overheardinmyhead

I was a teenage truant

The SF Chronicle reports that Mayor Gavin Newsom is showing up at the houses of chronically truant students, along with the school's principal. Oh how I wish I were younger! I'd love for Gav to visit me in my home so I could seduce him. Wait, what?

I was a teenage truant. I managed to miss over two-thirds of my senior year in high school. Granted I only had four classes: American Institutions & Economics, English, Public Speaking and Photography. On the one or two days I'd go to school I didn't even have to show up until around 10:30am. I take two classes, break for lunch and then take two more classes and leave for the day. Talk about a rough schedule. It's no wonder I skipped classes most days.

So what was I do with my free time? Most of it was spent in Santa Rosa with my mom shopping and playing tennis. She'd take a tennis lesson from one of her friends and then we'd all play doubles until it was time to break for lunch and cocktails. Afterward we go shopping or just run around town before making the hour long drive home.

On the days I stayed in town I mainly hung around our house making sure when noon rolled around I hid from my father who'd come home each day for lunch. He did not like me missing school but he was easy enough to fool. All I had to do was make sure I turned the TV off in the living room a half hour before he came home, so it was sufficiently cool to the touch. I'd go to my room, close the door and lay on the floor by my bed furthest from the door, thus out of his sight. I'd hear him come home, he'd walk to my room, open the door and look in. I'd see his work boots from the view I had under the bed. He'd turn around, walk out and close the door. After an hour he'd leave. I'd get up and start doing whatever it was that I was doing before he came home. I've never asked him, but he probably knew I was home regardless of how I tried to keep myself hidden. Maybe he just tolerated the ruse.

Despite being a truant I had stellar grades and managed to have a 4.0 grade point average. Of course it wasn't like my course load was filled with advance placement and honors classes like it was the year before, so earning stellar marks was easy.

Despite showing up to classes infrequently, I didn't realize how many days I had missed. One day during the spring semester I got a note from the Attendance Office notifying me I was getting a detention for cutting a class and having an "unexcused absence." How could that be? My mom always signed notes for me. All my absences were "excused" because of it.

So off to the Attendance Office I went to talk with the main secretary.

"Hey Shelia, I got a note here that says I'm getting detention for cutting."

"Yeah, and?" She questioned.

"I always have a note, so why would I need to cut?"

"Let me grab your file."

What I didn't know was the A.O. kept every note written by a parent or legal guardian during the current school year. Shelia scanned the cabinets. She opened one up and fished through the files. Most were thin manila folders. Mine file however was an accordion file, the three inch expandable kind. When she opened the file it almost exploded like a ticker tape parade.

"Wow, that's a lot of notes!" I exclaimed.

"And this is only half of this years file," she moaned. "You should get some sort of award at the end of the year."

"You flatter me."

Of course she found a note written by my mom that excused me on the day in question. Despite seeing the number of notes I had I wasn't dissuaded from taking more days off from school. If anything, I took even more.

Special Delivery

The rate at which a person can mature is directly proportional to the embarrassment he can tolerate. -- Douglas Englebart

Being embarrassed happens rarely these days. For years, growing up, my cheeks were always flush due to a loss of honor or dignity. The littlest things could bring on a case of the reds-- but mostly it happened when someone would make comments, whether belittling or complementary, about me to a group of people. Two things I despised when younger were being scrutinized and being the center of attention when it wasn't on my terms. Thankfully as I grew up I learned how to cope with such things. (By using alcohol. Kidding!) Actually I think turning the tables on the person(s) doing the embarrassing did wonders as did the realization that no matter the embarrassment someone else had most likely already gone through it.

So why am I even writing about this? One of the guys who works in Shipping and Receiving came upstairs to my office carrying the days deliveries. In one hand he held out a package that contained t-shirts I had ordered last week. I thanked him as I took the package out of his hand. He had a funny look on his face.

Tucked under his other arm was a huge thick mail tube. He gave me a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised and in a very nuanced voice that combined surprise and a little bit of shame said, "This is for you too."

My cheeks went red followed by polite albeit uncomfortable laughter.

