overheardinmyhead

It's easy to trace the tracks of my tears

There's almost always that scene in spy shows where a bug is placed on an operative so his or her whereabouts can be tracked. It used to be the good guys would have to follow a succession of beeps throughout the city.  It was the beep version of the Hot/Cold scavenger hunt we all played as kids: the more rapid the beeps became, the closer they were to the target.

But this was before GPS enabled maps. Nowadays in these kinds of shows a map comes up on a screen and a little red blip of light pulsates around the target. We get to see on the map where the target is moving without the expense of a location shoot.

This morning I was tracking a package via the UPS website. I thought, Wouldn't it be cool if I got to see in real time where my package was? It'd be downright thrilling! A little red blip would start pulsating somewhere on a map and I'd start squealing with delight. "It's on the move! I can't wait for it to get here!"

Every time the red blip would stop I'd become a mess. "What's taking so long?! Why hasn't the blip moved in five minutes?! Don't they know I'm completely incapable of processing anxiety the anticipation of waiting for this package requires?! MY GOD I'M GOING TO EXPLODE! HURRY UP AND DELIVER MY PACKAGE!"

By the time package actually showed up at the door, I'd be curled up on the floor in a self-soothing state of rocking back and forth muttering to myself covered in cuts with a bloody knife by my side. I would have no energy to get up and even sign for the package. The driver would leave one of those fancy Post-It Notes saying he would try to deliver the package the next day, between the hours of such and such and such and such, knowing full well he wasn't going to adhere to a real time schedule. I would have to log in again, if I had the energy, and start the whole tracking process over again.

Oh my god, this is the worst idea I've ever had. Well maybe not the worse but I can write with some certainty I never want real time tracking of packages now. I really do have a hard time processing anxiety the anticipation of waiting requires. Every time I order delivery my life is cut short by a few months because I worry a lot about being able to hear the door bell ring.

God, I need some Xanax, stat.

I don't understand

Today I walked over to Harvest Urban Market to grab some soup, in a container obviously, because cupped hands + hot soup = hilarious story with 2nd-degree burns and I don't need the burns. Normally when I walk to Urban, I walk down 8th Street's west sidewalk. Normally it's shadier, as in blocking the sun, but today it was shadier, as in debauched, because there were a lot of drug addicts and hobos waiting in line to get food from the Lutheran Brothers' Services. I crossed to the east sidewalk after getting to Folsom because I didn't want to deal with them.

Up ahead of me was a guy carrying a duffel bag by his hand, but up over his shoulder and on his back. This is how I carried my duffel bag in 6th grade and what caused me to have some serious wrist issues, though those issues could have been from chronic masturbation. Who knows, except for Jesus, for he was in my fantasies. Anyway, this guy also had some serious high water jeans going on. The cuff of the jean stopped a good two inches above his ankles which were Fritos Chili Cheese colored.

The guy turns around when I'm about six feet behind him and stops. He looks me up and down. I keep walking. He is muttering to himself. After I pass he yells at me, "Are you with the KGB?! You're a fool for following me! Especially when the FBI has me under surveillance!" He started laughing maniacally. "They'll get you! You fuckin' commie!"

I did not engage him. I did not turn around. He started singing "We Will Rock You." I got to the corner and of course the light turned red. I was going to have to stand at the intersection with this crazy guy. But as soon as he got to the corner, he made a quick right and walked down Howard Street.

*sigh of relief*

I'm standing there at the intersection and in the left hand lane of 8th Street, closest to me but across the intersection, is this 20-something tranny wearing moon boot platforms running in that lane.  She starts running through traffic and I'm just staring at her thinking "she's going to get killed."

She looks at me and yelled, "What are you looking at, commie?!"

I was like, what the fuck? I'm wearing what I always wear, except I have on my Kangol navy blue cap instead of a baseball cap. Maybe they think it's a beret.

So my question is: where do babies come from?

You don't say?

No Photoshop required.

Io, Saturnalia!

A reversal in social roles occurred while I was walking down the street. A hobo gave me a dollar. It really is Saturnalia. 

The front reads: I'M THE PREZ

The back reads: or i was in prehistoric times (i think!)

I admit I dig that look on Old Georgie Boy there. Guys in glasses get the asses of the masses as the totally made up saying goes.

Finally, A Holiday Spark

Christmas is a phantom limb. It was amputated long ago. During December I feel its tormenting tingle. Pain comes with every holiday bell that's rung. Every salutatory "Happy Holidays" is a reminder Christmas was removed from me. When I try to touch it nothing is there. It's empty space haunted by troubled nerves and frigid air.

