Vignettes
Perhaps it won’t snow on Wednesday. TWC has changed the forecast to 52° and mostly sunny.
Here’s a few short things that haven’t fit with other entries.
Dude looked like a lady…
The other day while walking to the bus stop I saw a great head of hair crossing the street at the corner. Raven black, slightly wavy, nice shine, mid-back, very full, well-kept and bouncing along with its owner. Said owner was tall, very slightly built, porcelain skin, wearing a black hoody (down) and those lovey, tight hip-hugger jeans.
A swoon built, then I noticed something funny about the walk as the hair turned, coming in my direction. That was what made me wonder. Dude? Chick?
With each step my decision flip-flopped. Dude, chick, dude, chick. No discernable boobs. Dude. Funny wiggle in the walk. Chick. Sort of butch way of carrying the upper body. Dude. No facial hair. Chick. Dude, chick, dude, chick.
Finally, close enough. Nice basket. Dude! And mad cute. Swoon! And, too young, too bad. Awww, dude…
Then the reason for the wiggle became evident. Walking cast. Even his feet were saying dude, chick, dude, chick, as the left foot in a black skateboarder’s sneaker landed, dude, then the fiberglass and metal clad right foot landed, chick.
Dude, chick, dude, chick…
Line in the sand… err… on the sidewalk
I worked an afternoon shift at the library a while back, which means I had to walk five minutes to a bus stop to come home, since during rush-hour the stop in front of the library is outbound-only, and I live inbound closer to downtown.
The stop I used is around the corner on a side street next to a take-out pizza joint. This pizza joint is a pain in the ass. Their drivers and their customers refuse to drive around back to park. Instead, they turn off the driveway and park on the sidewalk. Two to four of them at any given time, blocking the sidewalk completely.
On this particular night, a red Jeep Cherokee got blocked-in. Its driver decided against waiting for the other guy to get his pizza and back out. Instead, the Jeep drove down the sidewalk. And instead of driving off the bicycle and wheelchair ramp at the corner, turned to drive down the sidewalk on the side street where I was standing.
I held my ground. The Jeep stopped. I glowered at it. Being a butch 4×4, it could have driven around me on the lawn. It waited for me step aside. I yawned and turned my back to it.
A few moments later it began reversing down the sidewalk—and nearly ran into a guy on bike waiting at the corner for the light to change. It eventually negotiated the corner in reverse and disappeared in front of the pizza joint.
Right on cue, the bus came.
The boys are back
The thing I hate most about winter is long underwear. It’s clingy and dries my skin out so badly I have to coat my legs in lotion before putting the damned things on so my skin doesn’t get scaly and itchy. That’s not the worst part.
No, the worst part is that, except for four months or so every winter, ever since I was 18 or 20, I’ve gone commando. The boys just can’t breathe and are terribly uncomfortable squashed up inside longjohns.
So my favorite part of spring is when the longjohns can stay home on the shelf and the boys can hang naturally again. And, bonus, there’s a reduction of whites in my laundry.
A surer sign of spring than even crocuses.