"Wow!" He exclaimed. "I mean, WOW!"

Because of the nature of our work environment (adult entertainment) and the fact that sex and sexual themes are on everyone's mind for at least 8 hours a day it was apparent he thought I had ordered one helluva large dildo, maybe one in the shape of a horse penis (NSFW, unless you work in an office like mine.)

Thankfully the embarrassment subsided quickly after we really started laughing.

The content of the tube is actually quite mundane in comparison to the assumption.

When did I become retarded?

For some odd reason I can no longer take a sip from a pint glass without the beverage spilling all over my face and chest. When did I become retarded? I can already hear my smart-ass friends saying, "in utero."

I turned to trigonometry to deduce the correct angels in which to tilt my glass in relation to the angle of my head. But after writing out the equation and sketching a diagram to go along with it the thought of coloring the diagram seemed more fun than the math problem. Until I figure it out I'll be the guy at the bar drinking his pint of stout using a cocktail straw while coloring a trig diagram. I'll still look retarded but at least my shirt will be dry.

Speaking of retarded, here's a funny story told by Miss Coco Peru about using the word "retard" and someone objecting to its use. Enjoy.

Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

Many people want to have killer looks so why not have accessories that kill? Previously I've written on a girl's new best friend, weapons that are chic to carry. But I haven't seen anything for the guys out there until now. Let me introduce you to The Gypsy Belt Buckle by hurtcouture.

Honestly I am completely scared of this belt buckle. I can just imagine my luck, sitting on a commuter train, feeling self-assured that I've got a means to defend myself against would be commuter train rapists when I'd feel the need to loosen my belt, due to the large burrito I ate at lunch (despite trying to watch my weight), and the dagger buckle shifting, because the train has just come to an unexpected jarring stop, and it impaling my innards. Before I can even react, I've been eviscerated and now am scooping up my intestines off the floor and carrying them in my hands like I've just walked out of a scene from a gruesome Lionsgate movie.

No thanks, hurtcouture, no thanks.

How to lose a guy in one evening

When it comes to meeting men lately, I’m a failure. In public I never check guys out because I’m too caught up in getting to my destination. Unless a guy is hanging out at my doctor’s office, the Vietnamese place where I eat lunch or at the gas station, I won’t notice him. I’m completely blind to (normal) people on the street. Of course it’s harder nowadays to meet anyone because I hardly leave the house. Still I check Craigslist Missed Connections on the off chance the following message will appear:

I’m a cute short Jewish guy with tattoos and a beard who saw you, the handsome guy with a reddish beard dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt, hanging out around your bedroom. I’d love to hang around your bedroom too. We could spin your vinyl and play video games, though that certainly isn’t an exhaustive list of what we could do. *wink, wink*

Swoon.

Being dateless hasn’t always been the case. For a time I was quite open to meeting guys. A few years ago while buying doggie biscuits I met a guy named Kevin. He was easy on the eyes and had a great personality. I figured we’d get along great. Nothing seemed to faze him. It turned out that was completely not true.

Trying to control the world

Yesterday I caught myself wielding my cell phone as a remote control trying to rewind the world around me. I blame this on all the Tivos & DVRs out there. Life really could benefit from some instant replays as long as none of them involved Adam Sandler.

The first repeat worthy moment was watching a hipster flip over his fixie on 8th St at Howard. Seems something jammed his front tire (I was across the street, so you can't pin it on me, though I have been working on my Carrie impression) and up and over his handlebars he went. I pulled out my phone and tried to rewind the action to lengthen my laugh. Mmm, schadenfreude.

Meet Percy

If you remember a few months ago my flat was being overrun with mice. My roommate postulated the rodents were coming from the Crazian* landlady's flat below us. Made sense to me since she's a pack rat.

He informed me a week ago that a mouse was stuck in the mini blinds of one of her bay windows. The mouse has been dead for awhile but strangely isn't decomposing. This picture was taken a full seven days after he first told me about the mouse.

I haven't seen the Crazian landlady in awhile. Yesterday a citation was posted on her door from the SF Department of Building Inspection. Among the various violations listed, one had to do with not accepting a certified letter. That leads me to suspect she isn't answering her door. Conclusion: she's perished in her flat and has been mummified as a result.

