Logan Circle Jerk

Logan Circle Jerk

"Excuse me."
"Yeah?"
"Did you used to swim or do crew for GW?"
"Uh, no."
"Because you look just like someone I used to sculpt."
"Uhhhh, no, never did that."
"You have the perfect frame. How tall are you?"
"Uh, about 6'2" "
"6'2"--perfect. So what do you do here? Do you live here? What do you do?"
"Umm. I, yeah, I live right there. I work in town."
"But what do you do to get your body like that?"
"Uhhh...I um, play soccer. And I run too."
"So how about you come up to my place real quick and I take some measurements, and then you can make some good money?"
"Umm...huh?"
"You can make some good money by just standing there. You'll make an easy $25/hr."
"Yeah, I don't think I really want to you know, do that."
"Oh, but it's so easy and you have the perfect frame. You just stand there in you know, biker shorts or something--nothing crazy or anything. Plus you get good money, man. I just need to take your measurements first. It will only take like 10 minutes. My place is right over there across the street."
"I'm sorry, I just can't do that right now. I've got to get home."
"Oh but just come up to my place and let me at least give you my card."
"You have a card on you?"
"No, it's just up in my place across the street."
"I'm sorry. I just can't do that. I just don't have time."


This was, of course, a male, and of the creepy variety. This was not the first time that this guy has tried to get me to "model for him". One other time he stopped me while he was riding by on a bike and tried the same shit. Both times I was close to interested. I like easy money, but this was just too weird, even for me. The last time he asked if I wanted to do nude modeling for $50/hr. No biker short bullshit. That time he didn't speculate on how I kept myself in game shape. He just said that I look like a guy he used to draw at GW.

fuck.

My fantasy team is getting fucking worked. Ron Mexico, you suck. And your friend Cal, who lives in the basement apartment in the building next to me who is apparently a manager at the club Love, is a fake baller. He has a nice tv, but that bar that he's so famous for? All stolen shit from Love...not impressed, dawg. The one week I REALLY needed a big week from you, you and your coach decided to hand the ball off all game. You're dead to me. In fact, I'm done bitching about you. I'm going to show you how much I don't like you.

If you need me, I'll be across the street, making $25/hr in my biker shorts.