On my way to work this morning, I saw a man hurling lustily and very, very liquidly — after the first nanosecond, I looked away, but I could hear the materials hitting the sidewalk, and it sounded like he was pouring out a bucket full of something fizzy, Mr. Pibb maybe, out a second story window. Then three earth seconds later I saw a man peeing between two cars, looking around jauntily, “nothing wrong here! meet up for a drink later?” All within a block of my apartment!
On a related note (did I write about this already?), a few months ago I went to pull up the garage door, which is in a cozy and slightly recessed nook, and suddenly my hands were all covered with piss! And now I know that it’s possible to drive into the garage, beckon the elevator, and open the door to my apartment using nothing but my elbows.
Last night, I ate an incredibly regrettable meal at Max’s, the “good place for a diet/bad place for a diet(SM)” (the worst, most whatever tagline ever?). I left work hungry, but after spending a good hour returning a bunch of pants, a bouquet of pants, to a couple different places downtown, I was panic hungry. So I panic over-ordered, and then panic ate everything, which left me feeling panic full, like the slightest jostle might cause my stomach to rupture. When I stood up from the table, my left leg, which had been tucked under my ass the entire dinner, being pressed completely asleep with an ever-increasing weight of fries and vegetable hoagie and pickles and Beaver-brand mustard and cake, wetnoodled out from under me and I totally fell into the table of a chatty lone diner and had to do lots of explaining and small talking as I sat back down at my table to wait until my leg woke up.
Also on Tuesday, a bird flapped down from a tree at the 24th Street BART station and snatched some hairs off my head.