St. Peter 2.0

i have another character to add to my list of bus-crazies.  i'm calling her st. peter 2.0 because i am confident that when we die and try to get into heaven, this woman will be the one dishing out the judgments and smacking us away from the gates with her flop-titties.

i was standing at the bus stop and this bitch comes stumbling up, a cig in her mouth and a can of diet coke in her hand (like looking into a mirror, i swear).  people would walk by her and she would SCREAM at them.  she was so angry and hateful and just delicious, to be honest.   some things that she screamed at people who did nothing but get off the bus and walk down the sidewalk:

"you're a homo.  you're an ASS SUCKING homo.  you cock SUCKER.  you need to get LAID."

"i ain't ever seen someone as fat as you, you FAT FUCKING WHORE."

"god'd throw you out of church douchebag"

and she'd laugh and laugh.  here is an artist's rendering of the scene:

i realize that most of the women i write about have saggy tots, but honestly none of these seattle hippy fucks believe in bras, so loose boob is pretty rampant.

also note that she kind of looks like the frizz from magic school bus.

my next update will be about my growing relationships with the bus drivers of seattle.

xx

you won't believe this but i SWEAR it's true.

what about me SCREAMS hooker?  last night, i was on the bus going home from the gym.  i was sweaty and probably smelly and wearing my headband (the usual).  this old man sitting a few seats down from me starts staring at me.  i THOUGHT he was just judging my disgusting appearance until i look over and he starts SLOWLY STROKING one of the poles people are supposed to hold on to when the bus is making crazy turns.  then he NODS at me and does that thing where his eyebrows jump up suddenly as if to say, 'hey baby, gimme some of that sweaty mess.'  i'm obviously frozen with fear and awkwardness and if i could have seen my face i think it would have looked something like this:

 then he continues to stroke the pole until his bus stop, when he gets up, thanks the bus driver, looks over at me and gives a little goodbye wave, like i just gave him the best beej of his life but SHHH don't tell anyone, you slut.  this shit happened to me in london and i guess it leads to me to one conclusion:  one topic that everyone in the world can agree on is

 that i'm a whore.  a big, sweaty whore.

speaking of whoring, i think my dad is flying to denver this weekend for a booty call.  here was our phone conversation:

ME: hello?

DAD: i think i'm going to fly to denver this weekend.

ME: why?

DAD: because i can.  and because there's a wedding and someone i want to see an

d it's the stuff movies are made of.

ME: gross.

DAD: what?

ME: i said,'okay.'

DAD: oh.

is that sketch?  maybe.

OH there was a race fight yesterday on the bus.  and by 'race fight' i mean a drunk black woman who looked like this:

please note the sagging, uneven breasts, camel toe, and MARY POPPINS HAT.  anyway, she was getting off the bus and apparently this nerdlinger sitting next to me didn't give her enough room because she turned around, stumbled, and yelled,'WHITE BOY, MOVE YO ASS NEXT TIME OR IT'S MINE.  HEAR?  ASSHOLE.'  i died.  i think the kid peed his pants after adjusting his glasses.  i guess that wasn't a great story, i just wanted to draw something.

xx

I THINK I HAVE MERCURY POISONING.

so exciting...

the big scandal of the summer (so far) has been richard and his ever-growing senility.  you remember richard, he's the old guy who applauded me for graduating from college and sells rosetta stone CDs at the mall.  obviously richard's autumn years are filled with a pretty hefty schedule, so i don't even know how he has time to bitch as much as he does, but the man makes it work, god bless him.  every time, every GOD DAMN time we have to work at an event, richard has to bitch about one of the tablecloths we use: 'this tablecloth looks like it belongs on a picnic table.  we need to do something about this tablecloth.  we NEED to do something.  i'm talking to kelly.  i'm going to talk to kelly  and tell her that this tablecloth needs to GO.  it's needs to go.  it looks like it belongs on a--' WE GET IT RICHARD.

last weekend at the fremont fair, richard had to work.  SOMEHOW he managed to stop talking about the tablecloth and focused his senility beam on the band that was playing.  i guess it was too loud for him because he called our boss kelly to complain about it.

his first call to her was just him holding up the phone towards the band until kelly hung up, confused.  she called him back and was like, 'richard... what's going on?'  'DO YOU HEAR THAT?  THE BAND IS SO LOUD.  SO. LOUD.  YOU NEED TO CALL THE FESTIVAL PEOPLE AND TELL THEM TO STOP I CAN'T SET THESE APPOINTMENTS BECAUSE NO ONE CAN HEAR ME.'  'uh...'

when calling kelly didn't work, he COMMANDED bahaa (he's ARAB!) to go over and tell the band to stop playing.  when bahaa was like, 'no speaky english' or whatever, richard gave up and went back to the tablecloth.  'IT LOOKS LIKE IT BELONGS ON A PICNIC TABLE'

what a dear.

xx

  

working

this weekend i worked at the fremont fair, which is apparently a pretty big deal here in seattle.  everyone gets drunk and watches a parade of naked people ride bikes.  it's kind of like depauw but with less nudity.  i didn't really get to see the bikers biking, but i did see one man who was completely naked but painted to look like captain planet, which was fun.  his belly covered his peen so it was kid-safe.

