A Homeless Person Stole My Lunch

Well this is just a doozie. The most bizarre thing just happened to me. Picture this. An adorably quirky woman (me) meandering down the street after picking up her very favorite lunch at her very favorite thai restaurant, she's humming a little tune, singing a little song, when standing by the side of the road is this perfectly normal looking woman who says, "excuse me?" Being my outstandingly citizenly self (and being in uniform) I stop to see how I can be of assistance. At which point the woman launches into a diatribe about being homeless and not eating in four days. This woman was carrying a purse. Anyway, I'm slightly stunned, being that I have nothing in my hands to offer of a monetary value and she really, really doesn't look homeless (really). So I kind of half-heartedly say, "do you want my lunch?" And after asking what it was, she took it. My lunch.
The very funny part is that when I regaled my office with the tale they all went, "awwww! you're so sweet!" and I was forced to explain that it wasn't my intention to have my lunch hijacked. I simply have slow reaction time.

There's a large group of insane men staying on my floor.

Well, here we are. Its been over a month. I keep starting posts but never finishing them. So let's get up to speed. I didn't post on 9/11, because it was just a tough day. Rather 9/10 was a tough day. I don't really feel like going into it, but it had alot to do with the burdens people are expected to carry. Moving on from there. I may go back and write about that later, but right now, I just want to get to where I am today. I don't feel panic in dangerous situations. I feel panic at the grocery store. How does that work. Well, today I was panicked amid the florist department. But I forged on to the vegetables. So for that I'm pinning a great big gold star on. I'm also going to try and brainstorm a foolproof antidote to this panic. I don't know what its going to be. But I suspect it will have a variety of ingredients one of which is a strong quaalude.

Well, if you don't want two black eyes on a regular basis, I suggest you make some kind of peace with the rural life.

Its an occasion today. No, Little Man is still running free. He dashed across the room tonight. I believe he gave me the middle finger over the traps. We're not on speaking terms now. Anyway. Thats not the news. The news is that the new Old Crow Medicine Show album arrived in the mail today. Big Iron World. To say I'm delighted is an understatement. I'm positively ecstatic. I love music but I'm rather fickle in my loyalty to bands. Not the case with Old Crow Medicine Show. I am truly truly looking forward to the show in October. God's Got It and Cocaine Habit are spectacular. By the by, Little Man just fucking ran across the floor under my feet and back into the bedroom. Apparently he knows its bedtime.

The owls are not what they seem.

I am not what people would consider a calm person. Quite the opposite. I can feign calm. But really its just masked neuroticism. It's not a cute neuroticism either. I came face to face with this last night when in quite plain sight, right in front of me (who was curled on my couch engaged in a horribly awesome TNT drama fest movie marathon) dashed...a mouse. I screamed. I wish I was joking. I screamed and I jumped to the top of my couch. Where I remained perched while I considered the situation. I've been rocketed, I've been mortared, but I was rendered into the depths of pathos....by a mouse. This was last night. I got no sleep. When I say no sleep. I mean no sleep. I had nightmares in the wee hours. But no sleep. Now I'm home from work. And I've set two mouse traps. The kind the kill behind closed doors. And I don't want to kill the mouse. I even named him Little Man after he took off so bravely and quickly across the floor. I don't want him to die. We had a mouse in Baghdad in my office. We called him Supermouse. He was the highlight of the day. I don't hate mice. But I'm apparently terrified of one in my house. I had to make a gin and tonic tonight just to calm down after I set the traps. Which went off while I set them and I screamed again. I looked for new apartments today because frankly if Little Man doesn't leave I'll have to.

You listen to me. While I will admit to a certain cynicism, the fact is that I am a nay-sayer and hatchet man in the fight against violence.

Now I remember why I wasn't allowed to buy a banjo until I finished my masters degree. Alas, it is now too late, and I'm alternating improperly picking at my new-to-me banjo purchased from a parking lot an hour away, and counting NYT articles from the early 80s that reference AIDS. As of yet the two have nothing in common. But I'm holding out hope. Once I finish this degree I'll be free to pursue the vast playground of my abilities to pass time by myself. I foresee book-writing, banjo-picking, and adopting some kind of odd culinary ability. And reading. And listening to NPR. And producing my own podcast. And practicing yoga. I will be an odd, odd island to my 27 year old self. I think I had more in mind to write when I started this entry, but since I'm on page 6 of my paper, and I can see its completion somewhere in my future, I'm going to sign off and go back to casting stones at the New York Times for its utter reckless apathy towards AIDS in the early 80s. For shame, NYT. For shame.

Harry, my dream is a code waiting to be broken.

I think I've made an amazing personal revelation about how the world could be a much better place. Picture this. The baggage carousel at the airport, everyone jockeying for a better position, closer to the conveyor belt, elbowing, cursing, their neighbor, futilely searching for their luggage, while edging others out. Now imagine this. Everyone takes five steps back. Five. Not one. Not three. Five. You'd have a bigger circle. Everyone would be able to watch the conveyor. And when one person's luggage did appear they'd have room to step forward and get it without grasping at a handle beyond their reach and watching in desperation as it passes by. Everyone would get a shot at their luggage. People wouldn't be throwing hips, elbows, bags at others in an attempt to claim their space. All it would take is to be as concerned for the person next to you as you are for yourself.

Diane, never drink coffee that has been anywhere near a fish.

www.gofugyourself.com. accolades to my sister-in-law for introducing me to this delightful, albeit long-winded site. (the beauty of thesuperficial.com is in its utter short, simplistic, utterly unrepentant, posts). additionally i've found a new waste of time. correction, wasted time saturday night watching something that i hope i never watch again. please don't judge me. i meant to go to bed. but it was there, and it was a marathon. and. i. couldn't. stop. laguna beach. i watched four hours straight. worse yet i thought about the characters when i went to bed. i wondered what happened to them. and then the next day i wrote them into my grad final. as if this sad sad tale couldn't get any worse, my ex boyfriend informed me that the show was scripted. and i hated him for it. in other news, i'll be beantowning-it this weekend and in honor of such have a hysterical clip for all to view: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTU2He2BIc0