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i've written march off. in like a lion out like a lamb is my only hope. if i don't expect much... my birthday was the last good highlife and it's taken me two weeks to describe it, without success. i need a vacation somewhere cold, miserable, and dirty. |
Sunday 3.4.01
rain rain rain. no kayaking today, but we saw four wild green parrots noshing in the wet grass downtown near the pier.
Monday 3.12.01
i was shocked, dismayed, and appalled to find my submerged green picnic table has been laid waste by storm or man--the benches are gone and it looks limbless and sad. someone dragged another table down by the water and it looks unhappy too and makes fun of the other one. i was too depressed to take many photos, but i finally got one of a pinksnouter (real name unknown).
Thursday 3.15.01
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a customer left this at the register. at first i thought it was her own, but apparently she acquired it from a mendicant "deaf". is this a translation from japanese? is "to see my way through" deliberately brilliant? this is definitely one of my favorite possessions right now. i'd love to "see my way through", especially by selling business cards. |
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Saturday 3.18.01
A customer stared at my Queerfest t-shirt and said,
"you're not really queer, are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"It's just a phase."
"No, I assure you it is definitely not a phase."
"You should be at home with a man and a baby on your teat."
which was funny till later when i realized he had been starting at me for several hours with a copy of Guns and Ammo. he waited till the store closed to tell me my eyebrow ring makes me look like I'm "on a National Geographic special".
"Thank you!" off to the back room.
He's still hanging around.
"You got one of them things in your tongue too, don't you."
"Would it make a difference to you if I did?"
"Yes it would."
"Why don't you leave now and go home?"
Then his face turned even uglier than chipped front teeth can make it, and i could see the hate in his face making the shape of words, slowly of course, and i quickly left. my back felt the insults, and my body started to shake, but i did not hear and i did not fight.
addendum: he's been back for two saturdays in a row, always looking a little askew, and sitting in a chair facing me to stare unrestricted. he told me last week, "I won't ask you any more embarassing questions." To which I replied, "I'm not embarassed, I just don't like your tone of voice." i hate him with a vicious passion. my boss has spoken to him and thinks he's disturbed, but the best she'll do right now is tell him not to sit facing the counter. i'm not putting a flag sticker on my car while i live here.
Sunday 3.19.01
another rainy sunday, and this gray muckraker teased my cats for close to an hour, hanging on the screen and hooting like a nascar fan.
speaking of nascar, there's a whole trade in "dale [earnhardt] is dead, long live the intimidator" memorabilia around here.
Thursday 3.29.01
one thing i miss, it's spitting when i smoke a cigarette. i got so accustomed to the expulsion of phlegm by my comrades on the t, by the bostonians on washington street, and by my coworkers and smoker friends, that i overcame my steadfast suburban classy repulsion and joined in vigorously, holding distance trials and working on form. avoid the drooly ones, go for the clipped wad on the tip of your tongue, and hock that mutha in a nice clean arc landing at least three feet away. it was impolite, dirty, and efficient! it's that first smoke of the day, and where are you gonna put your postnasal drip?