I pulled into the inconvenience store to gas up the car. It seems to need it every once in awhile.
At one of the businesses nearby, I saw a man taking photos of a really nice deep blue sports car. I don’t know if it was a Jaguar, Toyota Celica, or what because I stink at identifying cars.
After filling the tank, I walked as close as I dared and took my shirt off and started waving it above my head. After a few pictures, the young guy taking the pictures noticed me in the background and realized I was probably in the shots.
I don’t know whether he was about to admonish me or not, so I preempted him my laughing and waving as I walked away.
Yes I put my shirt on.
There’s no need to torture innocent bystanders with my amazing good looks.
As I stood on the landing this morning, the people I call Crew 14 were all standing around their front door. They were hilariously making fun of the new mustache of a mutual acquaintance of theirs. I’m assuming they were talking about a man but you never know. They were saying it made him look like an ’80s cop or a creeper. I couldn’t help but laugh. When they turned towards me, I then told them that’s why I trimmed my facial hair yesterday; that a creeper look of my own would be fair warning to anybody who wants to talk to me. I do sort of like look like a San Francisco policeman.
PS I was standing in the Harps parking lot this morning. I had just purchased a butane torch and 16 gallons of flammable floor wax. I’m just kidding about my grocery list. Someone kept hollering hey. I almost didn’t recognize my cousin Diane. I think I might have given her too many hugs. The fact that she put a taser on my neck and said I have to go was a subtle sign!
Bonus: I found out yesterday why Batman keeps the lower half of his face uncovered. I laughed and laughed at the dumb punch line. .
This morning, as I quietly stood on the landing, I heard someone below fail to realize I was standing above, listening to the sounds of the insects and watching the infrequent traffic. My cat Güino stood next to me, sniffing the air.
A series of staccato flatulent blasts interrupted the nature sounds.
They weren’t mine, in case you’re pondering.
One, two, three, four; the toots almost echoed against the cheap vinyl siding and the wooden platform above the anonymous performer.
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
Below, a single word was uttered: “Oops!”
If you can’t even fart outside at 3:30, nothing is sacred.
When I’m doing these goofy videos, it slips my mind I still have my cape on. This was the case a few minutes ago when I went out on the landing to do chores and favors. One of the neighbors was sitting in her SUV and looked up and laughed fairly raucously. When I came back up the stairs to the landing, another neighbor popped out his door and casually looked at me. Then his head whipped around again to take another look. I had no choice except to swirl my cape dramatically, because that’s what people do in those unusual circumstances. I wish I would have thought to jump over the side of the railing and then duck out of sight. This neighborhood could definitely use a superhero. Or even an average guy with a broom and sweeper. Dream big y’all!
PS I keep hoping during one of my many convenience store excursions that I have my cape with me. And that I catch someone in the commission of a crime. I think someone in a cape would startle a would-be criminal so badly that they would freeze. Also the news headline would be very amusing. I would totally pretend that I actually have super powers.
A very subtle sign rock that I made for one of my neighbors. They have a very sweet pitbull who loves cats. Not the r&b singer; rather, the canine version. My car Güino thinks every animal is his friend, but this dog makes his fur stand on end. .
Oh, it is a serene enough scene now. An hour ago? Had you casually turned the corner, you would have witnessed a 55-year-old man kick off his sandals, peel off his shirt, followed by his pants, leaving him with a pair of underwear covering his body and nothing else.
Except for several hundred allegedly harmless ants.
I’ve been periodically deconstructing the drug shed behind my apartment. To avoid overpiling the dumpster, I split up my 40 or 50 trips back and forth hauling the contents of said shed to the dumpster. I should have done it last year, along with the cleanup and all the tree cutting. In winter, I mean, to reduce the varmint probability.
This afternoon, on a foolish whim, I went back there with a screwdriver and a small cutting tool. Yes, I had on a pair of rubber sandals. I realize that they are not on a construction workers list of advisable shoe wear in those conditions. All I can say in my defense is that I had a couple of major head dramas when I was younger.
Spiders? Check. Snakes? Check. It wasn’t until I was crammed up between the side of the drug shed facing the old wooden fence that I realized I was itching. I’d seen a few ants pour out one of the seams of the metal siding. A few were on my hand. Much to my surprise, I looked down at the mass of trash and leaves and realized I was standing on top of thousands and thousands of ants. Undoubtedly there was a colony underneath the steel and rotted wood platform, one which extended out into the untouched confines between the shed and the fence.
It took me a few seconds, I will admit – to connect my itching to the probability that I might be covered with ants underneath my clothing.
When I peeled off my shirt, I was covered in them. Which led me to the conclusion that my legs and nether regions were probably being invaded too. Because these weren’t flying ants, they had to have used my legs as a ladder to get up there right?
I jumped several feet away from the shed and began undressing like a music fan at a Phish festival. I used my hands for several seconds and then grabbed my shirt and began hitting myself.
Had anyone looked out the windows facing the back side of the apartments, they would either be shocked or just assumed that it’s another typical day where I live.
Tomorrow I will get my vengeance.
I’ll go out there with my professional strength insecticide and drown them. Please don’t feel sorry for the ants.
They got the last word today.
I guess it could have been worse: 10,000 spiders, a pit of snakes, or two dozen managers trying to have a meeting with me.
We all have nicknames for our neighbors, ones we often substitute even when we know their names. After work I came out on the balcony to let the cat roam.
The sourpuss lady on the end exited her apartment. I waved and said, “Hello Karen,” before catching myself.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 