You don't know what it's like being male, middle-class and white

Yesterday was a pretty good day. It started off rocky, though. I'd set up my first interview for my first story for Vox. I was to call the guy at 11 and chat about a summer concert series we're having here. I called him, and he wasn't there! I was upset. I had plans and errands to run, but I was afraid he'd call back at an inopportune time, so I sat around watching "Sister, Sister" while stealing glances at my phone. I was like a prepubescent boy. A flamboyant one. It was sad. 

But, finally he called. He told me to come to his office, so i quickly got dressed and dashed out. It was worth the wait. We chatted outside on a bench and at the end, I asked him if I could snag a free ticket to the Ben Folds show so I could interview people. He thought about it for a while (which I hope was a facade, but I also hope he was entranced by my sex appeal) and then he finally said "yes". I knew he would.

The concert was pretty great. It drizzled, but whatever. At my last newspaper gig, the demographic was mostly college kids, so that's who I interviewed. But this paper is for the whole community, so I scoped out that oldest people I could find. I looked like a major creeper, walking around, staring at people and muttering, "not old enough", "too old", "too creepy", "weird hair", "very sexy", and the like to myself. Fortunately I got great quotes and I was the first to turn in my article.

I did go to the show solo, but I don't care. I'm not self-conscious about things like that. It was a good time. He played most of the classics that I enjoy.

Today, I started working on a new story and it is tough! I can't find any sources and it's supposed to be like on a page of its own (presumably). I hope I can coerce someone into chatting.

I also went clothes shopping today so that I could get professional(ish) clothes. I got a sports bra so that I can exercise comfortably, and when I checked myself out in the mirror, I swear that I've never seen my boobs look so small. It was a weird experience, one that I didn't like. After I tried it on, I got re-dressed and left the dressing room. But something was wrong, I felt more free than I usually do, and I'm a fairly uninhibited person. I was almost to the checkout line when I realized what it was- I'd forgotten to put my own bra back on! I was hanging free. Awkward. Fortunately no one was in my dressing room when I went back to get it. Is that still a weird version of The Walk of Shame?