Famous among dozens
THINGS THAT MAKE ME UNEASY, FIRST IN A SERIES
A fire truck pulled up in front of the corner grocery store. No sirens, no lights, it looked like they just needed to pick something up. A few minutes later the firefighters emerged… with a bag of charcoal.
11:02 a.m.
Me: I still haven’t gotten a ticket from that time I accidentally drove through the Fast Track toll lane in Indiana.
Him: You will.
Me: You think? It’s been awhile.
Him: Yep. They’ll contact the rental car company to figure out it was you, and then send it to you.
Me: That pisses me off, the signs weren’t lit at all. I had no idea I was in the wrong lane until I was right up on it; it’s not like I could turn around. Maybe I could write an “I’m from out of state” letter.
Him: Right. “I’m from California and I was STOH-ONED. Maybe if you light the signs and make them flash, then maybe I’ll notice them.”
Me: Shut up.
Me: Whoa! Check that out.
Him: Somebody needs to give that girl a sandwich.
Me: What’s up, Halter Top? She’s definitely wearing last night’s clothes. Walk of shame, baby.
Him: That’s a total walk of shame. She’s even walking sore.
Me: I think her clogs are bugging her.
Him: Or she just stopped having sex twenty minutes ago. Now she has to go to work wearing that. She’s looking for a company T-shirt anywhere she can find one.
10:21 a.m.
A few nights ago, I got a little misty when a cab driver waited for me to get inside safely before driving away. This morning, I felt an inexplicable sense of relief at having an elevator entirely to myself. I think it’s time to spend a weekend somewhere that has trees.
11:27 a.m.
Ladies night excerpts:
Lady 1: So he said he wasn’t gonna date her anymore because she wasn’t a good lay. So I said, “I’m curious, what’s a bad lay from a guy’s viewpoint?” And he goes (spreads legs, adopts blank look).
Lady 2: So it’s not that she wasn’t a good lay, it’s just that “lay” was her only trick.
Lady 3: The Dissected Frog.
Lady 1: Did you guys hear that Mr. Rogers isn’t doing shows anymore?
Lady 2: Yeah. That sucks.
Lady 3: I have a signed picture of Mr. Rogers.
Lady 1: No way.
Lady 3: Mmm hmm. My dad met him once.
Lady 4: Wouldn’t it be rad to get Mr. Rogers to sign your panties or something?
Lady 5: I wonder if he’d do it.
(Pensive silence.)
Lady 1: He’s kind of boastful. We’re going around introducing ourselves, and he’s saying the exact same thing to every person. I heard it like 30 times. That’s OK if you’ve known someone a couple years, you expect to hear their stories again. But I barely know him. When you’ve known a person a few years you know all their stories, and when they meet someone new you can kind of settle into doing your own thing while they talk. But this guy I just met, and I’m hearing the same thing over and over and over. Then, I started getting sarcastic about it, like filling in responses for him, and he didn’t get it.
All: Ohhh nooooo.
11 a.m.
Last Friday was Julie’s birthday. She wanted to go see “The Vagina Monologues,” so we got tickets. For a few hours we listened appreciatively as three women reenacted interviews with hundreds of women talking about their vaginas. When the lights came up, I was entirely too aware that everyone around me had genitalia. Then we went home.
12:05 a.m.
Overheard: Somebody done somebody wrong.
Characters: Two teenage girls on the bus.
Girl 1: You got to call her.
Girl 2: Well, she say she saw her leave with some man.
Girl 1: Call her.
Girl 2: If she didn’t see up close, how she know it was Amid?
Girl 1: Uh-uh! You got to call her.
3:16 p.m.
The guys over at The Morning News just published a very brief interview with me (bottom right corner, second column).
11:01 a.m.
Went backpacking this weekend, and cursed my lack of penis.
Me: Are you peeing again?
Him: Yep, and I don’t even need to.
Me: Damn you.
Him: I’m just doing it because the convenience overwhelms me.
Me: Bastard.
10:49 a.m.
Ugly Fat Kid summarizes the average American political sentiment in under ten seconds: “I say we should pass a law about all these problems. There. That covers it. Now on to sports…”
3:57 p.m.
Three confessions:
- I type my grocery list.
- I had Fritos for breakfast.
- Last night, I watched the entire Miss Teen USA pageant, even the part where Mandy Moore sang barefoot.
11:09 a.m.
Tuesday night at Naps is Karaoke night. The hot dogs on the back table may be gray, but they’re free. There’s also a wholesale-sized tub of relish if that’s your gig. When we got there, about five regulars lined the bar, and a fellow named Brian was singing a drunken-scat version of “If You Think I’m Sexy.”
“If you beh-dee SEXY
ahn you me-dee BODY
Wee-bby beeh-doo body KNOW.”
Meanwhile, frustrated barflies screamed the actual lyrics and made instructive gestures at Brian, who smiled vaguely, raised his arms above his head, and gyrated. Did I mention free hot dogs? Awesome.
11:18 a.m.
Overheard: My neighborhood (Noe Valley) in a nutshell.
Characters: Three thirty-somethings shift indecisively in the street.
Woman 1: That doesn’t make sense, we’ll have to double back.
Man: Well, what do you want to do?
Woman 3: Let’s go get the dog, then go to Starbucks.
3:55 p.m.
p.s. Go see The Others. Great, great movie. Karma gods were paying me back for Original Sin.
3:57 p.m.
Mighty Girl 