my booth was situated right next to the gypsies selling bubbles and right across from the beer garden, so i got to see a lot of mentally disabled people, hippies, and fat drunk topless chicks with batman tramp stamps stumbling around, trying to pop bubbles and steal my free dum-dums.  oh, that's how we draw people into our booth at events like this, with free suckers or mints or GOLF TEES?  i don't know.

i saw lots of people who shouldn't be parents but just kind of became them because they thought if they kept drinking and smoking that the fetus would just kind of go away but it didn't and now they have ugly kids and no friends.  beards.  beards were a big thing at the festival.  especially beards that came out of women's armpits.  70's-inspires tranny-messes.  SOCKS WITH SANDALS.  dykes.  LOTS of dykes and i'm sure not ONE of them could get to their partner's peesh without lifting up a fupa and digging through 30+ years of untamed wildness.  lots of older gays who liked to watch me read GQ.  and what's up with all the FUCKING asians here?  jesus.

on sunday i worked at the gay expo, which wasn't that exciting.  no one wanted to learn about windows.  also, we didn't have any candy.  there were a lot of fat bears wearing bikinis and jeweled crowns.  boys wearing speedos.  nothing too exciting.

i might get my hair cut today?  BEST SUMMER EVER.

xx

seattle changes people

i've noticed that i've given up quite a few things since i moved to seattle.  besides the obvious comforts like money and any sense of self worth, i have given up the following:

1. using plastic bags at the supermarket.  i now use my GIANT green tote from the gap when i purchase things like pistachios and bean and cheese burritos from 7-11.  is this change for the best?  maybe for the environment, but only time will tell if it's good for ME.  'do you want a plastic bag for this?'  'oh no. i'll use my TOTE! WINK'

2. littering.  this one kind of shocked me.  i loved trashing the earth when i was in college--it made me feel like i was leaving a legacy, something my adopted asian children would see when THEY were older.  but then i realized i would never have children because i could never adopt an asian (ling is HIDEOUS name) and there probably wouldn't even be any asians to adopt if i kept throwing my empty diet coke cups and cig butts on the ground.  i've finally realized that i'm not in school anymore and that winona was right: reality bites.

3. diet coke.  my dad told me if i wanted to lose a few pounds i'd give it up and start drinking more water.  he was right, too. blah.

4. working out.  i kind of lost all my ambition when i realized that i wouldn't really be seeing anyone this summer and if my bed and old episodes of sex and the city can live with my huge gut and back fat, then so can i.

tomorrow i'm going to the molly brown temp agency to take typing and filing tests and interview for potential jobs that will use and throw away my young body after 2 weeks.  it could be fun.  and i need money, especially since i was just told that my ENTIRE summer income is equal to or less than that of one recent graduate's first-week paycheck. wish me luck.

xx

like worms escaping their flooded holes, the crazies come out when it rains

my second and third attempts at bus dwelling have been pretty successful and i think i've slightly mastered the buses of seattle.  it DOES suck that it takes me at least 30 minutes to get anywhere, but the PEOPLE on the buses make it all worth while.

i was standing at a stop downtown yesterday, in the pouring POURING rain and i ran into several characters:

the back up dancer:  she's this crazy woman who is probably in her 40s but hasn't aged well so she looks about 54.  she was dancing with a portable CASSETTE player in the rain.  i'm talking britney in her prime dancing, except with more jiggling and a lot of stumbling and getting tripped up on her white keds.  her curly mop of hair was matted to her forehead.  i realize this was from the rain, but it wasn't raining i am CONFIDENT that it would have been from sweat.  

KOOLS man:  as i was watching the back up dancer twirl and hop, this tall, skinny black man smoking a KOOL walks up to me and says, 'you know why she doin' that? because she likes flavor.' then he peeks under my umbrella, looks me square in the face and says,' but you don't know nothin' about flavor anyway' and walks away.  vanilla is the only flavor i WANT to know, sir.

crazy fatty:  KOOLS man is gone and i'm still watching the tiny dancer when this other lady with a three-foot fupa comes up and starts yelling at all of us.  some insight she gave:

'this (the rain) is GOD calling, man.  this is god calling.'

'this is a cosmic emergency around the globe.  this is GOD calling, man.'

'they call this the pineapple express.  pineapple express and we're not in hawaii?  doesn't make sense to me, either.' (my dad later explained that the 'pineapple express' is some front that comes up from the south and brings rain.  i liked it better when i thought she was talking about husband or whatever.)

'this is jesus' work.  i never swore on him.  swore on my NUTS, but not on him.'

this went on for about 15 minutes until her bus came and off she went to spread the word to other ignorant fools.  i really think that if you took out the stuff about the pineapple express, she could have a christian pop hit.

then my bus came and of course the back up dancer lines up to get on and of course i stop and let her on before me and OF COURSE she whips out a picture of james marsden she ripped out of a magazine, kisses it and says, 'this my BROTHER!  HMMMMMMM MUM MUM MUM.'

i'd probably kill myself if it weren't for people like these, because i don't have any friends in this city and i don't have a job to occupy my time (except on the weekends).  i've mostly spent my days watching bravo and eating watermelon (i average one whole watermelon every 26 hours).  i use the bathroom a lot. 

xx