overheardinmyhead

Breakfast

Since there's talk about a Federal advisory committee recommending the FDA ban one of my favorite pain relievers I figure I might as well get the most out of what I got left and maybe score a refill.

Choke on this

Dawn had just broke and I was parking in front of the grocery store. As with most mornings a man was power washing the sidewalks of the shopping center and I was taking care not to get wet. As I jumped over a puddle I heard a gruff voice yell at me. "You jump like a fuckin' fairy!"

"Duh shit," I replied. "I am a fuckin' fairy!" I looked over and saw a man sitting on a bench, in his late fifties, with a scraggly salt and pepper beard. He was obviously homeless. He was tooth-free but had a wolf's grin.

"I could turn you into a stud!" his eye lit up and he manhandled his crotch. "Come over here and let me choke on your meat."

It was too early in the morning to get cruised by an actual tramp. I can handle advances post-10AM from any sort of person. He stunned me. I had no witty comeback so I offered up a boisterous "Ewww!" which made him laugh.

I shuffled into the store to gather my groceries for the day. Maybe it's because it's Pride weekend, or maybe because I'm not a total asshole, I thought I should give my could-be hobo lover a little something to eat. I took extra time picking up things for him as well.

Back outside the man was harassing a pigeon until he saw me. "Hey sweet-cheeks! Why don't you come on over here and let me do what I do best."

"The mind reels," I said reaching into my canvas shopping bag. "I got something for you."

"And I got somethin' for you!" He opened his mouth and started flicking his tongue.

I handed him a kielbasa sausage. "This is the only meat I'm letting you choke on."

He laughed.

"Here this is for you too." I handed him an egg salad sandwich, because seriously, what can a man without teeth really gum, besides sausages.

The hobo turn soft all of a sudden and looked like he was going to cry. "I love you," he said.

And all of a sudden, I felt something. Kind of like in the cartoon when the Grinch's heart grows two sizes bigger. But I was feeling something physical too. The hobo was grabbing my crotch.

I jumped back. "That isn't going to happen!"

He chuckled. "Just want to thank you."

"Words are enough. Have a good day, mister."

I turned and walked away.

"Hey," he called out. "Jump one more time!"

I jumped across a puddle and as I landed did a pirouette.

"FAIRY!"

The Wheel to Exercise

Last night a friend and I saw a little woman, of the little person variety, in a tiny electric wheelchair, using a treadmill at the gym. The wheelchair was literally on the conveyor belt with the wheels spinning around as she barked at her trainer to punch the treadmill up to 10.

Has anyone else ever seen something like this? It was very confusing. I wanted to stand around and gawk some more hoping they were heading to the ellipticals next. But I didn't want to be rude. Everyone else at the gym didn't seem to be nonplussed.

The whole thing reminded me of this wheelchair story from several years ago if only because it features a wheelchair and crazy.

Beauty Secrets

Me: I just read that BOTOX® has helped people regrow hair. I'm going to get my scalp shot-up. It's going to look so young and surprised.

Abai: I heard hemorrhoid cream gets rid of wrinkles.

Me: It does! My asshole looks like it's ten.

The Wrestler

Last night I watched The Wrestler. I enjoyed it but found it to be extremely depressing. I can see my life ending up like Randy "The Ram" Robinson's although I don't have a glorious past to hang on to. In fact, there really isn't much I have in common with the main character.

I'd recommend the film.

Sassy vs Mouthy

What's the difference between being sassy and being mouthy? It's all in the intonation. Take for example this afternoon. I was checking out at the taquería by my office. The place is narrow and can only hold about five customers at a time. Right by the register is a beverage refrigerator. I was partially blocking the fridge because I have broad shoulders. A woman, who was behind me, reached for the fridge but since my back was to her I didn't notice what she was doing.

She said in a voice best described as get-the-fuck-outta-my-way, "I don't wanna hit you in the arm."

Now on any other day someone saying something rude would cause me to take off my clip-ons in preparation to rumble. At the very least I'd cut the bitch with my tongue. But today, maybe it's because I'm surprisingly not hormonal, I played the gay sassy card, a card that is often missing from my deck.

In my best sing-song voice I replied, "Well that's why the phrase 'pardon me' evolved in our language." Then all of a sudden my body spasmed into doing a cha-cha dance move followed by a neck waggle.

What the hell just happened? I thought to myself. I'm as stiff as a board usually. The only rhythm I'm accustomed to is the rhythm method that keeps me from getting pregnant.

Whatever did just happen made the lady behind me laugh. Thankfully. She was a DPT officer and she had about 100 pounds on me and would have won any fight. She was a dead ringer for Grizelda from Desperate Living. And if you've seen the film then you know how she took down Mr. Gravel. I certainly do not want my life to end smothered by butt-cheeks.

