “I suppose you may. But remember, I’m a married woman, okay?”
He chuckles, and very gingerly, without actually touching me, gets the camera from my pocket and hands it to my friend and asks if she could take a picture of us. I don’t know what kind of face to make standing next to Larry Mullen Jr. with coffee all over me. I didn’t want to get too close to him. Well, strike that. Of course I wanted to be close to him, but I didn’t want to mess up his clothes, you know? He then mutters something like, “Eh, fuck it” right before the picture is taken, and squeezes me close to him and gives me a peck on the cheek just in time for the flash to go off. I tell ya I look like I just won the lottery or something.
My friend, ever the prepared one, takes out a wipey for me to use so I can take a picture of her and Larry together. As I try to steady my hands and use the wipey, he goes over to her. He is careful to stand next to her with his ‘clean’ side now, so she doesn’t have to worry about her clothes. “So, having a good time in The City?” he asks her as I try to steady my hands again and get the camera ready.
“Uh, a great time now!” she replies.
“Okay, 1-2-3!” I say as I press the shutter.
“Well, I am really sorry about all this again. Are you going to the show tonight?”
I wanted to ask him, “Does a bear shit in the woods?” but I kept my cool. “Yeah, we’ll be there.”
“Okay, then, see you tonight!”
“Thanks, Larry!” we both manage to say as we go our separate ways. He walks off in one direction, and we catch a cab and probably pierce the poor cabbie’s eardrums with our screams as we relive what just happened.
~~~~~FIN~~~~~
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I suppose I should introduce myself, but I’m not really sure how. You can call me Miss Invisible; that’s basically how I live my life, and how I suspect others do too, but since I’ve no clue what it’s like to be them I can only write from what I know. Does that make any sense? I hope it does. I pretty much just float around from place to place, unnoticed, and really, that’s fine by me. I don’t wish to be well known. Sometimes if I’m looking for an item in the grocery store and I can’t find it, I won’t even ask about it. I figure, if they really knew how to market and sell what I needed, they would have figured out how to get whatever it is I need in my face. Sometimes. Yeah, okay, make that most times. Then at the front when they ask “Did you find everything you needed today?” with a cheerful tone and upbeat smile (which I just can’t stand because it’s so fake and I can totally tell they’re just doing it because their manager is nearby), I just quietly nod my head and go straight for the little machine to swipe my debit card. I don’t even look at the person who’s touching all of the items I’m buying; all I can think about is just getting into the car and going home. Yeah, getting into the car. One place of refuge outside my home. I can crank up the radio and pretend I’m a great rock star and sing to my heart’s content. With the windows rolled up, of course. But in that space, I’m well known and well loved and everybody wants to be near me. And I want to be near them.
Once in awhile though, something Sparks in me. Suddenly I have a burst of confidence and I am a force to be reckoned with. I’m not a bitch, mind you; I’m just – very self-assured. Those are the days I do speak up, I do ask for the item I’m looking for in the store. Those are the days people are forced to see me – not because I’m some grotesque figure, or because I’m causing a scene in order to get what I want, but just because I have that – that Spark. I don’t really know where it comes from and I don’t really know why it doesn’t stay around. There are some places that evoke that Spark in me – I’ve recently figured out the gym is one of those places. Why? I don’t know. But people there think I’m one confident cool chick when I’m at the gym. Now, to look at me, you’d think I’m more of a “Body by McDonald’s” type than anything else. So it’s not like I have some amazing, inspiring body that people aspire to have or anything. I guess it’s because I have a background in human anatomy and I really understand how to use the machines. Even the people that work there ask me my opinion about things – health matters, mostly. A couple of people at my work also have this idea of me as a really self-assured, easy going person, and I’m perplexed by this. I don’t think I’ve done or said anything special, but their image of me as a cheerful, upbeat, confident person hasn’t changed.
But most of the time, I’m Miss Invisible. People regularly don’t realize I’m nearby, and I usually will just patiently wait if they’re in my path and I can’t find an alternate route to take. I’d rather do that than alert them to my presence. I’ve been ran into quite a few times, followed by a quick apology and a scurry off by the offender, too busy in their own life to even really notice they’ve just bumped into a human being with flesh and blood and real feelings.
