Monday, September 18, 2006

Walk Three in Stoopid-ville

I didn't have much time on my walk today because I spent most of my morning writing about my other walk. But, my Cammies and I ventured out anyway.
I didn't have to bring my keys this time because smart me picked up the mail before I got to the office, so this time I got to have a hands free walk.
I wasn't heading down to the cafe for my usual tea because smart me picked up a few tea bags before I got to the office and made my own tea. Why does carrying something when I walk stress me out?

So, I had no idea where I was going, and I liked it.

I passed by the ugly ass cow that I once mildly vandalized. I hate this thing. Picture this; an old town, beautiful, tree lined street of victorian homes, all done up their best. My very favorite is a two story, pale green with a purple door. Exceptional remodel job. Out in front, to my complete horror and disappointment, is a sculpture of a cow. Not only a sculpture of a cow, this is an "artistic" cow fountain, spewing water from it's udders, into the ugliest, hugest steel trough full of plants and grass. A lovely (not) wreath of olive branches encircles its fat cow head, and of course there's an authentic cow bell around it's plastic neck. This thing is HUGE. So, big beautiful house, small cute yard, humongus ugly fucking cow. I just don't get it. I was so pissed about it, that one night, a co-worker and I, along with our significant others, dressed all in black and went down there in the middle of the night.
We replaced the wreath with a barbed wire crown. (Some day maybe I'll tell you the long gory details of all it took to remove this innocent looking olive thing, or maybe you can see the footage we shot with my video cam).
We replaced the cow bell with a giant cardboard cross.
We put red bath tub dye into the trough. And the final, piece de resistance, we duct taped a big sign on the side saying, "HOLY COW!!". Did I mention I was pregnant at the time? I so would have loved to gotten arrested for this, just to make the story even better. We did get a nice write up in the local paper though. The headline read, "Cow!! Vandalized on Broadway!". I swear to god or whatever, that all of this and more is completely true.


Then I passed by the drive thru coffee tent thing. This I also have issues with. I've come to hate all coffee drinkers because of this place. It's situated on a corner, with a very short "drive thru". For some ricockulous reason, every stay-at-home mom in this town needs to have the biggest fucking 2 bedroom SUV, and they all need coffee at the same time. And they must really really need it, because they completely lose all common sense when they pull in. Usually, the driveway is at or above the 6 car capacity, but these bitches will still try to pull in anyway. I can't count the number of times I would have made it to work on time if the street hadn't been blocked by one of these caffeine addicts. Ok, this is a little unfair. It's not just the mom's in their gas hogs. Everybody does it. It's like this corner is inside an invisible swirl of a common courtesy vacuum.
Anyway, today, I'm nearly run over by an exiting satisfied male customer, sipping a teeny tiny little read straw. It totally reminded me of my ex husband. Such a moron. He's one of those manly, red necky idiots. It was always hilarious to me to see this bulk necked brut talking all tough and then he'd stop and take a girly sip on a straw. Moving right along...

Before I reached the intersection, some asshole waiting in the turn lane is blasting country music in his "pick up" truck. Since the line for turning is slow moving, I'm walking at about the same pace, which means I pretty much got to hear the whole stoopid song. "Mama tried to raise me better...". I can think of so many things she failed at.

The rest of the walk was pretty safe as far as stupidity goes. I knew I didn't have much time, so I just went around the block and smartly back to the office.

Stoopid Walk Numero Two-O


I'm getting ready to go out on venture number three, so I thought I'd tell the stoopid story of Walk Numero Two-O.
As I recall, the only thing stupid about this walk was, ME. Yes, it's true. Let's see if I can remember.
I arrived at the office ricockulously early. I put on my beloved Camels, grabbed the mail that needed to be dropped off at the post office since I was going to be picking up Saturdays mail anyway, locked the door and was on my way.
My first thought heading out the door was, "Fuck. I don't even have $1.90 for my favorite tea."
What a fat loser.
My second thought was, "Do I really need to bring my keys ?", to which I decided I did not. So, brilliant me decided to leave them safely in my car until my return. No, in case you're trying to make your own retarded predictions, I did not lock them inside.
Off I went, happy to be on my way, with only a few little envelopes to hinder my amazing, graceful stride. I decided that today, I was going to count red doors. For some reason, it's become really popular in this town to paint your front door red. I don't even want to think about the symbolism of this, but I admit, it looks pretty good. Then I started getting all technical mind fucky and couldn't decide if I should count the purple-ish red doors and the orangy-red ones, or just the true reds. I still can't decide. And who really cares anyway? Why do I get these stoopid ideas?
So I get 10 steps from the post office and realize I don't have my P.O. box key. Crap! Oh well, I'll just walk back. I'm out to exercise after all, so what's the big deal? So I go back. When I open my car door for my keys, I suddenly remember that I do have a few dollars for my tea, hiding in the mess of my crap. Well that's pretty fucking cool. But now I have to bring my keys and my wallet, right? No, fuck that. I'm just going to hold those 2 bucks with the mail and tip the Big Dumb Ass my left over dime. How sweet of me.