Nymph's got wood

"A heavy numbness seized her limbs, thin bark closed over her breast, her hair turned into leaves, her arms into branches, her feet so swift a moment ago stuck fast in slow-growing roots, her face was lost in the canopy. Only her shining beauty was left." --The Metamorphoses

Contain Yourself

This morning I psyched myself up to go to The Container Store. I mentally started preparing for the shopping adventure 24 hours earlier. Through out Friday I thought: I'm going to go to The Container Store the very first thing Saturday morning, and, 9AM, The Container Store. It'll have everything I need, and, I just love driving downtown on a Saturday, paying to park in a garage, then fighting tiny Asian women in the rain who are using umbrellas five times too big for even a 300 pound person! Which, is a total lie. I hate it. I probably wouldn't have even gone if I weren't feeling guilty about not having my bedroom put back together since it got painted three weeks ago.

Sorta tangent: what is it with tiny Asian women and golf umbrellas?

Anyway, I needed those specialty boxes that hide things which people put on shelves. Boxes in various sizes and magazine files. I love those boxes because on the outside they're perfect but on the inside there messy and filled with crap. Kind of like half the porn performers I know.

At the store I walked around and surveyed the scene. I found a bunch of stuff I needed and the majority of it was on sale, which was a plus since nothing in The Container Store comes cheap. I cleared product off a few shelves but still needed some boxes that I couldn't quite reach. I hunted down a salesman who was just a bit to chipper to help me.

"It would be my pleasure to get those boxes for you!" he beamed. "Let me just go grab a ladder." Off he skipped as I judged him. My gaydar wasn't going off so he must have been on Ecstasy. While he was gone I started to try and make room in an already overflowing cart for three more letter boxes.

He came back and saw I had three fold-up olive color boxes with black leather trim with a contrasting luggage stitch in my basket. "I'm glad you noticed those boxes. They're a brand new item. You're exactly the demographic I knew would purchase them."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? "Are you calling me a 'fag'?" I asked.

His eyes widened in shock. He started to fumble and stutter incoherently.

"I'm just kidding" I said. "I'm a total fag."

"I meant it in the nicest possible way."

"Ha! No doubt. I'm just giving you a hard time." And I was-- but really, I'm the exact demographic that would purchase those fabric boxes? Sheesh. Bet he thinks I have AIDS as well.

I managed to escape the store with spending less than $170 which as anyone who has shopped at The Container Store can tell you, is pretty good. Bills easily run upwards of $300+ for most people.

Now that I've gotten all the boxes home and have placed them on the shelves, I have no energy to fill them up. So for now they will look perfect but be empty, like the other half of the porn performers I know.

Bummed

 

This what I saw on my way to Trader Joe's. A homeless man had pooped his pants. By vigorously shaking one leg, imitating peristalsis, he evacuated a turd which came out at his ankle. Obviously this man had performed this bathroom ritual before. This kind of deft defecation doesn't happen without practice.

I tweeted the scene and went about my own business: grocery shopping. I only needed a few things like arugula, smoked oysters, nuts and chocolate. As is the norm at all SF TJ locations, the place was buzzing. That meant there would be lines at the checkout. Indeed, when I walked up to check out, every register was engaged and the queues were three and four people deep.

When I have to wait in line I succumb to the impulse buys. I'm quite impressionable and a marketer's dream. Despite the fact I'm buying a bag of Tempting Trail Mix (so good) I start staring at the chocolate bars. The Lumpy Bumpy Bar stood out. I had to have it. So I picked one up.

Upon getting back to work I unwrapped the bar. Do you know what it looked like? Almost identical to the hobo's turd.

And I'm sad to say, it tasted like it too, I mean what I imagine it would taste like. I'm so bummed. Bummed? Haha. Bummed indeed.

Swine Flu

I was in Trader Joe's. A brown skinned woman coughed. Every one around her freaked out and dispersed faster than a group of illegals over the U.S./Mexico boarder.

A different woman whispered to her shopping companion, "I wonder if she's eaten bacon lately?"

"What?" queried her friend.

"Swine flu," she said mater-of-factly. “You get it by eating pork.” Totally absent was sarcasm in her voice. No movement in her eyes to tell she was pulling her friend's leg.

Seriously, is that what this woman really thinks? I can’t stand the dissemination of misinformation so I felt compelled to set her straight.

"Pardon me,” I began “I couldn’t help but overhear what you said to your friend. You don’t contract swine flu by eating pork products.”

The lady got pissy. Perhaps because I was eavesdropping and butting in or perhaps she was just naturally a bitch. Regardless she muttered, “Then how do you get it?”

All I could think was “fuck you” but out of my mouth came, “By being raped by a pig. Swine flu comes from pig rape.”

Well, there went any credibility I had in trying to dispel misinformation. But the horror on her face when I said "raped by a pig" will delight me for the rest of my life, or, at least until the end of the week.

UPDATE 4/28/2009: I wrote about Swine Flu and Trader Joe's back in 2005. Honestly, I think this impudent upstart AKA me needs to ignore people while shopping at TJ's. But then again, I would never post to this blog otherwise. Dilemma.

Typo

I have a Type O personality. I'm always in error and mistaken.

Red for Good Luck!