I suppose I should take the time to tell you right now that I’ve never really strived to meet them. I’ve been a big fan for a long time, but I’ve always been content with just going to shows and seeing them that way. Which doesn’t mean I don’t get excited when I read or hear about other people meeting them. I guess I may be afraid they may see Miss Invisible too, and skip right over me and then of course I’d be crushed. Of course I have that fantasy that Bono would want to pick me out of the audience to dance with me, but I know it won’t happen because I’m Miss Invisible.
So when I go on vacation, Miss Invisible stays at home most of the time. The Spark comes out and I am very confident and self-assured and just basically a happy person. I made that pact with myself a long time ago about vacations – no use wasting bad energy getting all pissy about something when I could be having a good time. So, when, let’s say, someone accidentally spills a hot coffee beverage all over my new shirt that I bought special for this vacation – uh, I’m jumping ahead of myself.
My friend and I are roaming around The City, excited to see the boys play tonight. I always try to see them in a place I’ve never been before, and this City was magnificent. So many things to see and do, so many places to shop. Of course it’s more window shopping than anything else, but still fun to look at what I could afford if I weren’t blowing my life savings following around some band. So we go into this one store, one with a big rotating door and we’re both looking up and marveling at how big this store is and wondering how everyone around us isn’t completely amazed. We gallivant around for a while, giggling like little girls and acting like we’re going to buy this or that. A little while goes by and we decide to go get something to eat. We’re still giggling as we leave (wondering if any of the boys ever come to shop here – OMG do you think he’s been here? We could be looking at the same things he was looking at!!!) and as we come outside to be greeted by a shower of warm sunshine, we turn the corner and I become aware of someone on his cell phone and for a small moment I silently curse that person, because it just bugs me to no end how people can just yack away on a phone in public. It just seems so rude. But I don’t really have time to process that thought because he suddenly runs right into me. Then I realize there’s a very hot liquid substance that’s just ruined my new shirt that I bought special for this vacation and oh wow now it’s burning my skin as I pull the shirt away from me and say “Oh man that’s hot!!!” and I’m almost laughing about it, remembering my rule about not getting pissy while on vacation. I suppose by definition that must include getting hot coffee poured on my new shirt that I bought special for this vacation. That U2 shirt I bought from U2.com, the one with the Harley-esque logo on it, which now reeks of a coffee beverage (I don’t drink coffee all that much so I’m not sure exactly what flavor it was). Luckily at least I used the 25% off coupon, I guess. I look up at the offending individual, and instantly recognize his face – I mean, who wouldn’t recognize Larry Mullen, Jr., especially after he’s just spilled hot coffee all over you?
“I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so, very sorry, I guess I could have paid more attention. Are you okay?” I hear in that lovely Irish accent of his. I’m too busy trying not to drool as I listen to the voice to actually hear what he’s saying, but I’m surmising that maybe he’s apologizing.
“Oh, yeah, hey, things happen, ya know?”
Geez, girl, is that the best you can come up with? I mean, seriously. How cheesy does that sound? I immediately think of the
smiley at this point. Have I mentioned that I think in terms of Interference smileys? Well I do. All at once, I was ! ! ! ! ! ! and !“I can’t believe I did that! I wasn’t even talking to anyone, I just put it up to my ear sometimes – ”
Now I have to stop here, because almost all of my experience with Larry talking comes from PLEBA, specifically the caption threads, where Larry always uses “me” instead of “my,” so it was very weird to hear him say “my ear” instead of “me ear” and I have to stifle a smile. The ‘inside joke’ smile.
Anyway, he says, “I can’t believe I did that! I wasn’t even talking to anyone, I just put it up to my ear sometimes so people don’t try to come up to me and everything.”
“Well, did you at least get to enjoy any of the coffee?” What was I supposed to say? I don’t know.
“What? Oh, well, yeah, I took a few sips. Are you okay? Oh, no, and it’s one of my favorite U2 shirt designs too!” he says, noticing for the first time exactly what shirt has been spoiled. (There’s the ‘my’ again!)
“
,” I think to myself. I realized at that moment he never would have even cared what shirt I was wearing if he hadn’t spilled his coffee all over it. “Well, can I at least buy you a new shirt?” he offers.
Larry Mullen Jr. has just offered to buy me a shirt??? What am I supposed to say to that? C’mon, think, think! You have to be clever!!
