Thursday, September 1, 2011

Where have all the Trees gone?

It's been five months since a Wilderness Years post, five fucking months and then i finally get one done and the fucking interweb eats it, and man let me tell you that last one was a hoot, of course nobody read it but me and even i didn't get to read it i just typed it out and the problem here lies in the fact that i really need to do it over, that Raskolnikov's Blues pt. 1 cuz without it we can't get to part deux and without that we can't really get to the rise of the North Oakland Player which snowballs into the coronation of the King of North Oakland which for those of you paying attention becomes an acronym for a certain tall, graying, bearded man who roams the interwebs dispensing useless knowledge on unsuspecting strangers, but here we are, at an impasse as i'm to fucking lazy or bored or confused or high to get around to it, not that i don't have the time, which sometimes i don't but most nights you can find me lounging somewhere in my humble abode listening to the crickets and watching futbol highlights and eating another bowl of Fruity Pebbles or Fruit Loops or Rice Krispies and dwelling endlessly on the texture of these wonderful cereals...

needless to say, when i leave the house and head to the local, usually the Plastic Paddy, nothing but weirdness abounds, of course yesterday at the supermarket the lady behind the deli counter, who was easily over 60, commented on how much she like my sideburns, now let my state that right now it looks as if someone has taped badgers to the side of my face as they are long and graying and triangular and pretty much out of control, i almost asked her if she was into Civil War re-enactors, of which i'm not one, but she was so sweet i just thanked her and shuffled off, of course i need to get my license renewed so i don't believe i'll be shaving before that but here in the burbs i'd venture to say they are a bit out of the norm, hell my old hood they might be a bit much but what the fuck right?  then of course there was the episode earlier in the summer where an even older woman stood at the bar and drunkenly hit on me while downing copious amounts of red wine, then told me not to let to many people in the community  know i was an atheist, hence why i haven't worn my Kiss Me I'm an Atheist shirt to the pub, of course Joan was a Catlick and i finally told her that i was taken, much to her dismay, i figured if that didn't work i'd just pretend i was gay cuz when she wrapped her arm around my waist i thought i might have to punch her to get her to let go...

Which brings us to last friday, seems i'm like that big fucking lion in Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, you know the one with the huge wings who flies around and collects misfit toys, cuz as i stood downing my beer last week i met a guy named Billy, Billy seemed just a tad bit unhinged and we had a rather in-depth discussion of punk rock, he told me he was living on his mom's couch after the New Orleans stripper he had married left him and took all his stuff and threw his record collection in the garbage and that he'd hitchhiked or some such shit back to the Burgh, he then proceded to pass me a dime bag of grass cuz he thought i was a righteous dude, of course while all this was going on Trainwreck was gleefully hanging about, Trainwreck being the nom de plume of a young man with many tattoos, including one on his neck,  i sat back and listened as they traded stories about how many mushrooms they could eat and Trainwreck soliloquized on about his younger days as a meth dealer and i smiled as  thought about how fucked up the suburbs are, as the evening wore on Billy had to catch the last bus and he asked for my number, which i gave cuz one i knew he'd never remember who it was and number two i actually felt bad for the guy, meanwhile Trainwreck stood there and told me how i should just delete it cuz the guy's a bit tweaked but not a bad guy he added just tweaked and proceeded to tell me how just last week he was on the other side of town Hoggin'( his words)  and how he had to play his cards just right cuz the big girl he was with had just ordered a pizza and after they ate some pie they were gonna fuck but he had to make sure it lasted cuz he didn't have any way to get back to this side of town until morning, he then told me that his current girlfriend might be a tranny or maybe not exactly a tranny but a post-op sex re-assignment, he wasn't sure but he had this hunch, but hey man he didn't care and then he said i should give him my number cuz i'm such a riot, though i hadn't said much all night just sat and listened to the yarns... by that time i felt a bit like one Randall Patrick McMurphy, the only sane man in the asylum, and as i strolled to my car i couldn't help but laugh and think about how i thought the suburbs were gonna be boring.

5 comments:

sybil law said...

Local pubs are almost never boring. Well, that's not true. One near my house is full of mostly college kids, so I avoid that one like the plague. Still, in most bars, there are regulars that are just complete characters, and really - I love it. Depends on my mood, though - sometimes it's just depressing, but there's comfort in knowing that people are fucked up and funny and just people, everywhere.
Still - I'm glad I come off as less than friendly to a lot of people, though. My husband is also like that lion, and man - the down on their luck dudes get on my NERVES after a while. They always glom onto him right away, and then do this nervous little dance around me. It's cute and pathetic all at once. Mostly because, hey - I'm as fucked up as anyone.
I just don't tell anyone who will listen, you know?

twin said...

up until i had the v-man i took mass-transit or walked everywhere and talked to everyone. i often met the most interesting people. there was the guy that was fascinated with my hair & always wanted to touch it...so i let him. (seemed harmless) or the tatoo'd boy with horned-rimmed glasses that was painfully shy...i would invite myself to share a seat with him even when the bus wasn't crowded. (he wouldn't say a word to me...so i often had to pose questions just to get him to talk)

you must give off good energy...for people to open up to you so readily.

kid said...

told ya.

hoggin rhymes with bird-doggin. and the plastic paddies nationwide are the arena of each.

nursemyra said...

I hope when I'm a drunken old woman I don't throw my arms around handsome young men. Hang on... yes I do

Jayne said...

I wish there were a Plastic Paddy in this suburb.