Sunday, June 22, 2008

Do I look like a homeless person?

I was helping my friend take down a sign for the governor when I noticed it was broken. The metal part holding the sign itself up was coming apart (it was hinged) so we decided to take it to get fixed. For some reason we decided to stretch it out as far as we could and then carry it through a neighborhood, confusing the people and kids playing. We walked into a lesbian bar (which was a total dive) and my friend got distracted by a girl whose left arm was much bigger than her right. He attempted to flirt with her, but I knew it was useless because she was a lesbian.

While I waited in the bar (which was very small and at the end of a long, narrow hallway) I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Finally, a woman wearing a dumpy sun dress with a floral print walked up to me. She at first tried to give me money, but then looked confused and stopped. I thought she may have mistaken me for the bartender. Only a few seconds later did she hand money to me, eleven dollars. I refused several times, but she insisted that I "needed" it. She turned to someone and said to them how much I looked like a homeless person. I thought, "Do I?" and looked at my tattered clothes. I was embarrassed to realize that I did. I thought then that I should write a blog post about the whole thing.

And then I woke up. It was a strange and lucid dream. It merited a blog post, in my opinion, and it helped me to kick of my latest endeavor. In order to pump some life into my dying blog I have decided to write an entry every day. I know that doesn't sound like a major accomplishment, but I think it will force me to think of things to write about. Or, I'll keep having wacky dreams. Either way is good for me.

I may start looking indigent soon. I'm down to one good pair of jeans, which I wear entirely too often. My other pair began to get holes in unholy places and I retired them. I wouldn't wait so long to get new pants, but I don't really like shopping for clothes. I can handle shopping for shirts (extra small) but I appear to be the last guy with a size 28 waist. I can fit into 30's, but only when the waist size gods permit it. Those bastards have had it out for me ever since I crucified the man capri messiah they sent to Earth. Assholes.

I haven't had time to look either, what with looking for a new place to call home (or Daphne, whichever suits the space). What I really need to be able to do is be on speaking terms with someone who can do alterations, or grow my own pants. I have a garden...

Goodbye normal pants, though I never knew you at all...

Despite my exhaustive perusal of google, I could find nothing about growing pants. I did find a website about people who like girls who wet their pants (or I saw the link, I didn't click it) but that was the best I could do.

1 comment:

Alex G said...

I'm glad there's someone else who hates shopping... it is the bane of my existence.