The Stylish Crackhead Lives!

I haven't seen my favorite crackehead, Stylish M. Smokescrackalot, in quite some time and I started assuming the obvious - dude is dead. But nooooooooo!!! I was so happy to be walking down an alley on my way to work this morning and to see him passed out in the gutter. (Wait, let me rephrase that. I was happy to see him, not happy to see him passed out in the gutter.) Now, he wasn't wearing the duds I originally fell in love with him for, today he was wearing a camo themed ensemble: camo cargo pants, beige sneakers, beige shirt. But I was so tickled pink I forgave him for the horrible choice of patterns. Still covered in this city's filth (and I imagine quite a bit of his own) but, still lovable. Oh Stylish, how I've missed you!

One question, really though, what's up with this guy's wardrobe? He's clearly a crackhead. He's gotta be homeless. Yet, dude's got style. Maybe he's just really picky at the goodwill or something. Who knows.

Coming and Going

Weird thing also happened on my way home yesterday. I got on the bus and a couple of stops later (in the TL, natch) a crackwhore sits down next to me. She's wearing a big shoplifting jacket and the pocket is open. Out a soda falls, right on to my foot. I pick it up and hand it back to her. A couple of minutes later, a lighter falls out of her pocket. I pick it up and hand it back to her. She gazes at me suspiciously and then asks loudly, in her gravely crackwhore voice, "What?!? You got my stash too?!?" At which point she stands up, starts searching her pockets, finds whatever it is she's looking for and harrumphs down the aisle to another seat.

Gotta love MUNI.

Fulton 5 - Stayin' Alive

Had an interesting bus ride this morning (not too many ballerinas, thank god!)

First of all, I saw the worst drag queen ever. (S)he was dressed all businessy and, maybe this is wrong of me, but I feel you need a certain frivolity in your outfit to be good at being a drag queen. I know, I know, there are plenty of business men who love to throw on an Elli Tahari, but they suck. All those Tina Turner impersonators (Tia - looking in your direction!) that's where drag is at. So anyway, (s)he was wearing a businessy outfit which just made me sad. Second, (s)he was wearing white tights. And, ok, I know (s)he's newish to the femme dressing...but here's a tip which anyone who wears leg-ware must know: white tights were made by the devil to make all legs look fat. Yep, even yours. Finally, (s)he had bright orange clown hair. There is no way that color is natural, which means (s)he actually picked it out. What makes it even worse is (s)he had hard core male pattern baldness, so (s)he had hair slightly past shoulder length and then a big old bald spot. Which the orange accentuated even more. Whoa, was that a good time at 8am on a monday morning.

Next, the ballerinas all got off at the wrong step...in the middle of the projects. For half a second I thought I might say something to them....but my evil half took over and I just watched the panic on their faces as the bus drove off. (Before you think I'm totally evil - they got off two stops before they should have, which is a grand total of 4 blocks and it was 8:10am in the projects, not 3:10am AND it was the Fillmo' projects, not like HP or anything. So I probably should have said something, but those bitches need to learn the line if they're going to ride it.)

Finally, as the mass exodus occurred at 8th and Market, I swear I saw the prefect of Wanganui get off (do you watch Reno 911? 'Cause it's a Reno 911 reference.) That was just fucking hilarious. Luckily, he didn't smell and I think he may have actually been wearing more layers and boas, but damn. If that wasn't the prefect of Wanganui, I don't know who the hell is!

The prefect is the black guy...sorry - that's the best pic I could find

At Your Fingertips...

Ok, but really, what's up with digits and dining?

It's really getting worrisome.

What - You Gonna Judge Me?

So, it's time for my yearly review (dear god, have I really been at big girl job a year?!? Holy shit!) and, if I've learned one thing about big girl world, it's that reviews suck.

