tonight is a night of bromance here at my house. the boy has a man-date from work over here, and they are both popping their homebrew cherries. i'm glad i've procrastinated today's post until now, for nothing glazes my eyes and sends me into a catatonic state more than talk of how to brew beer. i just want to drink it. i don't care where it comes from, whether it's free-range or brought up in a veal cage. the dog is being cute though. she keeps going in and out of the bedroom to see what he and his date are doing (and probably to smell his leg some more. how embarrassing (now "em-barr-assing" is going through my head much like ciara/rihanna/whoever's "um-ber-ella". great.)) i may run off to dan's if they start making out on the couch later.
anyway. today must be the day of the month when homeless old men lie around on the ground. i got off the bus this morning and there was a hobo (i like saying hobo, even though i know perfectly well none of them are going anywhere) lying in the middle of the crosswalk at 16th and guadalupe. his younger friend was sitting on the bus bench, holding both their bags. maybe it's cobra for hobo yoga? he kept getting up and falling down, gettin' uu-uu-uu-up. who'd fall in love with a hobo who's all fucked up? (sorry) i tried to walk away, but the old lady smokers at the atty gen's garage were all concerned, so i promised and followed through on telling the first state trooper (if they were dollars on the ground, i'd be rich!) about the magical collapsing hobo. sigh. the snake i saw on that walk a couple months ago was much more interesting, because it was the height of teenage chick season and all the birds (mostly sparrows) were flipping out and attacking and generally being a nuisance. the best part about that was a female grackle that followed it and hopped around, trailing it underneath a parked car and standing below the undercarriage, watching it as it went up into the transmission and (all the other bits i don't know) shit. anyway, two occasions make a day, as we went to walgreens on tEh way home and as we were leaving, a hobo clone kept trying to stand up on the wet sidewalk using his cane, by the entrance, and falling. i still feel the bay area has hardened me to the point where more than ten years later, i say fuck 'em, if i see a homeless person struggling. i agree that i'm a bad person, but you also have to at least concede that, because of reagan, there's no place to put them and many fewer resources with which to help them (and i will never choose to help anyone but the functional blind and deaf at most. i don't have compassion enough to birth myself a child, let alone help someone less abled figure out what the fuck's going on. that's my day-to-day struggle. sheee-it. and yes, my only therapist visit ever included as a humorous postscript a homeless guy asking me if i was born ugly or i made myself that way. thanks for asking. oh wait. you weren't asking me that at all. you're a homeless person who uses a word chart and your pointing finger to communicate and somehow you have an electric wheelchair and you're actually ASKING ME TO SIT ON YOUR LAP. i thought you needed something. fuck you. i can't believe someone who can't even leer verbally is creeping me out.) yeah, i have issues. and yes, differently-abled sex drives is one of them. NEW TOPIC.
oh gee. i'm drunk now. the mandate is married to a massage therapist, and they enjoy les baxter, etc. at home. my social interlude was musically deep...-ish. and i'm supposed to meet her now, eventually. insert socially appropriate grunt.
so anyway, i'm still at the point where i can't properly distill what i would like to use as a response to lord morgan, so you're going to get what i wanted to say days ago. um, tomorrow.
hi, i'm back from going out and drinking more and i don't know how to argue with an episcopalian seminary student (who is kind of drunk too) so i'm not going to. huh. i'll give you my talk later.
anyway. today must be the day of the month when homeless old men lie around on the ground. i got off the bus this morning and there was a hobo (i like saying hobo, even though i know perfectly well none of them are going anywhere) lying in the middle of the crosswalk at 16th and guadalupe. his younger friend was sitting on the bus bench, holding both their bags. maybe it's cobra for hobo yoga? he kept getting up and falling down, gettin' uu-uu-uu-up. who'd fall in love with a hobo who's all fucked up? (sorry) i tried to walk away, but the old lady smokers at the atty gen's garage were all concerned, so i promised and followed through on telling the first state trooper (if they were dollars on the ground, i'd be rich!) about the magical collapsing hobo. sigh. the snake i saw on that walk a couple months ago was much more interesting, because it was the height of teenage chick season and all the birds (mostly sparrows) were flipping out and attacking and generally being a nuisance. the best part about that was a female grackle that followed it and hopped around, trailing it underneath a parked car and standing below the undercarriage, watching it as it went up into the transmission and (all the other bits i don't know) shit. anyway, two occasions make a day, as we went to walgreens on tEh way home and as we were leaving, a hobo clone kept trying to stand up on the wet sidewalk using his cane, by the entrance, and falling. i still feel the bay area has hardened me to the point where more than ten years later, i say fuck 'em, if i see a homeless person struggling. i agree that i'm a bad person, but you also have to at least concede that, because of reagan, there's no place to put them and many fewer resources with which to help them (and i will never choose to help anyone but the functional blind and deaf at most. i don't have compassion enough to birth myself a child, let alone help someone less abled figure out what the fuck's going on. that's my day-to-day struggle. sheee-it. and yes, my only therapist visit ever included as a humorous postscript a homeless guy asking me if i was born ugly or i made myself that way. thanks for asking. oh wait. you weren't asking me that at all. you're a homeless person who uses a word chart and your pointing finger to communicate and somehow you have an electric wheelchair and you're actually ASKING ME TO SIT ON YOUR LAP. i thought you needed something. fuck you. i can't believe someone who can't even leer verbally is creeping me out.) yeah, i have issues. and yes, differently-abled sex drives is one of them. NEW TOPIC.
oh gee. i'm drunk now. the mandate is married to a massage therapist, and they enjoy les baxter, etc. at home. my social interlude was musically deep...-ish. and i'm supposed to meet her now, eventually. insert socially appropriate grunt.
so anyway, i'm still at the point where i can't properly distill what i would like to use as a response to lord morgan, so you're going to get what i wanted to say days ago. um, tomorrow.
hi, i'm back from going out and drinking more and i don't know how to argue with an episcopalian seminary student (who is kind of drunk too) so i'm not going to. huh. i'll give you my talk later.
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