overheardinmyhead

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.