Now, I'm fully expecting to get ripped a new asshole here. Why? Not because I deserve it in anyway, but because bossman is super, super cheap (insert your culturally inappropriate joke here) and you can't very well justify a small raise with an outstanding review, right? So, since I'm fully expecting a piddly little raise, I'm full on expecting to be bent over the table in my review. However, this isn't the reason that reviews suck ass.

The reason why reviews suck so hard is because you have to be on super best behavior for about a month before your review, but certainly in the weeks leading up to it. Be on time, be on point, be perfect. Which I'm not great at. Also, I have been so ridiculously stressed out and slammed - and I know bossman knows because he's crafty and evil like that - but it's not like I can say anything, because right before your review is NOT the time to puss out.

So I've been stressed and busy and cranky and tense and work has sucked more than usual because of all these factors. God, I can't wait until Wednesday...my review will be over and I will be free to slack. Shit, I haven't even had time to dash off one line emails, things have been so crazy around here. But Wednesday...that's what is keeping me going. That and the weekend which officially starts in 77 minutes.

Oh, and for the record, should the raise be piddly my ass is out the door. A wise man once told me, "bossman really fucked up when he tried to fire you, couldn't find a replacement and had to beg you to come back. He lost all credibility and power there - and if you're both smart, you both know it." So, if bossman wants me, which he reportedly does, he's gonna have to show me the money.

Oh god, I even hate myself for using that line.

Doin' My Civic Duty

Ah, jury duty. That which separates men from boys and felons from the general public.

So I had jury duty yesterday, my first jury duty ever. To be honest, I was a little excited about it. I have to go sit and read all day? Really? And you'll pay me for this? Uh, ok, sign me up! I mean, I didn't want to get called or anything like that, but to sit around for an afternoon or two was fine by me.

So I got off work early and headed to the court house. First of all, you could totally bomb that shit. Orange alert, my ass. They herd you through the metal detector (I saw people going two at a time, they don't give a fuck.) And you have to put your bag through the x-ray machine, but really? I don't even see the point when security is that lax to begin with.

I turned in my juror questionnaire and sat down in the closest seat, which happened to be next to a gorgeous guy. We struck up a conversation, which was actually quite pleasant and we spent the afternoon chatting (Dan - no worries, ok.) I was quite amused that one of our clients also had jury duty yesterday (make that two clients - but one I didn't know about.) I was also quite amused to run in to a couple of old friends: Ernest from CCAC and Steph from Anthro. Small world, these SF courts.

So I sat and sat and read a little and talked to my lil court buddy. Around 3:30 I started getting freaked out that, as my name hadn't been called, I might have to come back for another day of civic duty lovin. I also noticed that the room we were in (007, hehe) had cleared out significantly...which was just about when our judge came in. Yep, they had whittled us down to the juror group they wanted - and we were it. The judge started off by explaining we had been chosen as the pool for a longer than normal trial, "at least 7 weeks, but probably closer to 9" we were told. I calculated my expenses for a second, realized I'm broke and there is no way in hell I could go without pay for 5-7 weeks. Juror Buddy has the exact same thought I did and we booked to the front of the room to attempt to get our asses excused. My "hardship defense" was "my ass is broke." Or something along the lines. In any case, the judge sort of shrugged and said "fair enough," but I wasn't out of the woods quite yet.

I had to sit around for a little while longer and all of a sudden I realized they were calling my name. They gave me the first degree about who I was, like, they repeatedly asked if I was who I claimed I was and then they made me spell both my names (they didn't do that to anyone else, by the way.) Finally, after the longest pause in the world the clerk announced, "you can go."

So, I'm off the hook for another year. Now, I maintain I don't mind the civic duty. In fact, if the case is about a week in length, I'm all for it! I think it would be fun to sit on a jury for a little while (can you tell I've never been on one before?) But 9 weeks? No, no, no. None of that for me. So, until next year...may god have mercy on your souls, because you know that jury won't.

