a tisket, a tasket

Been having some craziness lately. A rabid customer (she left us nasty comments on both Facebook and Yelp), a puppy with bloody paws (he came running up to me at the shop the other day; turns out i knew who his owner was and i guess he ran to us because he knew he was safe there... breaks my heart, in a way), and a psychopathic prospective employee (she was only seventeen, and more crazy [with each passing minute] than anyone i've ever come across in my life, which believe me is saying something).

But in between there is clarity: riding my new bike (he is red and white and his name is 'Fancy'), drinking homemade cider at a friend's house for a welcome to Autumn (it was dry and apply and delicious), growing out my nails long enough to finally paint sparkly red (it's been way too long), figuring out the ol' Halloween costume (not telling yet; let's just say it's not as awesome as the Flower-Headed Girl above), and enjoying the surreal bioluminescent dinoflagellates in the night-time water (we've had a strong red tide 'round these parts lately!)... i tried to get some photos of this last mentionable but the glow was not strong enough for the camera's eye.

Last night we watched The Thing, and it was great! Cheesy special effects, but a compelling tale overall. (i remember my dad had this on Beta as a double-feature with The Fog, which is such an obviously great choice.) Now i suppose we will have to drag ourselves off to the theater to see the prequel, starring Some Pretty Girl which was probably a Really Stupid Decision. But it remains to be seen.

And found a perfect 'M' in the shadows of a tree.

Until next time, here is a song about a whale, by a band about an ostrich.

Too Much Information.

So, yesterday i had an altogether new experience.
("In the altogether"? "nude" instead of "new"?)

i'm at work, minding my own business, when a guy walks up. His breath is flammably alcoholic, but his pupils were like pinpoints, so i'm guessing there was another substance at work as well. He'd just gotten a new tattoo, on his neck, and wanted to know if he could check it out in the mirror. My co-worker and i were happy to oblige, just for the spectacle. In all fairness, it was a really nice tattoo! It was simple, just 2 words (i can't remember them) and a date: 1911. But the letters were very artfully scrolled, and the inkwork was truly phenomenal. It looked really, really smart.

And we told him so! After he asked five hundred times.

Turns out this guy had a bit of a self-image problem. He kept adjusting his (porkpie) hat and/or fixing his hair ("should i shave it all off? What do you ladies think?"), and after regaling us with a long story about his estranged wife and their 2 kids, he made us promise that she didn't leave him because of his looks.

"i mean, i'm not ugly, right? i'm a decent-looking guy? C'mon, ladies, tell me the truth."

Holy insecure tattooed twenty-somethings, Batman! i thought i was bad. Seriously, asking a complete stranger to rate your attractiveness? And with not a trace of irony? i could see another, douchier, guy using this act as some sort of come-on. But this lad was truly, truly up to his ears in self-loathing. It was a little rough to be around.

But here's the kicker: As much as he was fiddling with his clothing, what with the constant tugging, adjusting, patting down, etc., i couldn't help but, you know, look at him. And that's when i noticed it.

"It" being the operative word.

His pants were sagging quite a bit (nothing strange in this day and age), but instead of wearing boxer shorts, he was wearing tighty-whities. Thin ones. And um, did i mention yet how low his pants were? Let's just say that there was very little of this guy left to the imagination. Here are a couple of pop culture references that might illustrate the issue a little better:

#1: (see :30-:40)


and #2: (see 1:25-2:50)


Now, although "it" was never actually "out", it may as well have been. It was the male equivalent of a girl bending over and showing a whole lotta thong: nobody needs to see that, you know? Some things are just.... private. Now, cleavage is one thing. A guy walking around without a shirt on is another. But i really do not to see the exact size and shape of your genitalia there, buddy. Thanks, all the same.

i wonder if he even knew? A guy that (obviously) looks in the mirror that much must have given himself at least a dozen once-overs before leaving the house that day, how did this get overlooked? Hm. Guess we'll never know for sure.

Eventually, we gave him a flower to take to his estranged wife (he was on his way to help her pack for a trip). He proclaimed what great friends we all were now that he'd confided in us, and poured his heart out and all, and he was off down the street, giving me a "bye, April!" and April a "see ya later, Heather!"