A horse of course!

I have to break from the norm for this post for several reasons:

#1: Let's face it, my friends, I'm just not that committed to drawing stupid stick drawings to supplement my posts. Were it not for the fact that not only do I have to draw the image, but then scan in said image, I might be more up to the task, but alas - I'm not, and so we come full circle.

#2: No stick drawing could/would suffice that reality of what I'm about to share with you - not even if it were sprinkled with magic dust, it just wouldn't be good enough.

#3: And besides, the only Google images anyone ever finds from my posts are regarding cream and midgets which I'm going to mention in the same sentence once again in the hopes of gaining more readership. I'll take you, whether you are a perve or not!

The same movement by the name of The Artistic Liberation Front that is spray painting "Hobo" all over the city sidewalks and lamp posts with blue spray paint and notified me that our local payphone is tapped, has started a new trend.

Yes, this is a plastic horse tied up with twist ties to the old Horse rings that are still scattered throughout the city sidewalks.

My husband wants to know where the plastic cowboys are, but that's easy - obviously the horses wouldn't need to be tied up if their cowboys were with them! The cowboys are off somewhere taking care of business!

Voicemail

I received this hot little number on my voicemail last night at 9:28 pm - and here it is for your reading pleasure verbatim, all ums, oohs and aahhs included:

Hello, my name is Brad Holtz and I'm, I believe I'm speaking with the right person - to pursue, I left a message there it sounds like the right voice, I think your names Valerie, maybe Vivian, but I'm pretty sure Valerie, anyway... I did some work on the steps here, at the town homes, more than about a couple years ago or so here,... (sigh) I lost your number when my phone got stolen from a work truck that I was, uh, working for a non profit up in Seattle, anyway... (sigh) um, for the first time I came by here and it looks like you never had the mortar work redone... um, so I was wondering if I could still get payment for that thing - on the way home that night, you were right I did need lights,... I ended up getting hit by a car head on, just messed up, really, but uh, anyway, so I'm hoping that you will get back to me on this matter, and, um, yeah... the reason that I'm kinda chalking this up is because I overheard you saying that you were going to have someone come back in and redo the stairs, I remember you told me that, whichever the case, it's still holding together - just like I thought it would - anyway, call, obviously - because I'm a little low on the fundage these days, hope you're well, bye now

Authenticity

I love a good crazy, but obviously I don't like posers. Last night at the park, we encountered a poser.

There we were, calmly conversing with a stranger about our dogs when all of a sudden we heard screaming from behind the hill to our south. The stranger commented, "He's been doing that for a while."

I looked over. There was nothing to be seen, and then ever so subtly a black head of hair slowly began crawling over the top of the mound with a smile brimming from ear to ear. His eyes shot furtively around witnessing who was paying attention. When he discovered he had an audience he shot up, held his arms wide, looked directly at me and shouted: "Who has marijuana?"

And also, "Who has a chimichanga?"

He followed his questions with hysterical giggling and then he fell to the ground and rolled back down the hill to join his friend.

This went on for a while, and we ventured to the other side of the park. When the poser lost his audience he decided to do something drastic.

He resumed his pose at the highest point on the small mound, held his arms wide, looked directly at me and began again, to wail while... tearing his shirt apart starting at the neck. The most he succeeded in doing was both exposing his weakness (it took him 4 tries before he got the shirt fully in two) and his flabby gut. It was sad display mocking a mix of Hulk Hogan and the Incredible Hulk but an attempt at that. His similarity to the brute force of either character made your face scrunch up in that upside down frown and think instead that this is what Ratatouille would look like if he were to brave such a front.

Alternatively, this morning I found a prescript detail for Methadone, so in reflection, maybe it was his and he wasn't a poser after all. I can't decide which I think would be better.

God Bless America

Baking in my kitchen, over the noise of my blender (which at 1:00a I'm sure my neighbors didn't appreciate - sorry (not really!)), and the noise of my fan through the window, and any cars which were driving by, and boiling water on the stove, I heard screams and shouts.

Simultaneously rolling my eyes, and straining my ears to hear the commotion, because surely you don't think my annoyance could possibly supersede my curiosity and the possibility of a good story, I distinctly hear the telltale noise of thundering repetition slowly gaining momentum... louder, louder still, and finally: "U S A! U S A! U S A!"

A gaggle of drunk and disorderly boys stomped by my apartment on their way home from the bar! Finally! Something worth causing a raucous over! After a couple rounds of "USA!!" the boys took turns singing, God Bless America all the way down the street.

I was so proud I didn't even care they were tone deaf! Go bums!!! (for once!)

Fight Club

I happened upon a transient argument today while on my way to the store. It involved two people I will name: Hobo 1, and Hobo 2.

Hobo 1, as far as I can tell initiated the argument by running into, or nearly ran into Hobo 2 with his vehicle, a dilapidated van; a fair reason for Hobo 2 to be upset.

Hobo 2 screams obscenities at Hobo 1 - as I mentioned, probably for good reason. This is when I enter the scene.

Hobo 1 thinks Hobo 2 is a a**hole, while Hobo 2 thinks that Hobo 1 should go to hell.

Hobo 2 thinks that Hobo 1 is drunk, while Hobo 1 thinks that Hobo 2 is drunk and high!

Hobo 1 knows where Hobo 2 lives so... Hobo 2 should be scared, but Hobo 2 knows what Hobo 1 drives and wrote down his license plate number, and make and model of car and is going to call the cops!

A little ways down the street Hobo 2 ran into his friend Hobo 3. Unfortunately, I was on the other side of the street, but I do know that Hobo 3 vehemently agreed with Hobo 2 - that a**holes should not drive drunk and that Hobo 2 should call the cops.

At which point both Hobo 2 and Hobo 3 got a good laugh.