Sad Macs

Today is Monday, duh, but it feels like one of those very classic, oft parodied, bad Mondays. The weather is blah, I'm sick, Trader Joe's changed their tamale recipe, a friend's sister died over the weekend and then I was reading Jesse's friend's blog from Kuwait.

I'm not saying the world's a bad place or anything, I'm just saying a lot of bad shit seems to be happening to or revolving around people I know.

And poor Felix, really though, poor, poor Felix. What a shitty year. I guess the worst part of knowing what he's going through (and, yeah, I don't know exactly what he's going through, but out of the general population, I come pretty goddamn close) is knowing just how badly he's hurting right now and knowing that there is not a single thing I can do to help him. Damn. Poor, poor Felix.

I Blame Chas

I'm sick.

Blech.

I blame Chas, the only sick person I've been around lately.

I was paranoid yesterday that it was strep ('cause, ya know, I get strep like most people breathe.) But it feels the same today, so I know it's not strep ('cause it would be much, much worse.)

It's just a cold. But still, blech.

Naptime.

Kateebugs

I'm sorry I forgot to say hi to you, my hatred for the ballerinas blinded me beyond reason.

Hello!

xxoo

Keeping on Your Toes

Summer in San Francisco brings to mind many things: tourists, fog and, to us riders of the Fulton 5, ballerinas.

Until I got this whole big girl job thing, I never really gave the ballerinas much thought. I had seen them around school during summer session and all, but they had no impact on my life so I never gave two shits about them. Now I have to commute to big girl job every day and now I fucking hate those little brats.

(the enemy)

Every summer USF hosts ballet camps. For, like, 50,000,000 girls. And 2 or 3 guys. The kids stay at USF and then get off at 8th and Market to go to ballet class. These little brats are the bane of my existence. See, usually I don't bitch about public transport in the bay area. We have above ground, we have underground, we have ferries - we really have a pretty good system. I, out of sheer desperation, kind of even like muni. It gets me where I need to go in a more or less convenient way and is cost effective and better for the environment. That being said, muni needs more busses on its lines and instead they cut busses every year. Riding in the morning can be a bitch, especially on a popular line like the 5. I commute at a slightly off time, so there's usually no problem. That is, when the fucking ballerinas aren't around.

The first bus to come by this morning passed by full. On the second one, it was about half full but could fit in the next two or three stops worth of people. I hate the fucking ballerinas and was in a huff about them on the ride downtown. So I started counting them - 17 on my bus alone. Yep, 17. Which means all the front seats are taken (and I'm lazy and all, but I'll give an old person a seat. Not these prima donnas.) Which means the bus is extra packed. Which means, figuring a bus can fit about 60 people sardined in, almost 1/3 of it was ballerinas. And that was just my bus! I hate those damn ballerinas and they're taking up space in my bus. Those little bitches are so rude and so inconsiderate. I know a bunch of people have switched lines...but it's a trade off. Wait awhile for a packed bus....or wait indefinitely for the 21 or 31. And I do mean indefinitely. Might be 5 minutes, might be an hour.

The thing is, public transport is allocated by popularity and density. The 5 is a heavy line, but bearable normally. However, what with the strain of the ballerinas, the system breaks down entirely. And I get pissed. I don't really know what my recommended solution to all this is...maybe store the brats in the civic center? But all I have to say is those little bitches ought to be very careful walking down the stairs, if you know what I mean.

Oh and you can tell most don't have what it takes to really pursue ballet anyway. So there, face reality and give it up, bitches.

CD Review

Holy shit - I bought a CD. Two. Well, cashed in a gift certificate anyway.

Common: Be
Kicks ass. Really good, mellow. They say pain makes great art and I guess that's true. This is the Common we all know and love before Erykah Badu got him all shmaltzy and crappy. I would add this to your repoitoire for gettin down.



The Game: Documentary
Bringing back NWA to CPT. They say you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover...but I think it's fine to judge a CD by its liner notes. So, this whole CD is explained pretty well by the layout of The Game at a kitchen table with glocks and a couple ounces on top. But, hey, I love "Dreams" and "How We Do." Yeah, I'm a singles whore.

