Good Samaritan

Anyone that knows me can attest that I am both quite clumsy, and often forgetful. I was walking to the bank (of all places) a few days ago, and I lost my wallet along the way. Between walking two dogs, and crossing multiple streets/overpasses, it's no wonder as it was just stuffed into my pocket. Not the wisest move... I know. But see, if I keep my wallet in my purse I have just as good a chance of leaving my purse somewhere - I know this because I have more times than not left my purse somewhere. I'm not a purse person anyway, I don't like them.

The sad part is I didn't realize that I had lost/misplaced or been been pickpocketed until I reached the bank. Oops. I retraced my steps back home, left the dogs, and retraced my steps back. I leaned over the overpass railing to peer onto the freeway, I searched among the urine stenched bushes on the side of the street, I gave the bums dirty looks that I walked past on my journey.

No luck. I couldn't find it. I cancelled all my cards, but told my husband I had a good feeling about it.

As the days passed I thought if a good samaritan had found it they should mail it back. However, upon further reflected I decided a good samartian would hopefully think otherwise as the address on the drivers license might not be correct! I thought about 20x times over I should check Craigslist Lost and Found - but I never did, don't ask me why.

Today, I got a random message on Facebook. No surprise, creepies everywhere!! I've had my fair share of creepy messages. I'm kinda sick of Facebook and Myspace though. Constant checking to see if new friends have signed up, constant emails about who has done what, and then this new epidemic of people internet snubbing you! I finally decided to cancel all my email subscriptions - no more alerts - I'll check it when I check it! Well, apparently I didn't cancel my Facebook alerts, and like I said, today I got a random message.

Hallelujah!

"My name is Downtown Perks (names changed). I found your wallet on my way to work the other day. It's all in there. I found it on some intersection near 16th and glisan. So if you would like to come pick it up sometime that would be great. my phone number is 505-505-5055."

Thank you!

Skills

When we adopted our first puppy, we were fresh off the bandwagon of Nintendogs and found it quite amusing to teach the little guy all sorts of tricks; even the simple ones like stay, so when the time came to start training the second in command we found ourselves less enticed. This was particularly so when we discovered how easily she copied the first one. "Let him teach her," we pronounced. On the whole, the pack training of two worked well, but there are a few things she hasn't quite mastered. One of those is getting into the plastic spoons. As soon as I throw away the current one she's demolished, she trots over and finds a new one. I should move them, yes.

Today we were working on stay. I was watering the plants out front; she was perched on the front steps where she was told to watch - but stay put! Easy enough, until some hobo walks by and tells her she no longer has to stay. Usually my puppies do what they are told and bark crazily at anyone old, drunk, or unclean. I guess we've now found something else we need to spend time working on.

Once I reach the two of them, and put the puppy back in her place, the hobo says to me, "I can tell they really love you."

"Really? That's nice."

"You know how I can tell?"

"Uh uh."

"It's the look in your eyes..." he follows up with a smile and points to his own eyes fearing that I won't understand.

No, that's just the look of someone who thinks you are a crazy drunk!

Now that he's blathered on about his psychic abilities, he's got a story to tell. "Today, I got a wild squirrel to eat out of my hand for 5 minutes!!"

"That's lucky," I surmised.

"No," he corrected me. "That's 'cuz I got skills."

Verbal Assult

I haven't gone back to the dirty place since the spare jeans incident... Ew. But, I ventured back today. It was fairly early, 6 a.m. even, and I thought I would take the puppies for a bit while my husband worked his swing shift for four hours.

It's the end of July - but it was 40 degrees. Luckily I wore spandex leggings under my shorts, and I had a sweatshirt and blanket which I rolled up into.

"Sorry to wake you up," an old man grumbled as he walked past me. I looked up. "Say what?" I asked. "Sorry to wake you from your bed," he repeated.

Whoa! I jumped up, "Hey, I'm not sleeping! I'm reading a library book; I have a library card; I work AND live down the street; my husband works a swing shift; he's at work right now; I thought it would be fun to bring the dogs to the park; I tried to insert every possible insinuation that I was, in fact, not homeless into this conversation without stating what I was dying to actually scream, loudly: "I'm really not a homeless bum."

But he wasn't the only one. A little later a couple kids came up, "Heeeeeey, wanna come blow up this watermelon with us?" I'm alright just reading, I assured them. "Coooool, but uh do you care if we do? It's going to be awesome!!" Nope, really, I'm ok. When their melon failed to blow up, they hopped the fence plastered with warning signs and jumped around on the old dilapidated bridge cussing and giggling every time loose boards fell beneath their feet into the river below. Then later, while loudly contemplating how awesome it was that they almost died many different times jumping on the bridge, they attempted to climb up the notches in the pillars of the 100ft. overpass.

Unfortunately, at one point I had to give in and face the repugnant restrooms. As I had nowhere to put the dogs, they had to come with me. When we walked out of the bathroom, a city worker was standing nearby in the parking lot. She looked at me, like I looked at the prostitute and cabbie when they walked out in the spare jeans episode.

I felt dirty.

Freak Me Out

"You came out of nowhere,
Man you really freak me out
I'm so afraid of you
and when I lose my cool
I don't know what to do.
I know you don't mean no harm,
you're just doing your thing,
but man you really freak me out."

You know this Weezer song, Freak Me Out?

This is how I feel every time I walk outside. Every corner, every street, every intersection some fool is standing there with a clipboard asking me to sign up for world peace, or the starving children, or lately the Change Monger.

Get it? The Change Monger vs. the War Monger.

"Do you have 5 minutes for Barack Obama?" he petitions...

"I would rather die first," I reply smiling.

I'm smiling because it's true, and because I'm unapologetic for it.

Tomorrow I will ask the petitioner if they agree with Barack Obama that mothers who are too high on crack, or meth, or heroin, too high to be able to make a decision about their child; a decision whether or not to give life saving treatment to a 3 minute old baby they are too high to even know that they just gave birth to a living being, I'm going to ask them if they agree with Barack Obama that that child should lie in the corner starving, suffocating, and likely bleeding to death.

Crosswalk

There I was - walking on the sidewalk, halfway between 22nd and 21st, approaching the intersection. I was quickly approaching a woman ahead of me who was paused at the crosswalk of an intersection, growing dizzy from watching the cars speed past her.

A crosswalk: An original idea to assist pedestrians. A bar of white stripes painted in the street. That thing that the Beatles walked across on that one famous album cover. That thing that you have to stop for if you are a driver and someone wants to walk across the street.

So she's waiting. Finally, heading south, a Scooter man finally stops. He smiles at her, she smiles at him. She looks north - clear, she looks south - cars still speeding past crazily. She smiles at the Scooter man again. She waves him on, shrugging her shoulders and holding up her hands with an upside down frown, as the cars heading north refuse to stop.

Not only is it the law everywhere that you must stop for a person wishing to cross a street with a crosswalk, but where I live, if a person wants to cross the street - whether there is a crosswalk (lines painted in the street) or not, as a driver, you have to stop no matter what. You have to stop at any intersection if someone wants to cross the street. The pedestrian always has the right of way.

Scooter man smiles back at the lady and refuses to continue. He raises his arm and points in a southern direction. A northern headed vehicle stops - almost as if Scooter man made them, like Xavier from X-men!

Just as she takes her second step into the crosswalk I reach the intersection and I follow suit. As she reaches the other side of the street she veered left; away from the stopped car and towards Scooter man, but I veer right; closer to the mentally coerced stopped vehicle. As soon as I step onto the sidewalk, the vehicle slams on the gas and the passenger shoves his head out of the window and screams at me: "You ARE welcome!"