What a messed up day. Several things didn’t go right and traffic was even more idiotic on the drive home than it was on the way to work. I’m starting to see where those nutjobs up in Sacramento were coming from.
Speaking of nutjob, I had a nice little forty minute monologue from one of our glorious city’s crazy homeless. Lucky me, he caught me just as I was getting in my car where I usually park. Didn’t want to piss him off and bring down divine retribution on my car (he told me he was an angel) so I sat there an humored him. It was quite humorous for awhile, then just got tiring. Let’s see what I can remember from “The Life of a Rebel”, apparently the title of his memoirs.
First off, he was killed in a car wreck a few years back. Being the angel that he is/has become, he took the money he got from being killed (somewhere between $2000 and $36,000 depending upon which point in the story he had reached) and bought his friend’s dead mother a tombstone. Of course, thanks to “caramel” (you know, everything that goes around, comes around with a sweet candy coating) or perhaps from the spirit of his friend’s dead mother (both theories were presented) he was able to eventually buy a $17,000 Harley he wanted for $6000 cash. And boy can he ride Harleys – wheelies, standing on the seat, starting it – you name it, he does it.
So let’s see, he’s an angel, I’m an angel because I’m nodding at the right bits… oh, women are the devil. Well, not necessarily the devil, but certainly filled with the devil. He’s 50 years old and has been married at least once before. He has a 29 year old son and a father who’s either 54 or (after hurried calculation) 70. His wife cheated on him once, so he left her because “you can always tell.” Of course this was a few years after she left him at a bar and to prove a point to her, he “fucked” (his angelic terminology – I would’ve used the saintly “boinked”) three women at the same time from a Friday night through Sunday night, in which he “did everything,” which I’m sure meant some sort of religious purification ritual. Naturally, she made him do it. My thoughts exactly. Why isn’t this guy running for President?
Women have the devil in them, and as if to prove a point, God sent one past us at that point, so he could turn around and bless her with his words – “Hey baby, how you doin’?” After getting no response (other than a slightly quicker step), he confided in me that she was avoiding him because of the devil in her, personified by appointments and cellphones (I started wandering a bit here – I think it was the whiskey fumes). ‘Cause he could pick her up, take her out and wine her and dine her (he also used the word “bone” at this point, as if sent from Above) but he would just wind up dumping her because she wasn’t a nice person.
He’s a Vietnam Vet (here we go) and either teaches kids kickboxing at the YMCA (at which point he shows me a frightening looking calf. Leg muscle, not bovine) or works at Amtrak or is some kind of construction worker. I have GOT to start carrying a tape recorder with me. Upon telling him that I really needed to be getting along to the optometrist’s, he healed my vision with a prayer (oh yeah, he’s Navajo too) and said he’d know it worked when later on in the day his vision went blurry. My guess is, he must heal a lot of people’s vision.
That’s it, tomorrow I’m making an appointment with the dermatologist to get this “sucker” birthmark dermabrased off my forehead.