Friday, May 15, 2009

An Inadvertent (Starr) Trip

I like to save my crazy for later. That way, you've already got somebody hooked before you potentially scare the hell out of them. Apparently, though, there are many, many people in the immediate area who are not quite so choosy in when they allow their freak flag to fly.

I present to you:

1. On the way to the bank, Sutton and I passed a woman mowing her yard. In heels. While carrying a large, designer (authentic or not, who the hell knows) handbag. The house was a small, older brick ranch. Nothing fancy or pretentious. Certainly nothing that warranted couture lawn care. The woman was older, using a push-mower, and wearing what would appear to be yard work clothes, EXCEPT for the hot pink heels and the Coach bag. Now, being the kind of girl I am, I've been known to clean the house in my peep-toe stilettos. There's nothing wrong with bringing a little sexy into your chores. But girlfriend needs to know that mowing the grass in those heels will absolutely ruin them, and as for the purse.....well, I won't even go there.

2. At T.J. Maxx, Sutton and I were perusing the kitchenware, looking for a milk frother. (I'm well aware that this was a long shot, but dude, you never know. And in case you're curious, I did not find one. I did, however, find an espresso maker that I bought but will have to return because I purchased a much better one shortly after at another establishment.) As we turned down the aisle that contained the dishware, we saw a middle-aged Asian woman wearing shorts and a tank top. With her hand down the front of her pants. Yep, you heard me. Obtaining a cheap thrill amongst the serving platters? Who knows. We booked it the hell out of there.

3. Standing in line at Burger King, Sutton and I found ourselves to be the only patrons of non-Hispanic heritage in the entire establishment. Sutt was dead set on having a talking miniature Star Trek toy (sadly, I sense a Trekkie in my future), so we were patiently waiting for his kid's meal to be assembled so we could get the hell out of dodge. As I took the bag and turned around to walk away, I noticed the Hispanic guy behind me (who, oddly enough, was wearing construction gear yet also a hairnet) was giving me a pretty serious eye fuck. With his mildly rotund chica (wearing a skirt short enough that I could pretty much see her business and a camisole that showed more cleavage than it covered) standing beside him. Somewhat aware that I was wearing an expression of mild horror, I glanced at the girl. "Whore, " she sneered at me. (For the record, I prefer "crazy whore," but since I didn't want to get my ass kicked in Burger King, I kept that to myself. And, besides, who, while dressed like something you'd find on a Tijuana street corner, can reasonably call me a whore, in my black capris and red babydoll shirt? Nobody, punta. That's right. You heard me. You just wait until I run into you again when I DO feel like getting my ass kicked. It's ON then.)

4. So we're finally at the grocery store. All we need is espresso. (Yes, it's an addiction. Yes, I need help. No, I have no plans to get help. Back off.) I walk in, grab a cart, situate the Sutt, and see.......a very large woman wearing an orange-and-white string bikini covered only by a very small (think handkerchief sized) sarong. Wearing heels. Carrying a basket. Doing her grocery shopping. You know what? I'm built okay. I have a decent body. But at no time, now or ever, will you see me grocery shopping in a bikini. Judgemental? Potentially. But, damn.

5. Running an errand down Nansemond Parkway, Sutt and I pass a small, unassuming house with a very grand, rather assuming fountain adorning the front yard. Three tiers and a large serpent-man statue stand proudly in the middle of the pool, which is probably 8 or 9 feet across. And the serpent-man is wearing a gas mask. And dogtags. And an army helmet. I kid you not. I thought you only saw Memorial Day decorations of that caliber in Tennessee. Clearly, I was wrong.

6. Finally on our way home. Sutt and I are cruising through Pughsville (aka, the ghetto) when we spy a man coming at us in the other lane on a bicycle. With a push mower bungee-corded down to the handlebars of his bike, and the handle of the mower folded flat and protruding out in front of him. How in the hell......? (There is no end to the questions this raises in my head: How did he get it on there? How does it balance? If he falls, will it sever something? Is this for sport? Am I important enough to be getting Punk'd? Probably not.)

7. Home. In my driveway, there lay a chunk of blue sidewalk chalk recently abandoned by my children. As I pulled Sutton from his carseat, he starts to yell, "Look! Look at that blue roly-poly bug! Don't kill it!" I like to think the crazy he was exposed to just wore the poor little fellow down. He had no choice. Ah, me. Thank Goodness It's Friday.

1 comment:

vanilla said...

Sadly, I must correct you on something I just learned. A friend told me it is actually puta and not punta. And yes it does mean whore. I am glad you decided not to throw down in BK.

My friend is from Puerto Rico and I ask he about spanish stuff all the time. I try to read her FB comments, that people have left, to no avail, but I'm trying to read espanol.