
Rode Floyd to the train thursday, it's not at all uncommon for me to come back and discover the crate on the back has been used as a dumping ground for empty drink cups, McDonalds bags, etc, since as I'm sure you know it's not littering if you don't drop it on the ground (I won't go into how there's usually a trashcan within 10 fucking feet)....to the point...in this particular instance Floyd's trunk has been used as a dump for a pinched wallet. Empty except for a handful of receipts, business cards, notes scribbled in a language I can't read, plus and ID and Social Security card. The ID was a few years old, so rather than just mail it to the address I dropped it off at the local police station. I hope they meant it when they said they would try to reach him.
Friday in the midst of our hopefully final snow (storm?) I managed for the first time in 6 years of living alone to lock myself out of my house (not counting that time I dropped my keys at Underbar and had to wake up Mrs Bridget some time around 5am to get my keys) fortunately I was dressed appropriately and since WTP is such a pain to maintain, at least 4 people in a 1 mile radius of my home have keys...Mr Kate gets big mad ups for not only being home but for driving my keys to me...Rob is the best.
Last night Miss A and I hung out and did girl chat over pizza and bourbon and reading materials, when Miss A reached her midnight witching hour, I went home to bed, only after first considering a foray to Neo to meet up with HIC and Smashy Boo Boo, but then I remembered I was somewhat intoxicated already, didn't need to spend money, didn't need to deal with the debacle of getting there on CTA, didn't have any inclination to be forced to tolerate the squalid ladies loo at Neo, and then the kicker, I remembered I fucking hate Neo, so I went home to bed and watched Without a Trace. Je suis une ROCKSTAR.
Today I rode my bike around to both local grocery stores, put another coat of paint on the frames I bought for this show I may or may not finally complete (gave the disc to my printer* yesterday) oooh, and this was exciting, I had a conversation with my parents that did NOT conclude with me wanting to put my fist through a wall. Dad says the brain meds Mum is on now seem to be kicking in and her disposition and appetite seem to be improving, so that was nice. Oooh ooh!, and Molly, I thought of you twice today, once when I found and absconded with a chair in the alley on my way home from the grocery store, and then as I was (unsuccessfully, sadly) looking for my lamb of god t-shirt to wear while bartending tonight.
Above is one of the pics from the growing series Olga and Pee Wee, a love story. I'm not sure about these pics, in addition to the nagging voice in my head hissing "cliche cliche cliche", I also worry that perhaps it might be interpreted as some kind of exorcism of childhood trauma, wherein I was molested by an amusing comic with deviant leanings, I can assure you this isn't the case. I'm just a weirdo who likes creepy pictures of scabby old dolls.
I think thats it. Boom Shanka, y'all.
*and by printer I mean friend of mine who works at Wolf...