Pray for us who have recourse to thee
Oh where, oh where has my messenger bag gone? Oh where, oh where can it be? With it's corduroy lining and it's strap so long. Oh where, oh where can it be?
My six weeks of dog sitting ended last night. I reserved a ZipCar and picked Jim up at the airport around 8:30pm. I drove us back to the City. We had planned on getting dinner but Jim put the kibosh on that when he was stuck in Denver on a layover and asked me to pick up some bread and pasta for a simple meal at home.
Having reserved the ZipCar until 9:30pm I used the remaining 30 minutes to ferry stuff I had accumulated at Jim's to my house, which is literally around the corner, less than .10 of a mile. I basically moved into his place six weeks ago bringing anything that wasn't too cumbersome to schlep. Including my sewing machine.
Packing up the ZipCar was easy. I zipped to my place and unloaded everything in the car, or so I thought (foreshadowing!), dropped the ZipCar off at its designated parking space and went back to Jim's for dinner, wine and talk. His friend Lisa came over and we yucked it up for the next few hours. I didn't get home and to bed until after midnight, which isn't good as I'm still suffering from the worst head cold I've had in years.
Having not slept in my own bed for six weeks I had forgotten how damn comfortable it is with its memory foam awesomeness. Thank goodness my cellphone alarm went off otherwise I wouldn't have gotten up at all this morning (which might not have been a bad thing though I'm PTO deficient at work.)
My flat has undergone some extensive renovations and when I left to stay at Jim's the construction wasn't quite finished. So I've yet to enjoy the refreshed look of the place. One thing I luxuriated in this morning was the shower-- with its super water pressure and its seemingly inexhaustible hot water supply. My flat's hot water heater is larger than Jim's, which he has to share with his downstairs neighbor. I didn't want my shower to end.
I traded some words with my roommate after getting out of the bathroom. I think he's happy that I'm back and I'm happy I'm back too. As much as I love Cassie and Stewie I realize that I'm just not wanting to go back into pet ownership anytime soon. When you have to walk the dogs on a cold and wet morning when you're running a fever and feel like your going to die-- well, it sucks.
After dressing I went to grab my messenger bag but I didn't see it. I excavated the boxes and bags I brought back from Jim's and those that were up on my bed until I knocked them off last night (I had to put everything on the bed so the construction crew could put in three new windows and I never got around to taking anything off in the six weeks I was out of the flat.) Shit, I thought, did I leave my bag in the ZipCar? Fuck!
I jolted out of the house and into my truck. I raced over to where the ZipCar was parked-- but it wasn't there! I texted Jim to ask if he could take a look around his flat to see if by chance I left my bag there. I've yet to hear back from him.
My messenger bag to me is the equivalent of a child's blankie. It carries all my important things like: narcotics, a digital camera, sunglasses and my checkbook. I feel absolutely naked without the bag strapped to my body Walking into work felt so weird. In the seven years I've been in SF I don't think I've ever once left the house without some sort of bag (except for when I would run.)
Fearing the worst I'll have to replace the digital camera ($400), the sunglasses ($140), and the narcotics ($10,000). But none of those things matter more than the bag itself. I really love the bag. I bought it at Urban Outfitters in Seattle in 2005. Despite having to stitch up the straps several times due to ripping, wear and tear, essentially making it look like Frankenstein's monster, the bag itself is the perfect size for city life, its got brown corduroy lining, which I think is so neat and its the most lovely shade of green on the outside. I'm tearing up right now. *sniffle* Okay, I'm not really weeping. I'm still holding out hope that the bag is either at Jim's (why isn't he texting me back?!) or the ZipCar was picked up by the ZipCar people to get washed and cleaned (it needed it) and my belongings will make it back to me unscathed.
I went on-line to see if I could find a twin of my bag but I don't see it anywhere. I looked up equivalents but they don't quite match up. The most similar in size and style is a Jack Spade bag which is a ridiculous $325. Buying that would cut into my narcotic budget. (Dear reader, you do realize I'm joking about narcotics, no?) For what it's worth (apparently $325 retail) it is a pretty bag.
On Amazon.com I found some plain paratrooper bags. I also found some embellished paratrooper bags. Now you may or may not know I've got a thing for the Virgin Mary. No it's not sexual-- wanting virgins is terribly lecherous-- as is wanting a woman-- ha ha, I kid, I kid. I think she's a pretty cool gal and I love her in statue form and in pictures. I'm not even remotely Catholic but I do wear, from time to time, a Miraculous Medal my sister gave me after years and years of coveting it.