I've decided that this mouse is English and his name is Percy, short for Perciforth. To deal with his dead body being on display I have given him a top hat which gives him an air of distinction. I'd give him a coat with tails but he's already got one.

Click the pic to enlarge.

*Crazian, noun & adjective, a portmanteau of crazy and Asian, not to be confused with Craisins® Sweetened Dried Cranberries by Ocean Spray.

It will break and warm your heart

I SumbledUpon a website today that is both heartbreaking & heartwarming. Check out: Days With My Father

For those out there that know me as just being snarky, I do have a softer side (though it's cushioned with the pelts of dead puppies.)

Hobo Schoolin'

This morning a hobo decided to school me on how to cross an intersection by my office. It’s the same intersection I have crossed at least twice a day, every weekday, for the past three years and where I’ve been fortunate enough to make some money and be called a faggot.

The traffic lights are notoriously long for 10th Street traffic heading onto the James Lick Skyway. Bryant traffic lights are much too fast. Once I timed it, 10th St gets 47 seconds while Bryant gets only 13.  This means, as a pedestrian, if you aren’t already at the curb ready to cross 10th in 20 seconds you aren’t going to make it across the street by the time the light changes.

So there I was this morning, standing ready for the light to change, a hobo at my side. The stench of sewer hung in the air, which incidentally was not due to the hobo, but construction that’s been going on at Costco’s corner for the past week. Seriously, if seeing piles of shit all over SOMA wasn’t bad enough, having to smell open sewer scents while walking is over the top guh-roaz. Where the hell do I live, India? I wanted off that corner fast, so when the light changed to green for me to cross, well I stepped off the curb and crossed. Duh. Hobo man stayed behind, waiting for a van approaching the intersection to come to a complete stop.

Hobo double timed it and caught up to me as I was touching down on the opposite curb. He exclaimed, “You have to wait for all those cars to come to a complete stop before crossing an intersection!”

“Guy,” I said (BTW—I have no idea when I became the type of person who addresses a stranger as “Guy” but it has happened) “I’ve played enough Frogger in my life to know how to cross a street without getting hit.”

“It’s not worth your life! It’s not worth your life! There are no guarantees you’ll make it through an intersection alive! Wait for the traffic to stop completely!”

I couldn’t really argue with that so I conceded with a sigh. Hobo man picked up his pace. He got to the next intersection before me and wouldn’t you know it, he stepped off the curb without having the right away and was almost hit by an SUV.

Of course I let out a laugh. Thanks for the lesson in hypocrisy, Hobo man.

Charlie and Humphrey

If you grew up in or around the SF Bay Area during the 70s/80s you'll probably remember Pat McCormick's "Charlie and Humphrey" puppets on KTVU. These videos bring back so many memories but I never realized how annoying the two of them were together. Jesus, puppets, take a chill pill.

I'll Burn You

This morning I read an article about kitschy paintings of teary boys being the cause of home fires. The article was posted on the Foretean Times website, which along with a monthly magazine of the same name, reports on anomalous phenomena such as: apparitions, conspiracy theories, cryptozoology, cults, fringe sciences, hoaxes, UFOs, urban legends, etc. Basically a painting that survived a fire was deemed cursed when written about by one of England's best known tabloids The Sun. In turn people  panicked about the prints they had which featured a teary boy. It's an interesting read if you've got five minutes.

While I don't have any prints of a boy crying, I do have this photo of myself which might spark a fire in your computer if you're not careful.

38 Grams or More

At times I'm an overzealous eater (read: pig). Take for example this past week when I got a to-go burrito mojado from a neighborhood taqueria. Burritos mojado are one of my favorite meals because it's a burrito filled with all the regular goodies but topped with copious amounts of enchilada sauce. This gets my favorite item, the tortilla, nice and mushy.

Halfway through the burrito mojado I was puzzled when the mushy tortilla all of a sudden was stale and rough. I kept chewing but the tortilla just wouldn't soften so I spit it out and forked another bit of the burrito into my mouth. One chew revelaed more of the stale toritlla. I was bummed. I'd never had a stale tortilla with a burrito mojado before.