My Crazian landlady appeared on the sidewalk this morning out of no where like a devilish imp. There was no way to avoid her as I am often successful in doing. As always she had several used bags filled with more bags hanging from the crooks in both her arms. She's such a caricature of herself it's sad yet hilarious.

Crazian landlady: How you like paint?

Me: Um, it's ok. I'm not crazy about the red.
Thinking: did I really just use the word crazy with the crazy landlady?

Crazian: I pick it for good luck. Red for good luck. Good luck.

Me: Yeah, but it doesn't go with the other paint colors.

Crazian: Look 'round. Lot houses with red.

Me: Yeah, but they look better.

Crazian: How's room?

Me: It's coming along I think.

Crazian: They patch? They paint?

Me: I think they are patching. I don't know if they started painting.

Crazian: They supposed to paint. Better start to paint.

Me: Yep. Well I need to go.

Crazian: Maybe you guys help me out. You guys help me out. Help me out.
She would like us to pay for the repairs and painting she's neglected to do upkeep on for 30+ years.

Me, sarcastically: Yeah, and maybe the red paint will bring you that good luck.

More Lame than the Lame Original

M y first thought after reading the joke was John S. must live in Rockridge, Montclair or Piedmont.

51. JOHN S., OAKLAND, CA
WHY COULDN'T MOZART FIND HIS TEACHER?
BECAUSE MOZART'S TEACHER WAS HAYDEN.

House Sails & Tea Levity

Many weekends I find myself starring off into cyberspace. But this past weekend I had to get out of the house. My place is being painted, finally. No longer will I be able to play the paint peel game where I look at the shape left by flaked paint and come up with a corresponding like image. This looks like Korea, well kind of. I'm actually a little sad to see the derelict facade go away. Partly because my rent will go up and partly because I have no faith in the impending paint job.

Scaffolding, tarps and nets shroud the front of the building occluding the view from my bedroom bay windows. My room is filled with an eerie blue hue as light filters through the tarp. The scaffolding is tethered to the windowsills, eyelet screws driven into wood I assumed was dry rotten, heavy gauge coated wire threaded through looping back to the scaffolding to hold it in place. When the wind whips, the tarps fill with air like sails on a ship and with each blast the scaffolding pulls against the house creating a dooming cacophony of creeks and rumbles. At times I become irrational. I'm afraid the front of the house is going to be sheared off like one would see in a cartoon. I needed to flee the house. I needed to get dressed. Because seriously, if the front of the house rips off I don't need to be sitting there naked wearing just slippers, sipping on a glass of pinot gris, wasabi peanuts in hand, looking at profiles on Match.com.

I ended up going to a used bookstore. I love used book stores. It's something my mom, sister and I share. We all have too many books even though I don't believe one can have too many books. Then again, I don't necessarily subscribe fully to the Unclutter Movement. Too many people are obsessed with minimalism without the discipline to live that lifestyle. But I digress. I ended up purchasing two books Janna Levin's A Madman Dreams of Turing Machines and Karen Armstrong's Muhammad: A Biography of the Prophet.

On Sunday Courtney and I met up to have tea at Samovar and to read books. I enjoy meeting up with a friend, having dialog over food and then spending time with each other where we are engrossed in separate novels but still sharing space and time together.

After we were seated our server came over and squatted down at our table. She looked at me and her face turned white. In a somber voice she said, "You remind me of an old friend."

"I hope that's a good thing otherwise I can leave." I joked.

"No, it's comforting" she said with a sigh forcing her lips to curl up ever so slightly. "It's been a long time. What's your name?"

"I'm Eric."

"His name was Pete."

Thankfully Corks piped up, "I'm Courtney and you are?"

"Danielle."

It was all very maudlin. I felt strange. Mostly because someone else out there looks, or rather looked, like me. Poor fellow.

We placed our tea orders and Danielle left. Courtney and I looked at each other holding back the giggles that follow awkward situations. I whispered, "I wonder if he passed himself away?" which opened the flood gates of full on laughter.

Irreverence is served best as levity with a side of green tea.

If I Were

I got up earlier than usual today. The building I live in is being prepped for painting. My windows were sealed off yesterday and no fresh air means my room smells like a ship captain's musky balls. Very gross, and I would like to point out the room smells because it's old, not because I reside in it. The windows being shut also means my room is the same temperature of an easy-bake oven, so I lost half my water weight last night. I'm totally skinny today. You should see my cupcakes. They've turn to pancakes.

I left for work early. I was walking down the alley behind my office building when I saw this Asian man walking in front of me. It was curious because he wasn't going to any of the doors on the alley. He just walked right down the middle of the pavement towards the alley's end. I wasn't more than six feet from him when he let rip one of the juiciest sounding farts I'd ever heard.

Oh god, it was offensive! I thought, If I were a rapist that would really have turned me off.

Wow.

It's not like my feelings/intuitions are a bellwether for any proper course of action, but I know the next time I feel threatened by a rapist I'm going to fart, or at least, shit my pants.