Retarded Helpless Children

A very typical weekend was had by me: dinner and a movie with Mel on Friday, slept in and then Midnight Mass on Saturday, BBQ and hanging out with friends on Sunday. Anyway...on my way to the Mission on Sunday I was on the 24 and had one of those totally obvious realizations: for whatever reason, in America, natives always treat tourists like some sort of retarded chlld.

So, I'm on the 24 and a group of olderish (I'd say mid-40s to mid-60s) women were trying to get off the bus. Unlike most rookies, these tourists actually read the "step down to open doors sign," but for some reason they just kept dangling their foot over the steps like someone afraid to test the waters. There was this ghetto chick standing by the door who finally took matters into her own hands, stepped down and said to them "see, you step down. STEP DOWN [said very slowly and loudly]. Then the door opens. You get it? Step down and the door opens, it's like magic." Now, I had heard the tourists talking to each other. They spoke English, were clearly American and, while maybe not brilliant, they didn't come across as retarded children either. Yet, when the ghetto chick was explaining the "magic" of the muni back door system, the tourists actually "oooohed" and "aaaahed."

Granted, in the end the tourists sort of deserved the way they were treated, but it just makes me think about other times when I've seen this happen. And I used to work at Powell and Market - I knows me some tourists. Maybe there is something about traveling to another place that makes one completely fucking retarded and helpless. Maybe there is something about having someone in your area who is clearly not familiar that makes us assume they are retarded and helpless. Whatever, it's an interesting phenomenon nonetheless.

On another tourist note, time after time after time I'm downtown and I'll see a group of people who are clearly tourists and they will just be standing on the street. Usually I'm a little far away (but you can't help notice the human rocks blocking the flow of the human stream down the sidewalk) and plenty of people have passed them. Yet, time after time, they choose me to ask for directions or help or whatever. What the fuck? Why me? I guess I look "normal" to midwesterners or something. Which is pretty funny, when you think about it. Considering I hate the midwest so much.

Stephanie Free Bolton

I promised Steph a shoutout here.

SHOUTOUT.

Thanks for saving my life by fixing my mailbox. How does a key break off in a lock?!?!? It's metal, dammit!!!

March of the Wha?!?

I went to go see March of the Penguins last night and, wait, before you start to make fun of me, please take two things into account:

1) Dan, yes Dan, picked it out
2) it totally motherfucking rocked

That movie is just about the most charming thing I have ever seen. You haven't lived until you've seen hours of footage of penguins walking single file across tundra. No, seriously, it's one of those incredible feats of nature you just have to see. The movie is also educational. Like, I learned that penguins are the worst bird ever and the most retarded animal to ever exist which is not also a marsupial. Seriously, what sort of bird can't fly and lives in the sea? In any case, those penguins are damn cute. Especially the babies, who I was pleased to see look identical to stuffed animal versions. The movie had it all: humor, drama, conflict, inspiration, Morgan Freeman. What more could you want?
(tell me you don't love that baby)
As shocking as it is, I'm really and truly not being facetious here. March of the Penguins was a surprisingly good film which I am impressed Dan picked out and grateful my man took me to something wonderful I never would have thought of seeing on my own. And, damn, the critics even liked it.

Oh well...heed my advice - you've got to go to this movie!

More about Emperor Penguins

If Maddox Says So...

it must be true. Some stranger weighs in on what a trend-chasing, no-friend-having, loser I am. Well, not me personally, but all of my kind:

If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide

Damn funny

Since my life isn't all that great, maybe I'll start posting choice tidbits I find on the web. Like this mofo. Stupid bitch.

