Last night when I was walking home from The Charm City Art Space after a show, I saw this asian dude get out of his car. Upon a first glance, I thought he resembled the Dalai Lama, but really only because he was a little dude with big glasses. "You racist!" I thought to myself. As he passed me by, he said "wussup."
A few blocks later, the same guy pulled over to the curb beside me and asked "you want to go for a drink?" I mumbled no thanks, and I scurried away.
I was instantly hard on myself for saying that whole "go on a date with any random dude" thing, and then fleeing this guy, but I mean, its not like I was gonna get in his car anyway.
I got some groceries and did some laundry last night. Shopping when my stomach is acting up is a weird thing. You know what they say about shopping when you're hungry? Well its the opposite. All food seems nauseating. Looking around me makes my stomach turn. I made grocery choices based on what I assumed I would want to eat later.
It is nice to have food in my fridge.
It is very nice to have a basket of clean (but wrinkly) clothes chillin in my room awaiting me to stink them up with my summer sweatt.
I had a hard time sleeping. I tossed and turned, and debated getting up to take some sleepy something, but I didn't feel like getting up. As so often happens to me, I finally managed to fall asleep and then was jarred awake. This time I was awakened by the loud ringing of my doorbell. My doorbell is unbearably loud, and someone was holding it down for minutes at a time. I tried to ignore, and I listened as I heard the other doorbells in other apartments ring. I went and peered through the crack in my door.
My crazy fucking crackhead neighbor was trying to get someone to let her in. I don't know what her deal is. This is the lady who gave me stew and cornbread. She has tried to borrow money from me. Some angry tenant let her in, and I listened as she quietly snuck into her apartment, which is next to mine. There is something so wrong. She has a "husband" who locks her out all the time. I've heard her banging on the back door yelling for him to let her in.
I went back to bed, furious at her.
This morning as I left for work, in a rush to not be late, she was standing in the hall. She asked me if I got the letter. What letter? "We have to move out... they're selling this building."
I was in a rush and I brushed her aside and headed to work.
If what she said is true, it will be quite an annoyance in so many ways. I have been riding the wave of awesomeness for a few weeks now. I really don't need this kind of shit to happen. She is a crazyass so she's probably full of shit, but I have 40 minutes until my rental office opens and I can find out.
I hope SHE moves out. I am so scared of my plans getting disorganized. Not now, please!
Kara, Jess, Cam, Brad, Brian, Anthony & I were going to go camping. But it's SNOWING on our campground, so we are gonna pass... My barber suggested we go to Atlantic City instead - what do you guys think? Is it fun or bunk? Could we get a hotel room with a hot tub? Are there buffets? How far is it from NYC? Can you have fun without spending loads of money?
In addition to "junking up the fp" with photos (requested, and increadibly down-sized mind you), I will now pummel you with more meaningless updates about my life. For part of this post you will have to bear with me on my content transition being not like two well fitting pieces, but more two random objects crudely stappled together.
Yesterday, I embarked on a mass mailing from hell. More often than not these days, when I am not at my broken home the Warehouse, I am working at Flashpoint (i.e. right now). What started as a simple gallery sitting job, has once again turned into a jack-of-all-trades postion (well, overhire mind you). So along with countless data base updating, and technical work, I recently comandered the annual report mailing. Though things here are better organized than at "my house," (not to mention, I've never been treated like an incompetent child here), there are still alot of disjointed opperations.
In fact I am going to take an entire paragraph just to explain the mailing procedure and components. It goes a little something like this (prepare yourself for an algabraic word problem): The pieces of the mailing are broken into piles A, B and C. These all will ultimately stream themselves into the total mailing, yet are not individual pieces so much as the same pieces, slightly different, comming from three different places. Now imagine that A, B, and C, are going into envelopes according to list D. List D contains the addresses that are on the labels of list E. Theoretically A, B, and C will all file in according to list D, and be mailed useing list E. Excpet that A-E are all in random differing order, so to able to compile the total mailing for one envelope, you have to go through the entirity of piles A-C, and lists D and E. Which makes a grand total of about 5 minutes per each one. This compounded with the fact that people are still not finished with all of A-C, and the fact that list D is not entirely correct, explains why people grab guns and go climb clock towers. An uncalculable number of hours later, I have finally sorted the mess out. However, I am STILL not done since the person in charge of stack C has not completed it yet. Horray for the US postal service.
