overheardinmyhead

The Lighter Side: Orange Elvis?

Ugh, today has not been the happiest of days. But Trickybrit has added a bit of levity to my situation.

Check out: Orange Elvis?

I Fell Down and Got Back Up

Having moved off of Fell Street, this chapter of my blog will now end. I do have a few blogs I will place in this section that I've written but had not taken the time to post. They chronicle the last month of living on Fell Street and include such events as my birthday, visits from my family and my trip to LA with Nicky Pickles.

My new daily blog is Eirikur: A New Spelling of my Name, and don't forget about my creative writing blog The Devil's Wine.

I hope you enjoy!

Eric

On the Bus

While riding the bus to Jim’s, I sat directly behind the back exit. A Plexiglas partition separated me from the doors. A rather portly man, dressed in a canary yellow button-down and murky green cord pants stood up from his seat and maneuvered to the exit. Behind him followed a young twenty something punk homeless looking guy, messenger bag slug across his back, his mouth tightly pursed and his cheeks puffing.

The large man stepped and the punk stuck his head out the door and wretched a very pretty pink puke. There was not a reaction from me. The punk wiped his mouth and touched the pole. Mental note “do not touch pole on way out.” He bumped his way to the seat wear the portly man has sat. 

The bus neared it’s next stop. The woman who had been sitting next to me stood up and went to the exit. She obviously had made the same mental note as me. The punk got behind her.

She stepped down to open the doors and the punk again stuck his head out the door and unleashed some more pink puke.
He wiped his mouth again and sat back down.

This continued at each stop for seven blocks until I got off the bus.

there's this russian couple who

there's this russian couple who get on the 7 haight at buena vista park. they sit directly behind the bus driver. the woman fishes through her purse for 35 cents, even though she probably should be paying the buck twenty-five fare. (i've found out that you can negotiate with muni drivers on your fare).

the bus driver will not move the bus as she fishes through her purse. she'll then stand up, take a few steps to the fare machine and then drop her coins in. she collects her transfer then sits down.

the bus driver mumbles and shakes his hand as he looks behind his seat. the woman goes back to fishing through her purse for another 35 cents for her husband. she hands the coins to him and he goes up, pays and collects his transfer.

he sits back down and tilts the side of his head towards his wife always looking away from her. his teeth curl on his lips as he talks making him resemble a mean dog.

this happens every day.

Untitled Thought

I wrote words before I knew poetry.I wrote poetry before I knew stories.I wrote stories before I knew me.

Affable Omnivorous Gay Male Seeks Shelter

My Craigslist Advert

Date: 2004-06-16, 2:39PM PDT

Hey Y’all,

I’m a 27 year-old gay Nor Cal native who has lived in SF for the past 3.5 years. I’m looking to move into a place mid-July – beginning of August. I'm willing to spend 500-700 clams for a room; more coin if the place is truly worth it. I want the place, as cliché as it sounds, to be home sweet home.

During the weekdays I work as an Intellectual Property Paralegal for a multimedia company in the Mission. (Feel free to ask me about it because it is quite interesting. The 3 P’s: Peer2Peer, Porn and Politics.) At night I can be found at SFSU finishing up their Creative Writing program. Each semester is different so my schedule changes. The weekends I chill out with friends or go on road trips.

I’m affable and easy to get along with. I don’t do the passive-aggressive thing, so you won’t see notes tagged up on the fridge or a list of everything you do that drives me crazy (we’ve all been there haven’t we?) Any challenges that arise I feel should be nipped in the bud before they become unmanageable. I like to keep common areas clean and I don’t freak out if there’s a glass in the sink. I’m looking for roommate(s) that feel the same.

I don’t drink or swear or rat my hair... Actually I don’t smoke or do drugs though I do have the occasional libation. I eat meat and it doesn’t bother me if you happen to be Vegan or Vegetarian. It’s all good in my book. 420 friendly, but I don’t smoke.

Having a rather irreverent sense of humor sets me apart from most everyone else you’ll meet. I’m a cross between Harold from “Harold and Maude” and Enid from “Ghost World” Everyday I choose a Daily Hero to obsess over (though my obsession is quite mild and almost apathetic— “I’m obsessed with _______” and that’s usually where it ends.) I’m a hopeless blogger. I’m a hopeless jogger. I’m just an ogger.

I have to mention as part of my parole— just kidding. I’ve never been incarcerated or for that matter have yet to do anything worthy of being incarcerated for.