I looked down at the container my burrito was placed in. Sauce was everywhere, the whole thing was a mess, but I saw some gleaming white plastic from the bag poking out of the bottom of the container. Turns out the tortilla wasn't stale, I was just eating the to go box. Guess it's another way to get more fiber in my diet.

One for the boys (and some girls)

While chatting online some guy started hitting on me.

Man: I wish you were closer so I could play with you
Me: Play like what, GI Joes?
Man: Yup, except the more perverted kind
Me: Oh, so more like Cobra Command then.

Seriously, how gay looking was Destro? I swear I've seen him walking in the Castro. He was sort of the Liberace of villains until Sepentor came on the scene.

Is It A Sign Of Luck?

Something utterly shocking, horrible and completely unbelievable happened to me yesterday while I was out walking. The whole ordeal happened so fast, 45 seconds tops. I felt something hit my shoulder. I thought a seagull had shat on me. There was that much heavy feeling gunk. But unlike bird crap, this gunk wasn't opaque and it smelt like bleach. Bewildered I looked up at the row of lofts I was passing by. In the window of a lower story was an older man, completely naked, ejaculating out the window.

I know, I know. Remember I said it was completely unbelievable. I was out walking? But this is true. And that jackass came on me!

I was livid. I remembered that spiting on a person is considered assault so naturally I figured this guy cumming on me meant rape. I yelled every expletive I know at the guy who seemed to just get aroused by fevered rant. What happened to the refractory period?  He probably considered what I was saying "dirty-talk" because he wasn't going limp and he was still shooting out buckets. Damn Viagra! I fumbled for my phone because I was going to call the cops-- but I want to get his joy juice off of me so I ran back to work (ok, walked really fast) which was right around the corner.

Before I went off the deep-end I sent off two emails to trusted gay friends to see what they thought I should do. Geof advised me I should call the police unless I didn't want to explain the situation to a cop, who "will no doubt look at you in horror, like I am at my screen right now." Jim, who also believes in my life motto of "find the comedic lining to every tragedy cloud" said I should count my blessing because I wasn't walking a few inches to the right while yawning.

Well I didn't call the police, which would have fleshed this anecdote out into a story. Instead I just laughed it off as another unbelievable account of what can happen in SF on any given day. Had a bird crapped on me, it might have been seen as a sign of luck, like many cultures believe it to be. A stranger cumming on me, well maybe that's lucky too. The last time someone came on me was in August of 2006. Maybe this is officially the end of the dry spell (though I'm sure that's actually considered a drought).

In other news: Have you heard that David Beckahm is getting his own brand of bottle water? I don't get why they need to re-brand Massengill, though putting his picture on the box does make sense.

Things said that made me laugh

Friend: My new boyfriend looks so much like Heath Ledger it's unreal.
Me: Eww. Cremated? [laughs]

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Courtney: (via text) My shuttle driver just farted. Then I heard him spray an aerosol can under his seat. Now it smells like farts and orange flowers.

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Nurse: How do you feel?
Me: Weirded out
Nurse: Why?
Me: I have someone else's blood in me
Nurse: So?
Me: Ever heard of cellular memory?
Nurse: Can't say that I have.
Me: Well regardless, it's the only reason I can come up with why I want some grape Flavor Aid right now.
Nurse: [laughs]

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After learning a close friend is suddenly moving out of state
Me: Now who is going to sleep with the guys I like?
Courtney: I'll sleep with the guys you like.  If that helps with the transition...

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My mom: I'm searching for a child mannequin that looks like its got cancer. I want to send it to you at work.
Me: See if you can find one that is sitting because I'd love to put it in a child-sized wheelchair and push it around.

Later when talking to Courtney

Me: My mom says she's trying to find me a mannequin-boy that looks like it has cancer so she can have it sent to my job. How awesome is that?
Courtney: Super awesome.  PLUS it explains you a bit more when I hear your mom does stuff like that.

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Black guy running past me at 6:45AM while I was walking to work: Gotta keep in shape for my next crime!