But today I saw something that has served as a kind of therapy. Christmas feels like it has been transplanted. It's not like how the original Christmas felt. No, this feeling is slipshod and twisted like a hand sewn on backwards in a back alley clinic. I want to share it with you, this Christmas miracle: Santasm (NSFW, but so worth clicking when at home.)

Give Me Some Credit, It's a Brilliant Card

I have a problem. I don't use my credit cards. You might not think that's such a bad thing and really, it's not. But occasionally I do need to use one and I can never remember where I keep them. Are they in my sock drawer or the top drawer of my desk? Am I keeping them in the safe or are they frozen in a block of ice in the freezer? Honestly, I have no idea. The only credit cards I can find are expired ones. I know I'm supposed to destroy them when they are no longer of use but I keep wanting to use them in art projects I'll never create.

This weekend I needed purchase airfare to visit the Great White North. I could have used my check card because Alaska Airlines was running a ridiculously cheap promotion. But I wanted to use one of my rewards cards, specifically my Capital One No Hassle Something or Other Card. The one endorsed by stinky ill tempered barbarians which always reminds me of the men in my family. But I couldn't find it.

I logged onto the Capital One website to see if I could glean my credit card info there. I couldn't. I decided I would order a replacement card and saw that I could upload my own image to use as art work. I completely forgot for the time being that I was trying to buy plane tickets. I opened up my photo folder and started going through the 10,000+ images I've taken over the past few years, most of which are complete crap. But then I saw one of my favorites: The Dead Pigeon.

I shot it outside the showroom of the SF Mercedes dealership while an old starched white couple was looking at a new car. The old woman gave me shade saying what I was doing was morbid. I was like, "Give me a break lady, I'm taking it's picture not fucking it. Though..." I proceded to unzip my fly while I laughed maniacally.

It's also my favorite because as the saying goes: the best kind of pigeon is a dead pigeon. I don't know if that's a real saying but for the sake of this blog entry believe it's true.

I uploaded the image and got this snazzy mock up of the design.

What a magnificent looking credit card! I imagined sales clerks asking me the story behind the photo and all of us laughing as I said "Give me a break lady, I'm taking it's picture not fucking it. Though..." Good times would be had by all. Days would be brightened. World peace would occur! Cancer and HIV would no longer exist! All because of this dead pigeon credit card.

So imagine my dismay when I got this email this afternoon:

Dang!Well I guess I'm going to have to try a different image then. Something less deathy AKA mundane.

So this holiday season, when you think about why world peace hasn't happened or why there's still no cure for Cancer and HIV, remember it's because a kibosh was put on the dead pigeon credit card.

Early Bird Special

For the past month I’ve felt out of whack. I eat a light dinner around 4:30PM because I go to bed by 7. I wake up at 3:50 in the morning, or is it still considered night at that time? All I know it’s very dark and cold. My new routine apparently has caught the eye of a major organization: AARP*. If you don’t know what AARP stands for you must be under the age of 10, a foreigner, or a retardate which means you shouldn’t be reading this blog in the first place but I’m glad you are because no one else does.

They sent me a temporary membership card and a letter which touted their fantastic member benefits. AARP members get some great discounts just about everywhere. My mom, who is a member and old, just kidding mom, visited me back in April. We went to Lenscrafters and she got a substantial discount when she presented her AARP card. I tried to use her card saying I was her spouse but they just weren’t buying it. Even our French kissing couldn’t persuade them but a few techs did start masturbating right then and there. In the end I was forced to use coupons to get a discount. It is something I’ve been working out in therapy ever since.

I would love to join AARP but I still have 18 years to go until I’m 50. Wow, only 18 years. How depressing, either way I look at it.

*Check out the summary on Google for the fifth entry.

Black Devil Doll

"If the thought of a wayward white woman having sexual relations with a demonic jive ass black puppet offends you, DO NOT SEE Black Devil Doll." Oh, I'm sold.

The trailer for Black Devil Doll is completely NSFW. I'm surprised YouTube is actually hosting this clip. But then again, have you ever read the comments on YouTube? Maybe it's not really a surprise. Update: Well that didn't last too long. It was taken down because of a terms of use violation. No worries though, I found another site that has the trailer.

I can't believe this movie was shown in SF a few months ago. I had no idea. Hopefully it makes it to DVD soon.

BTW: My sister and I had a similar puppet when we were growing up. He wasn't a jive ass, didn't have a facial hair or an afro. He certainly didn't go around killing. His name was Lester. Friends also had a Lester, but their puppet was Lester "the Molester". Ours never did any molesting, to my knowledge. At least, he never molested me. Story of my life. In fact the poor thing had his feet amputated due to diabetes. I think my sister or mom might still have him.

Talk about being hung

Obviously it was a warm day.

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!"