“Oh I’m sure you’re really busy. Our hotel isn’t terribly far away, I can go and change and be good as new.” What? Why would I say that when the hotel is 25 blocks away? Dangit!
“No, no, I insist.” He persists.
“But if I just put a new shirt on I’ll just smell like coffee the rest of the day, and no offense, but the smell of old coffee is just gross to me.” Why would that be offensive to him? I don’t know.
Maybe I should point out at this time that my friend is just standing there with her mouth agape, watching the whole thing. She’s, uh, admiring his physique, as I suppose I could be if I weren’t too preoccupied with trying to seem like spilling scalding hot coffee on me is something that happens all the time. Maybe I should also point out that by this time, the coffee has run down to the waist of my pants, nestled nicely there. I tried to casually move my pants around, away from me, without anyone noticing, but of course he did.
“Oh shit, it’s all over your jeans now too! Oh, sorry – pardon my French.”
There’s the use of ‘my’ again.
I sigh as I realize these jeans are the only pants I have with me, outside of my pajama pants. And all the cool kids at the concert will laugh their heads off at me if I wear my pajama pants to the show.
“Not to worry, dear, my husband was in the Army for 17 years and my brother was a truck driver. You probably couldn’t say anything that I haven’t already heard.” OMFG! I just called him ‘dear!’ I am such a dork.
“Well, here. I can’t just do a spill ‘n run.” Now that’s an awfully dorky thing for him to say. But it’s cute. Mainly because he’s the one saying it. I watch as he takes out his wallet and fumbles around for cash. I *try* not to notice what else is in the wallet, but I spied a family portrait and a picture of a darling little baby in there, and realize, wow, I know the pictures he has in his wallet now. He goes to hand me some money but my eyes are still on the wallet. I tried not to be rude but it was so hard not to be at that point. I realized what was happening by that time so I quickly readjust my focus and look at his hand. “Here,” he says, “I insist.”
“Well, since you put it that way,” I start. How lame. I never quite finish the sentence. I compose myself and then say, “Well, I suppose asking for a hug is out of the question now, huh?” as I chuckle.
He chuckles too and reaches for my hand. He takes it into both of his and looks me in the eyes and just smiles at me. I swear this moment lasted an eternity. I remember how soft his hands felt. I’m sure he would have smelled terrific too, except all I could smell was coffee at this point.
“Uh, maybe I could have a hug then?” my friend suddenly pipes up in a squeaky voice.
Larry smirks, turns to her and obliges. I am instantly jealous and happy for her at the same time. “Do you happen to have a camera on you?” he asks.
“Well, I do,” I reply, “but it’s in my back pocket and my hands are much too sticky to touch it.”
He clears his throat, motions towards my back pocket, and says, “May I then?” with quite a devilish grin on his face.
Oh gee, Larry, may you reach into my back pocket to retrieve my camera? I don’t know, let me think about it. “I suppose you may. But remember, I’m a married woman, okay?”
He chuckles, and very gingerly, without actually touching me, gets the camera from my pocket and hands it to my friend and asks if she could take a picture of us. I don’t know what kind of face to make standing next to Larry Mullen Jr. with coffee all over me. I didn’t want to get too close to him. Well, strike that. Of course I wanted to be close to him, but I didn’t want to mess up his clothes, you know? He then mutters something like, “Eh, fuck it” right before the picture is taken, and squeezes me close to him and gives me a peck on the cheek just in time for the flash to go off. I tell ya I look like I just won the lottery or something.
My friend, ever the prepared one, takes out a wipey for me to use so I can take a picture of her and Larry together. As I try to steady my hands and use the wipey, he goes over to her. He is careful to stand next to her with his ‘clean’ side now, so she doesn’t have to worry about her clothes. “So, having a good time in The City?” he asks her as I try to steady my hands again and get the camera ready.
“Uh, a great time now!” she replies.
“Okay, 1-2-3!” I say as I press the shutter.
“Well, I am really sorry about all this again. Are you going to the show tonight?”
I wanted to ask him, “Does a bear shit in the woods?” but I kept my cool. “Yeah, we’ll be there.”
“Okay, then, see you tonight!”
“Thanks, Larry!” we both manage to say as we go our separate ways. He walks off in one direction, and we catch a cab and probably pierce the poor cabbie’s eardrums with our screams as we relive what just happened.
~~~~~FIN~~~~~
