this is what happened to me outside the post office today.

minxnim

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Aug 2, 2002
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i was going to the 18th street post office to mail my sister's birthday present and there were two guys standing next to a homeless man lying on the sidewalk. one of the two guys grabbed my arm as i was walking by:

guy #1: is he dead?
guy #2: he's not moving at all.
me: i dunno.
(silent contemplation)
me: sir, are you dead?
(about 10 second lapse)
homeless man: no. hmph.
me: do you want my orange juice?
homeless man: yea.
(hands him orange juice)
me: i like you're hat.
homeless man: thanks.
me: okay guys. he's not dead.
 
I had a similar experience on Sunday driving through the hills of Oakland/Berkeley. We passed some homeless-looking dude totally sprawed next to his bike on a driveway next to his bike on this super-windy road. so we stop to see if he's okay and after waking the bum up he gets all angry with us. "No! I'm not hurt! hahahahah"

he wasn't exactly lucid, but jeez. bikers get hit up there all the time.
 
well, the juice wasn't opened! i had just bought it.
also, lizard... your guess is as good as mine. i think just being female and having no major physical defects leads these things to happen i imagine. i also am told i have this 'look' about me that people find somehow familiar. like, strangers spill their guts to me etc. either way, i guess i gotta learn to deal with it.
 
also, i really did like his hat, albiet it was a rickety, worn out cheap version of the london bowler, it was still pretty original.
black_bowler.jpg
 
our president's "compassionate conservatism" has continued to flood the streets with mentally ill people.

p.s. the other day I had to ride the bus into downtown and there was an elderly man sitting across from me, he was one seat behind this black chick.

old dude: my balls is heavy.
me: errrr...
young chick: shifts nervously in her seat.
old dude: my balls is heavy. I gots nine chillen.
me: that's nice...errrrr...
old dude: I's gettin' ready to have another child. Janet Jackson is my daughter.
 
well, i feel for your wife. not because she married you, but because she's got the curse. tell her to never move to NYC. it's like being a freak-magnet.
 
actually, last night this guy who hangs out on the corner (probably a drug dealer but i dunno for sure) offered to get me some fried catfish. i was like no thanks. but i did let him get me an apple juice.