All is not lost however, since I decided that it was New Bike Day 2005. Don't get me wrong, I loved my old bike, but it was a mountain bike. As biking becomes not only my primary form of transportation, but also a minor passion, I began to yearn for a car crushing road bike (hi, my name is Denman, and I crush cars). The only place that I do any bike shopping in DC is Chain Reaction. Not only is it in my neighborhood, and also has the cheapest parts and labor in town, but it is a community outreach. It takes the revenue it earns from selling, and fixing bikes, and uses it to fund it's youth program. Kids from the area can sign up for a bike class, and over the course of the class they will be given a bike and taught how to rebuild it. At the end of the class, they are allowed to keep the bike. Anywho, I think that's awesome, so I go there for bike needs.
I went by last week, and they had no worthwhile bikes left. The woman working there said that if I could come by on Friday, that was when they put the new bikes out. So today I rolled by just before they opened. When I was finally let in, I was shown the new bikes they had for sale. Two words: friggin awfull. I thought for sure I was going to have to ride my SUV of a bike for yet another week. Fortunatelly however, the same woman was there, and she remembered that I was looking for a road bike. She said that they had one in the back that had not gone out yet. If this was a game show, I just picked the right curtain to find out what was behind. She pulls out a small blue road bike in pristine condition. It was a Lotus, which meant nothing to me. I asked the woman about it, and she said it was a Japanese brand. So of course I did a little snooping on the internet. It turns out that the maker of Lotus bikes has been under for quite a while now. They don't make them anymore, and they appear to be a rather rare
find. However back in the day they were an economic, yet serious competitor for brands like Bianchi. Several people posted that they raced professionally on Lotus Bikes. It was kind of odd, nearly every post was from someone trying to find out about these bikes. After looking through several threads, it turns out I made a pretty good catch. All that and for under $150. to boot.
So yes, life does has it's contant ups and downs, e.i. up with lotus, down with mail.
i have way-too-high hopes for my weekend. let's see if they don't all fall into a pile of smoking crap.
and now for the best song ever written, to be covered (apparently) by mike watt:
Rebel Girl (K. Hannah/J. Ruin)
That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood
She’s got the hottest trike in town
That girl she holds her head up so high
I think I wanna be her bestfriend
Rebel girl, rebel girl
Rebel girl you are the queen of my world
Rebel girl, rebel girl
I think I wanna take you home
I wanna try on your clothes
When she talks, the revolutions coming
In her hips, there’s revolution
When she talks, I hear the revolution
In her kiss, I taste the revolution
That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood
I got news for you, she is!
They say she’s a slut, but I know
She is my best friend
Rebel girl, rebel girl, rebel girl
I really like you, I really love you
I really wanna be your bestfriend
Love you like a sister always
Soul sister, blood sister
Please be my rebel girl
Jennifer taught me that anorexia knows no age. She also taught me how to set down a baby after spinning it around and around and around at arms length without crushing its skull. You have no idea how many babies' skulls were accidentally pulped as I traversed the baby-swinging learning curve. I say baby, but Jennifer was 9 in this picture.
Uncle Donner, I'm told, was quite popular with the alcoholics in our family. They nick-named him "Apple Skinner" but I don't think it had anything to do with the fruit. The limit of this cute little guys utility was, lacking a nose, he needed his mouth to breathe.
"Don't put me in the fucking basket" he used to screech. Oh, we put him in the basket all right. Until cousin Keith taught him to bite and slash. Then there was nothing we could do to keep him out. Kids. (10 points if you what I'm referring to)
I told Aunt Margaret to stop sneaking off to that lagoon at night and having manatee orgies and such. You might say that the Trichickidaes had come home to roost. But then you'd be a fucking science nerd loser who's fond of bad puns.
Seagulls and Babies, how could we have known. How could ANYONE?
Cousin Nubbins. He was always such a happy guy, until the day he heard about his mother, Aunt Margaret fucking around on his paw Fappy with a bunch of fat-ass manatees.
We kept telling Loula Belle not to play near the road. We left her there as a warning to the other babies. So far, it's worked.
Deke is such a technophile. He hacked into the matrix as a mere toddler.
I'm sure you'll agree that these are the KEY-YOOTIST babies EVAR! I'm so proud to call them near relations. Tah-Tah!