Jessica Simpson is Making this Face Because…

A: Her Tivo failed to record Newlyweds.
B: A reporter asked her what it was like to work with Johnny Knoxville.
C: Someone has just explained to her the concept of gravity.
D: Her daddy threatened to never again love her in that special way.
E: She realized that she forgot to fully inhale and wipe her freaking nose before heading out.
Gawker

In brief:

It's a sad, sad state of affairs when a girl is too busy at work to write in her blog - for almost a week now!

So let's see here...hung out with Jesse, Jon and Chas on Friday night and I managed to find the worst burrito in the Mission. I mean, this was raunch. I took it apart and tried every individual component and each was worse than the next. Later that night I became a horrible city person as I waited for the bus. I had my back turned and didn't see what happened, but I thought this guy on the other side of the street moaning and rolling around was just the local drunk. So I totally ignored him. Finally some people walked by on the other side of the street and it turned out to be an elderly man who had fallen going down steps and had cracked his head open. So I felt like shit (wait...feel like shit) that, had it not been for those pedestrians on the other side of the street, I would have let this guy die because I assumed he was the local drunk on the ground. Yeah, I've really become a cynical asshole these days.

The rest of the weekend was slightly better than that though (well, for me. It seems all my friends are having horrible occurrences in their lives...) I slept in late on Saturday and then met up with Cess and Tim. It was so good to have Cess here, but that only made it harder for her to leave. I always tell myself that she's off to save the world, which she is, but I'm still a selfish asshole who wants her to move back to SF and live blocks from me again. After Cess left Tim and I hung out. Well, I hung out and Tim passed out, woke up occasionally to say "no, no, don't go...I'm only resting my eyes" and then passed out again. I stayed through the duration of Donnie Darko and took off after that.

Sunday was Stern Grove aka Freeze Your Ass Off While the Symphony Plays. Fuck the Stern Grove remodel...as Court put it "nothing's changed for us." Damn, was it ever cold on Sunday...which was weird because it was super hot while I was in the park with TJ about an hour previously. Oh, SF...how you mess with us. Anyway, it was cold and I was unprepared so I did the only thing I could to stay warm - I drank all our beer and was wasted by 3:30pm. After Stern Grove (I made Court leave early) we got our nails done and then went grocery shopping. Then I went home and snuggled with TJ until I drifted off to dreamland.

Monday was of course the celebration of America's independence. Woo. I spent the day with Claire, Jamie, Melissa and Larry The Homo, Melissa and Jamie's friend. We mainly hung out drinking in the park. But Jamie and Melissa finally got to meet TJ, which makes me very happy. I think TJ is Melissa's new BFF...although I'm a little sad that TJ would abandon my love so easily. Little bitch. After the parky park we grabbed dinner at Brother In Laws. Whoa, they aint lying. That shit is fo real and is motherfucking good. We grabbed about 60 pounds of food and stupidly decided to eat at Alamo Square. Which has gale force winds on a light day. We were all sleepy and drunk and full and over it after Alamo, so we all split in our own directions. I went home to TJ. I know I'm a loser for staying in on July 4th, but I had no idea how TJ was going to react to the fireworks and festivities, especially considering how bad she's been in general lately. I totally overreacted and she was fine (more fireworks woke me up than her,) but I'm still glad I stayed in. Besides, the only party I really knew about was a big time coke fest...and as much as I love that scene, I'll pick cuddling with TJ any day.

Work? What the fuck is up with that shit?

Friends? Some good, some bad. I'm thinking of you all.

Dan? Same-o, same-o. But it's very nice to have him back.

Everything else? Well, at least I'm maintaining.

Bitch, Please

Ladies, a little note. All of a sudden I keep seeing a bunch of you riding bicycles while wearing mini skirts. While I understand how refreshing the breeze must be, you may not realize that also means your cooch is hanging out. I know, I know...the boys come a runnin' and that's a big self-esteem boost and all, but really, you're embarassing the rest of us chicks who already have self-respect. So, please, remember what your mother told you about ladies keeping their legs shut. Or at least, for the love of god, put some freakin' pants on.