Everything is going well. I didn't accidentally drop my precious 2 dollars into the mail slot. Again there were no cars at the intersection, and, la la la, Big Dumb Ass is nowhere to be seen in the cafe. Not only that, but, some young, cute guy is working the counter. Alone. And not only does he understand that I'm standing there with a tea bag wanting hot water to make tea, this little cutie pie double cups it for me so I don't burn my cute little hands.
Now I'm feeling quite fine, and take off on roads untraveled. I went down alleys, backlots, and places you just can't go in your car. It's amazing. I can go just about anywhere, me and my Camel Toes. So I decided I'd walk by the local radio station and do something vulgar in front of the window to the dedicated (read bored) morning show peeps. I get kinda giddy thinking about how fun this is going to be, when as I approach, I see the Lawn Mower Man out front. Shit. I'm not going to act like a crazy person in front of the Lawn Mower Man. Radio personalities on air, sure, but not this guy.
Disappointed, I traveled down the road and through one of my old hoods. I meant to take a short cut back to the post office to pick up the mail that I didn't pick up yet so I could have my hands free as long as possible, but I got distracted. I kept going. And going. I was almost back to the office before I realized this. Fuck again! Oh well, there goes one more quart of Ben and Jerry's at least.
So I back track, and end up going through the mail truck parking lot instead of the Idiot Customer entrance ( perhaps I'll explain this towns ricockulous post office dynamics in a future blog), and to my childish delight, I find a dime on the ground. For some reason, when I find a coin, I have to see what year it is, like there might be some significant meaning or something stoopid. As I read 2001, I realize that today is September 11th. Nine Eleven. D-day. Twin Towers shit. Freaked me out a bit. (You can read my other blog for more fun adventures on this.) So I left it on the sorting table inside the post office for someone else to freak out about when they find it.
When I finally get back to the office, I realize I've started my fucking period. Of course I have no tampons in my desk. Nobody else does either. With my fingers crossed, I rummage through the glove box in my car. This is where I put all things needed to save me from myself. Matches, pens, rubber bands, paper clips, tampons, tanning spray, a sewing kit and a teeny first aide pack. Some retards are smart enought to cover their own asses, (or bloody crotches) and luckily, I'm one of them. There it was, my tampon in shining armor, to save my pants and my day.
So my walk on this day, was a retarded circus of errors, except for the little smart cutie at the cafe. Thank god or whatever for the small pleasures.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Stoopid Aventure Number One


I decided the other day to start walking since I'm getting so fat. I like walking, especially if I'm going somewhere and especially if that somewhere has a reward waiting for me.
So I got up early (total miracle), parked my car at the office, put on my awesome but neglected work-out shoes, and started walking towards my favorite place for a cup of my favorite tea. It was an exceptionally beautiful day and I was feeling great. Then I noticed something irritating in my shoe. It was a fucking proverbial pebble! I was up to a nice quick pace so like hell I was going to break stride for a stupid little rock. So I just tried to ignore it.
La la la, sunshine, fresh air. I was feeling fine. I was happy that there were no cars at the main intersection I had to cross. No bitches sitting there impatiently waiting for me to cross the street. No assholes checking me out. Hooray for the simple things.
I marched in to the cafe, wallet in hand, and walked directly to where my favorite tea bag sat waiting for me. I love walking into a place like I own it, and this morning I pulled it off rather well. Yes indeed, the tourists all stopped to look at "that local girl who knows her shit".
As I stood in line, which was pleasantly short, I felt eyes on my shoes. Curious eyes. Judging eyes. Cold eyes. Yes, I know, my shoes are strange looking. I call them my Camel Toes, because there is a split between the big toe and the rest of my little piggies.

Four reasons why I love them so much:

1) They are the most comfortable fucking shoes ever.
2) I can call them my Camel Toes.
3) I'm the only person I know who has them.
4) They freak people out.

So I was used to this reaction. But not by a fucking tourist. I usually don't mind when people say something about my camel toe. Even when they get that sorta disgusted look, I just smile. But when that woman looked down (she was seated in one of the high bar stool like things) at my feet, it made me mad for some reason. Fucking tourist. So whatever, nevermind.
I was happy to see that there was a new girl working the counter. I absolutely can NOT stand the usual girl. I'll blog about why some day, I'm sure. But this new girl was cool. She seemed to know what was going on at least. She appeared to understand why she was there. So why was it that the dorky ass guy behind her was the one to help me?

Big dork: "What can I get you?".
Me: "I just want a big cup of hot water for this tea bag".
BD: "So you want a cup of tea?".
My mind: " Yes you stupid fuck, I'm standing here with a tea bag asking for hot water for my tea."
Me for real :"Um, yeah. A big one."
BD: "Is this big enough?".
Me: "Do you have anything bigger?"
BD: "No, this is it.".
My mind: "Then why the fuck did you ask?".
Me for real: "Then I guess that will have to be it.".
BD: " Now, remember, this is 180 (or something, I can't remember) degrees, so it's really hot."
Me for real : "So I guess you don't want me to pour it on my leg and sue you right?"
The Big Dumb Ass just looks at me and says nothing. I then ask if he could put some ice in it since I'm walking and I don't want to burn my hands off, so he puts in like 4 little pieces and asks me if that's enough. I tell him to put as much as there was room for.
"But then it won't be a hot cup of tea," he says.
Yeah dumb ass, that's why I want you to put fucking ice in it.
I get out of there before I say anymore.

On the way back to the office I have to play the ole switch hands with the wallet and the hot tea every 3 minutes so I don't burn my hand too much. It's a lot easier to say than do. At least I didn't have my keys and cell phone..
So I'm almost back to the cross walk when this pubic hair starts poking me somewhere very sensitive. It's been a few days since I shaved and some new growth must have been coming alive or something. I HAVE to scratch it or something, but,

A) my hands are full
B) I'm in public

I have to cross the street sort of dancing and walking funny, and this time of course there are lot's of cars and I feel like I'm on display. I felt like a science experiment.
"See what happens when a woman with her hands full gets a painful crotch itch in public."
There was nothing I could do. I just had to walk all the way back like that. On the way, I walk by the museum with the big windows and I see my reflection. I look like total hell. My sweatshirt is way to big and my pant leg bottoms are bigger than my tiny feet. I look ricockulously disproportionate and genetically challenged. And I'm walking funny. Funnier than usual anyway.

That was my first walk.