I woke up this morning at about three and couldn’t really feel my legs. I realized I had been sleeping on my cell phone plug. That was another one to add to the list of weird things I’ve woken up next to. Other things on that list include an orange, a lemon, my cat humping my blanket, hairballs, and a balloon with a face drawn on it. Strange things can happen in the night. When people are on sleeping pills it only gets weirder. One of my friends was prescribed some gnarly little blue pills and would “sleep eat.” This is a very dangerous prospect for someone like me who likes to eat in the waking hours. I’d be gi-normous. She woke up with her face resting on a tuna sandwich once. There’d be open jars of mayo and cream cheese and hot sauce bottles strewn across the floor. I think this is why they tell you to take a pill and hit the hay. Not take a pill, forget you’ve taken one already and take some more while standing in front of an open refrigerator. Poor girl. At least she found her cure: she falls asleep at parties.
Dang, am I ever grateful this heat wave is coming to an end. People go absolutely psycho nuts when it gets slightly above 70 degrees in this town. Panic sets in. This may very well be because they do not know what to wear. I have sold all my hot-weather clothes for a reason known to no one and so I just suffer. In very extreme weather I always feel bad for the bums. Either you’re soaked or stewing in your own bum juices. I walked by a bum who looked remarkably similar to one I used to see everyday in the Financial District. He was pretty dirty and he had the happy habit of exposing his buttocks. This time ‘round he was sitting so I didn’t get my expected treat. He was wearing a shirt that said “IT’S GOOD TO BE THE KING”—quite possibly the most ironic t-shirt a bum can wear. I would have taken a photo but I always feel a little bad and rude about it. I did actually try to take a picture that would have cheered me up my whole life through. I saw a topless fat man doing tai chi in camouflage shorts in front of City Hall. I got to work and tried to look at it and the camera hadn’t taken the shot. And just when I was in need of some cheer.
I quit tap. I hate to admit I am a quitter because it’s so lame to quit stuff and I already think I have commitment issues, so I usually try to stick it out. But it was too terrible. I was by far one of the worst people in that class. All the other, older tappers would give me these sympathetic looks and try to help. And I can admit when I’m bad at stuff—like metalwork, another failed attempt—but it was getting to the point where I would loathe Wednesdays. I’d start panicking on Tuesday evening and it would peak at 5:30 Wednesday. Yikes…so I’m glad I had the courage to quit. I am, however, sorry to be missing out on the freak parade and my favorite Cosby-sweater wearing, uni-browed classmate. At the last class I went to he asked me if I had a snack he could eat.
It always wigs me out a little when people carry birds on their shoulders in public. Call me old-fashioned, but that sort of seems like the kind of thing you should do in private. This guy in tie-dye sat in front of me on the bus yesterday with a huge gray parrot on his shoulder. It kept sliding off his shoulder and picking at his moles and I just could not understand his insistence on bringing that jerky bird on the MUNI. I could see my reflection in his angry yellow eyes and all I could imagine was him hopping on my lap and biting me. Because that has happened to me and I’m sure that streak is not over.