Goodwill Has the World's Creepiest Clientele

Today was Goodwill's 50% Off Saturday, which happens every other week. Mom and I go every sale day, and we are so hardcore that we are part of the crowd that you see lined up outside the store before it opens. No shame.
What does worry me though is that we seem to be the most normal people there. Here's who we had at Goodwill today.

We saw Casanova again. No, not really, not even close. This guy is short, Mexican, and kind of weird. We first met this guy two weeks ago while standing in line to get in. Mom made a passing comment and he started a conversation. Well, I say conversation, but it was more like he kept talking to Mom while she was trying to brush him off and talk to me. During that day he managed to find each of us about two more times and try to start up a conversation. Both Mom and I handled the situation. We thought we had successfully avoided him, because how many times do you run into the same person at the same Goodwill?
I saw him first today. I happened to look up and there he was, and he starts talking to me.
He goes, "Hey, how are you?"
"Yeah, fine," I mumbled, hoping he would go away (I'm not completely antisocial, but seriously, dude, leave me alone).
"Oh yeah? How's your mom? Is she here today?" He continues, raising his eyebrows.
Being thoroughly skeezed out, I say, "Um, fine, I guess. She's around here... somewhere," waving my hand around my head indeterminately, "but anyway, I gotta go. Bye."
I thought I had lost him, right? Like maybe he could take a hint and leave me alone? Bro, we happened to swap two sentences weeks ago, it's not like we became bosom buddies. But no. While I was helping Mom weed through what she had found, I had taken off my shirt and was now lounging in a large armchair with just my cami on (look, I had been trying other shirts on over it so I didn't need to be in the dressing rooms as long. I'm not a skank) and suddenly she chirps, "I have to go to the bathroom. Stay here," and she disappears. Who should skulk around the corner at that moment? Casanova. I looked in the opposite direction, literally hurting my neck as I tried to make it clear that I didn't want to talk. So close, but no banana.
"Tired?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah. You know, long day shopping, and all," I said vaguely, even though it was only about 11 AM.
"I know what you mean. I found lots of clothes too," he said.
"Mm, that's awesome," I said. I mean, do you want a cookie?
He smiled, and left. Thank Jesus, I was safe.
I related my tale of woe to Mom later in the car, and she goes, "Oh my God! He found you too? I thought it was just me!"
"Oh, no such luck, Mom. And he asked about you," I said, and smiled suggestively at her.
She looks at me with mild revulsion, and proceeds, "Yeah, I saw him and he goes 'Hola' and I was like, look here, pal, I am in the men's section. Not because I need a man. So I say 'Hi!' really loudly. He sort of took a step back and said, 'Oh, yes, hello. How are you? I don't know why I thought you spoke Spanish,' and I said, 'Yeah, I don't either.' It was so weird."
He made another comment to her, and then she made excuses and left, rather hurriedly.
So that's Casanova, the creepy stalker Mexican.

While I was lounging in the aforementioned chair I happened to look up and see this tall, overweight man testing a pair of binoculars. In my direction.
I thought, "No, Isabela, he's not looking at you. Stop being so paranoid and narcissistic all the time. You're not that good-looking. Nobody likes you. He's probably looking at the wall on the other side of the store. Which makes sense, because I'm too close for the binoculars to really work. Right?"
He lowers the binoculars, and makes eye contact with me. ARRGH! No, he was looking at me... with fucking binoculars. Who even does that? And the best part? As he put them down, his wife appeared and tried to pull him down the next aisle.
I slithered lower in my armchair and cried internally.

Then while Mom and I were standing in line, this guy carrying a huge-ass pile of blue shirts bustles passed us. Now, while this may not sound interesting, it was. I couldn't believe how huge this pile was. 20 shirts, at least? And all light blue. He was coughing on them, with that gross, rattly, gurgle-y cough sick people have, and was trying to push through the throng of people in line without so much as an "excuse me." Because politeness is for pussies, I guess. Mom looks at him, then leans in and says to me, "God, what an absolute jerk. No, really buddy, we love it when you hack all over the merchandise. Oh, and he was a complete douche to the lady behind the specialty counter. An absolute douche canoe. I don't even..."
About a minute later Mom taps me and punts down the men's short sleeves aisle. It's Douche-Canoe, open mouthed hawking all over the clothes, even though he had a free hand to cover his mouth. But he was too busy pawing through the shirts, amassing another pile in his arms, this one of orange and white shirts. Weirdo.

Anyway, those were the most interesting people today, barring Tourette's Man, since I do not need to be told I am a horrible person for making fun of people with legit problems. Which I don't, but there are some seriously uptight people out there.

And if anybody cares, I got some awesome stuff at Goodwill.

Is it wrong that I want this to happen?

This is probably my favorite Sherlock drawing from Sash-Kash (their kiss is my icon on Tumblr), but she never ceases to amaze with each new post.

An Average Blogger's Foray Into Working Out

I'm sorry for not updating in a while, but school has recently started. Today marks my second full Tuesday back in prison my fine educational institution. I have been given the schedule from hell, which is a shame, since I signed up for everything I'm taking. Here's a breakdown of what I have, who I hate, and why. Today we'll focus on first period.
1st period is Advanced P.E. Now keep in mind that I am your average teenage blogger, the one that spends too much time slouching here in the glow of my sweet, comforting computer screen, and not nearly enough time doing anything remotely active. And now I have a grueling workout first thing every morning.
In order to take Adv. P.E. you must be participating in a sport, so I said I was going to be a thrower, meaning discus and shot put, for our track and field team. Big mistake.
My workouts include legs destroyers exercises (mandatory for all track people, whether runners, throwers, or jumpers) and heavy duty arm manglers . I have zero upper body strength, and my legs have the muscle consistency of jelly. What possessed me to sign up for this torture? I need a PE credit to graduate and there is no fucking way that I, as a self-important, pompous junior is going to slum with the freshmen in P.E. 1-2.
Today I had a routine that was nearly all legs, culminating in me falling over on the last set of weighted lunges because my hamstrings decided they were done with my nonsense. It was embarrassing, and I am reminded why getting a gym membership would be a nightmare.
However, the worst and the best part of my situation here is that my class has kids from softball (only 3, who are all my friends), track, tennis, basketball, wrestling, and baseball. Since this is PE, an elective that involves working out (and is not trendy, like dance) it's filled with guys. Hot guys. Hot guys that I get to watch work out. Hot guys that I have to work out in front of. Hot guys that I have to work out in front of who already know what they are doing so they look all sexy and shit sweating in the gym and I look like a complete loon in my ill-fitting uniform, sweating like a whore in church as I stumble around the gym. It's disgusting. I destroy the sex levels in that weight room.
Hopefully with all this getting swoll and stuff, I will be able to wear my jeans nicely, my ass won't look like a water balloon (and that's a sexy water balloon to you), and my gut will go away. Trolololol, this year is going to be awesome.
And I'll let you know if I get to hook up with one of the hotties in my gym class (not bloody likely, though. My sweat and body odor do not induce arousal. Perhaps revulsion...).