I am toting a pet. She lives in a cage, is quiet and well mannered and exclusively will stay in my room. I like dogs, cats, birds and exotics.

As I mentioned, I work in the Mission. I’d like to find some place close enough to work but far enough away. Ideal neighborhoods for me are Castro/Upper Market, Noe Valley, Ashbury Terrace/Cole Valley, Buena Vista Park, the Haight, and the Panhandle. I’d go to Pacific Heights, Russian Hill or Nob Hill if the place was just right—and there’s street parking. I own a small pickup and I’m not getting rid of it any time soon.

I encourage questions so please feel free to ask.

Thanks!

PS: While I'm articulate, I generally don't talk as much as I write unless I've eatten some kiddie cocaine AKA sugar; which would make me a lot like Chrissy from "Pecker"

Neener-Neener

I noticed on my sales receipt from Pac Sun that I purchased a $19 T-shirt and never received it. There was a two T-shirt deal for $25 that I was taking advantage of. However of the two shirts I picked out, one was not on sale and it was $19. So the counter person rang it up, told me about the price and asked if I wanted to pick out a new shirt. I said yes, thinking he was going to take the shirt off my bill…

It took me 10 days to get back down to Pac Sun and when I explained my situation to the manager, who was younger than me, she said, “I’ll do this for you this once.”

All I could do was smile and think, “You’ll do this for me every time I ask. I’m the customer and you HAVE to make me happy. Neener-neener.”

Reconsidering the Walk

I’ll take part of what I wrote yesterday back. Walking to the Mission can be as interesting as listening to the junkies on the bus. Amazingly at 8:30 this morning above the BART station at 16th Street, the Mission had its very own cantor. Wide wild eyes, she was belting out the crazy at the top of her lungs. Heavy pendulous breast hung down her rather plump front side. Her breasts parted as she sucked in the air for her next bar of verse. She started stomping to her incantation and people on the pedestrian portion of their commutes tried to stay at a comfortable distance.

I however am not like other people and I proceeded right up next to her at the corner. She threw her head towards me, her eyes a big as moons, “Don’t you know! Don’t you know! Don’t you know!” she wailed as the chorus.

Looking into those eyes I said, “I do.”

She stomped her feet five times and breathed in a bottomless breath. I however had to cross the street and left her there as she serenaded me with “He knows! He knows! He knows!”

Admission

I’ve got to admit— when I don’t ride the bus in the morning I’m kind of sad. Walking to work lacks color. Today I counted how many people I saw driving while talking on cellular phones. The total count: 46 in 15 blocks. Listening to the junkies is a lot more fun.

One of the other drags of walking to work is all the human shit I come across. Especially on the street I work on. I guess Capp really is one of the Mission's toilets. The corner of 17th and Capp with its piles of shit, Burger King® wrappers sticking out of ‘em, a hoard of flies, is one of the worse locations. If you haven’t read Fast Food Nation, then the site of a shit burger with flies is enough to keep you away from any fast food joint.

Hard Up

I woke up this morning in a kind of food induced stupor. Usually stupors are reserved for nights of beved out bliss but not last night as I binged on sushi, teriyaki and miso soup right before bedtime. Jim had kindly purchased the take out and brought it to me as I was finishing up watching Cassie and Stewie.

Miso might as well be called mescaline if eaten so close to bedtime. My night was interrupted by out of this world dreams and obviously nightmares (read below.)

One of the cats woke me up with a mew. Turning over to get into a more comfortable position on the king sized bed I saw a rather non-descript woman standing before me. I got up (in the dream of course.) She was showing me around a Pacific Heights home. She was trying to persuade me into staying there while she was away in New York City on extended business.

While leading me through the living room—her husband came home. I didn’t look at him as he entered the room but felt his presence. When I turned to see him, I was embarrassed because I had been having torrid fuck-fest with this man for the past few weeks. I didn’t know he was married and I didn’t really care to know. He was just an anonymous John—though not that anonymous as in my dream he turned out to be…

Gavin Newsom (but better looking.)

I said hello and followed his wife to the bedrooms. She had to take a phone call and while I was checking out the master bathroom he walked in and cornered me. He jumped my bones and I let him.

I must be hard up.

He explained to me how his wife was leaving but he'd be staying. I had to call the whole thing off. Imagine if the papers found out. I didn't need to be a San Francisco version of Monica Lewinsky.