I had to have some blood drawn at the doctor’s the other day. It’s a real pain in the ass because you have to wait for all the old people ahead of you to pull out their IDs, argue, refuse to pay and misunderstand everything they’re told. I waited and went around to the lab and waited and then got seated and waited some more. The phlebotomist was busy with another patient and I could hear him, humming away and suddenly I started to think about how gnarly the series finale of M*A*S*H was. The chicken was a baby?!
I realized the phlebotomist was humming the theme song. “M*A*S*H, huh?” “‘Suicide is Painless.'” Yikes. “Well, good, I know I’m not crazy.” “Neither am I!” His response was weird and then I got to thinking, he’s new here, what if he’s a psycho and instead of just drawing my blood, he gave me some weird blood-borne virus? It could happen.
On my way home from the doctor’s I got stuck behind some slow pickup truck bearing the bumper stickers “Real Men Love Jesus” and “I Pray, Get Over It!”. He was an angry, masculine Christian, so what? So he drove like a freakin’ idiot. And he didn’t see me tailgating him like an asshole madwoman for like a mile. And then I couldn’t take it anymore and I honked and the angry Christian whipped around and gave me the freakiest, most hate-filled stare I’ve ever gotten–swear. It was like Satanas himself was givin’ me the old hairy eyeball. So, the only thing I could come up with was flipping him the Bird with a fierceness! This only made him angrier and his Christian girlfriend got in on the act and stared me down and I kept on honking and then I thought, now what awesomely witty thing can I scream out the window as I pass them by? “Stop praying and start driving?” Hella weak. And when the time came for me to put them straight, all I could say was, “why don’t you learn to drive asshole!” Super weak.
Speaking of weak, I was shopping in a weak store called Rave or something turbo-teen like that, and this Indian man was in there with his kids and his (very obvious) new girlfriend picking out clothes for her. This always bothers me. He even stuck his head in the dressing room to make sure the crap he picked fit properly. He picked such winners as skin tight white lace-up jeans and a crocheted halter. Hoo-chi-fy your life!
My ex-law firm has collectively adopted a baby. This concept is new to me. I think it might be similar to maybe sponsoring a race car? Or maybe a spot of rainforest. Maybe it’s like when you and a group of friends go in on something really cool like a Wii or maybe a cute little puppy and then you fight over who gets to take it home. Only with a kid, you know no one is going to reserve him during his icky, asshole teenage years. It might be more of a punishment for poor attorney performance.
Yesterday was as perfect a day as they come in San Francisco and so Mar and I took a drive out to Pacifica Pier—the scene of the infamous seagull on my thigh attack—and we watched Filipino kids fishing for crabs. They’d lower down this netty thing loaded with fishy bait and wait for crabs to happen. They really just wasted their time and fishy bait since, just below them, was a super fat seal chillin like a vato. They’d notice he’d eaten their bait and set another crab trap and lower it down only to forget about the seal and so on. It was the greatest thing I’ve seen.
It has replaced the vision of the crow flying at me and Mar with a rat in his mouth. Then he dropped it over the railing onto the freeway. That was the number one greatest thing I’d seen for a very long time.