You’d be glad to know that the clack, clack clacking of my heels gives me a severe superiority complex.

Work is pretty much the same as yesterday. Silent with the exception of the eternal sigh of the air conditioning and the occasional rhythmic thumping radiating from passing cars driven by hip hop enthusiasts (I am most definitely one of them, so lets get that straight and out there). So to pass the time I have taken it upon myself to read the short story entitled “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” by F. Scott Fitzgerald, much to the disappointment of my mother who forcibly shoved “Eat, Pray, Love” into my hands this morning before I dashed off to the metro. Now, I have nothing against empowering books fueled with a feministic will to strive and overcome the classic suburban epidemic of bad marriages, but I am in a happy relationship and choose not to resent my beau out of the blue just because of the literature I’ve chosen to read. Believe me, I started getting oddly snappy with him after watching too many Sex and the City episodes. Not that watching a lot of Sex and the City isn’t a great thing and all, but I digress. So instead of getting Miranda-esque and jaded, I decided to embrace my inner literature and “upcoming movie with Brad Pitt” buff, and read the short story. So far so good, though there are various introduced plot lines that go unaddressed, such as the mother of the unnaturally aged Benjamin Button, but it goes with the charm of originality and eagerness in old literature. Things didn’t have to be so over-analyzed and neurotic back then, I suppose. And those are my thoughts thus far. ***update*** My metro riding experience this afternoon contained much more than awkward nudging and jostling as the boxcar raced down the tracks. This man of about 50 sat next to me, despite there being many other empty seats. After first letting my paranoia and negative, often perverse suspicions about this man consume me, I realized he probably just wanted to be closer to the exit, like me. This calmed my frenzied mind and I happily listened to my Ipod. As we neared my station, the man began to speak to me. I can't recall the exact phrasing of his ice-breaker, only that he seemed so pleasant and so, well, nice-for lack of a more personality inspired adjective. In the midst of talking about our work week (look, I can relate to yuppies now! It's really exciting! And I mean that! I even carried a coffee mug with me today...oh the naivete of a newbie), he gave me some really helpful advice that prioritized my future goals for me. What a relief. He said: "There are only three things that matter in this world: Your mattress, the person you marry, and where you work. So you better enjoy your job." I smiled and we kept on talking about college, outrageous tuition prices and the likes, and I enjoyed his company so much so, that I missed my station. My phone had died and I had no way of telling my assuredly anxious boyfriend (wink) that I'd be a tad late. The man apologized for talking to much, to which I smiled and said It would be no problem for me to jump on the next train and go back a few stops. The train then stopped, and he left with a "bye, see ya". So kid-ish. It almost made me think I was going to hang out with him soon. I let out a final "Ok bye nice to meet you!" because as we all know, I must have the last word (I swear I've been like that since before shitty, pseudo hipsters came up with Meg Ryan's character in In The Land Of Women...And yeah, I just referenced it...meaning I watched it...but whatever). Anyway, it was really nice and really freaking pleasant. And those are my thoughts thus far.