Well there are a couple paratrooper bags with V-Mary on them. And I realized something which is going to be complete sacrilege to any Catholics that read this blog (yeah I know, as if, but now they'll find this entry via Google, believe me). Anyway, the aura that surrounds Mary in her iconography looks a lot like the enveloping folds of a multicolored labia. Look for yourself:
And in this representation Mary looks like she's going to be engulfed by a vagina dentata:
CHOMP!
I'll never be able to look at Mary the same way again, and neither will you!
Wait, is that an Angel poking out the anus? Eww. An ass angel!
Maybe Mary could help me find my messenger bag. I'm going to dial her up right now.
Ugh, she's not taking calls. Her ass angel says she'll call me back. Yeah right.
Buh-bye Slanket, Hell-o Selk'Bag1
Slankets are so 2007. What's the new fresh 2008 style? The Lippi Selk'Bag1, sucka! I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to combine my puffy down jacket with my sleeping bag. Now I won't have to-- I'll just get one of these numbers.*
I can't wait to look like a sleek version of the Michelin Man.
Or maybe a Teenage Mutant Ninja... Iguana?
*I actually really want one of these.
Castro Clone or Hound from Hell?
What's the world coming to when a dog in the Castro is given testosterone because of its muscle wasting?
Meet Wendy, who looks like a Hound from Hell
Actually she doesn't take testosterone (it's a genetic defect; read about it here) and she doesn't live in SF, but I can't get over how much she looks like a lot of the guys in my neighborhood. And if dogs really look like their owners, and vice versa, when the gents get a load of her I'm sure they'll be injecting their pups with some 'roids.
She's actually kind of cute. I've lived in the Castro too long.
Here's a comparison with her next to a "normal" size Whippet.
Further Proof of Baby Exploitation
What do you feed your infant? If you're like me you feed him (in this case me) or her the re-hydrated dried tears of exploited babies like the ones on this box of cereal. 
Sure these kids look healthy but that's only because they're Caucasian baby models and not the Asian and Latino babies that actually toil away for 18 hours a day on the grain farms. 
I must say though-- this cereal is quite tasty and really is easily digested.
Lean on Douglas when you're not 'stron'
You live in San Francisco and the end of the month is fast approaching. You've been proactive packing up boxes for days or maybe weeks because you've got to move into a new apartment after getting evicted because you and your landlord got into an argument about who really should have won Cycle 3 of Project Runway. Gloves were removed and faces were slapped. That's how it goes down in this City.
But just how are you going to get all those boxes moved? You've already used up all your FMCs (Friend Moving Credits) when your mates helped you move out of your last flat because you found out your roommate, who used to gainfully employed at a Fortune 500 company, was mixing up methamphetamines in your bathtub between hosting sex orgies in your dinning room. Not that there was much to move out of that place since most of your possessions were purloined and pawned to supplement your roommates new venture.
We've all been there.
Perhaps the thought of schlepping box after box up an unbelievably narrow staircase to your new sixth floor apartment is too much to bear. You're short on funds since you had to pay an illegal first and last months rent along with a security deposit on top of a pet deposit because this place will actually let you have a dog even though you haven't bothered to get one. You really think you can't afford movers now.
But there is hope and it's in the form of the Head Start Program. Bet you didn't know that the Head Start Program, well known for "Developing Our Children's Potential" is actually just a front for the Vocational Child Day Laborer Program. I'm not kidding-- they even advertise.
Look at those muscles, Douglas is well "stron".
The last thing you need is to fret about the cost of moving with VCDLP around. Give a child like Douglas a chance to develop his potential. Since often the kids think a nickel is worth more than a dime since it's bigger you can get an amazing deal. And don't worry about tipping with cash. Heck, often the kids are just happy to get a bite to eat from McDonald's after you've exploited hired them.
Land Mime
I couldn't help myself.
G is for Golly...
well Golliwogg that is. My mother collects golliwoggs and I have a real fondness for them despite their tarnished image. I also have a soft spot for children's educational items. When I saw this card I fell in love.
There are even more delightfully irreverent cards that are part of the The Politically Incorrect Alphabet series by genius* Mark Jones. A is for abortion, C is for cripple, Y is for Yank etc, etc.
I'd point out more of my favorites but I really don't need to draw attention to my fucked up inappropriate character. If you know me, then you probably can make an educated guess.
*by my account anyone with a sense of humor like this is a genius.
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