Tenth Musee

Last May, I moved into a new apartment complex.  It’s kinda schmancy and overall, I have very little to complain about except perhaps the rent price and the dude downstairs who has a penchant for action movies and a deep, personal relationship with his surround sound.  And maybe the Tacky Water People.  And the Friendly Pedophile.  But I digress.

When I moved in, I was given one covered parking space on the end, very close to my stairs. Score! To my right is parked a white Miata, circa 1992 or so. It’s in 1992 condition… not bad, but certainly not cherry.

The day after I moved in, while I was unloading things from my (2009) Matrix, a man in a pith helmet with the mullet flaps on the back sidles up to me with this hands clasped behind his back, like he was ice skating in a Rockwell painting.

“So you just moved in, huh?” he says.

“Yes, just yesterday,” I replied.

And then, with a weird knowing grin and the tone of someone hosting a children’s storytime, he said, “Ok, well, don’t you go dinging my car now.”  (wink) “I keep a close eye on my baby,” gesturing to the Miata.

I laughed politely and ribbed him a bit back, assuming he was just trying to be cute. “It’s a deal. Wouldn’t want to mar such a classic!”  Then I wished him a good day and off I went up the stairs.

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Happy New Year to anyone still reading this thing.  *poke* Are you still there?

Like many other non-practicing bloggers, I figured I’d blow the dust off and see if I can post more often this year. I live such an exciting life of bunny-petting and pajama-wearing that I’ve not felt I had anything post-worthy for a while that wasn’t work-related, but there are enough changes coming in 2010 that I might as well bring back the blog.  Twitter is awesome, but viva blogging!

I do like this design, but I could do with a new look around here… it’s time.  Something a little cheerier, don’t you agree?  I’m taking the Muse back to Expression Engine, as well. It turns out Wordpress was just a fling for me — thrilling at first, but ultimately mediocre.  So thanks for the interminable upgrades and incompatible plugins, Wordpress, but you never forget your first love.

I was reading through my archives over the holiday break. It’s bizarre how different I sound 7 years ago when I first started this blog.  I don’t even know what I was complaining about most of the time.  In hindsight the majority of it is so… cranky.  Funny, sure… but certainly, a collection of unwarranted gripery in the grand scheme of things.

I lost about a year or so of posts during one of my many domain name changes. I’m not sure what possessed me to change my domain name not once, but twice over the last 7 years — boredom I suspect, a desire to reignite the blog spark — but I don’t recommend it. I still have the database those posts live in, I’m just not sure how to get the content out… maybe someday I’ll figure it out.

But of the posts I do have, my favorites are the ones about the various encounters with people I’ve had.  I meet weird people — I can’t help it. I’m one of those people who weirdos gravitate to and I somehow can’t help but engage them myself.  It’s just part of who I am… and I’ve accepted it because it makes excellent blog fodder.

So, here are some of my favorites for your reading enjoyment:

• Love Me Tender
• Fiddy Wouldn’t Front (I think this is Daniel’s favorite)
• Debbie Diapers and the Amazing Technology Craptactular
• Burgess Fisherman and the Discount Diaper Cream
• Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

If you like those, you can find more under the Characters tag.

Happy 2010!

There’s a barista at the Starbucks I go to that is one of those people that you feel like you know from somewhere, but can’t put your finger on it and they always look at you knowingly, expectantly, like any minute you’ll remember who they are.  But I never do.

She’s… unusual, I guess, is the best way to say it. Very friendly, but definitely an odd duck.  She seems somewhat goofy when I talk to her, like I make her nervous. She seems to try really hard to be funny or clever and she often is a bit ‘familiar’ with me, which is why I always wonder if maybe I know her from somewhere.

For example, the first time I ordered from her went a little something like this…

Her: May I help you?

Me: Yes, I need a quad Venti extra hot soy cinnamon dolce latte, light whip, no foam, please.

Her: Do you need it or do you want it?

Me: *blink blink* I’m sorry, what? Oh… (insert courtesy laugh here) Sorry, I would like…

I laughed it off and dismissed it as an employee building rapport with their customer. Fine, fine. But then she did it two more times when I came in.  I finally started skipping the pretense altogether and just saying the drink order so I don’t have to do that dance again.

She makes me a little nervous, to be honest, because of these weird exchanges, so I just smile and laugh and try to be friendly.  She asked me point blank once, “Why are you laughing?”, while laughing herself then her eyes would look all around like a googly-eyed bobble head with a big grin.  Now she’s taken to calling me “Giggles”. Giggles. And the other baristas have started writing it on my cup.

It’s gotten to the point now that I groan a bit inside when walk in and see her at the register. It makes me feel bad because I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice girl and she’s just trying to be friendly, but it makes me… uncomfortable, I guess.  It doesn’t feel flirtatious, it feels insecure, like maybe she’s shy and overcompensating. You know in movies where the nerd talks to the cool kid and says completely dorky things that sound cool in their head, but come out like they ate paint chips as a kid?  That’s usually me. I was always the nerd (at least in my own head), but this time, it’s like I’m the cheerleader or the football jock or whatever and she’s about to ask me to homecoming.

I hope she doesn’t read this blog, though it’s entirely possible.  I ran into a girl I’d only seen on Flickr at Bath & Body Works once.  And a girl at the grocery store asked me if I was Tenth Muse a few years back. So, its totally possible and I really wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

It’s so odd. I’d be flattered if it didn’t make me feel like she might boil my bunny.

Sunday morning I went to Target.  That’s my usual Sunday morning destination. I like to get in there before it gets busy, when it’s still quiet and the shelves are full.  It’s kind of like church, staring at rows upon rows of Glade CandleScents or fabric softener or whatever.  This Sunday it was shampoo that had me enraptured. I was trying to decide between color-protection and curl-care when I was approached by a very tall, imposing, but non-threatening, Pacific-Islander looking guy with a wiley quasi-fro and a newspaper open in front of him.

“Excuse me”, he said, “Have you found Jesus?”

I said, smiling, “I wasn’t aware he was missing. Did you check with customer service?”

He kind of furrowed his brow for a sec, then his face burst into this huge grin and he said, “You know, that’s the best ‘no’ I’ve heard all day. Hey, do you know what time the Eagles game starts?” He didn’t miss a beat.

“I’m not a sports fan, really” I said, as I started to inch down the aisle in that “yeah, great, it’s been real, best of luck to you” kind of way.

And he replies, “That’s what Sundays are made for!” and walked off.

I never did figure out why he had the newspaper open in front of him. I’m guessing it was the sports section, I just didn’t want to look.

Last night, my friend mikey came over to watch Project Runway with me and we ran out to grab some takeout before it started. We stopped at Rite Aid to pick up some beverages and Rocky Road before heading back to watch Heidi Klum walk around being gorgeous.

The line at this Rite Aid is always slow and for some reason, people always form one big line instead of lining up at each register (there are eight registers), then the next checker that is available takes the next customer.  Well, last night, there was an Asian dude in front of us holding two bottles of wine, a crotchety guy in a yellow shirt holding a box of Tucks or something, this Isaac Hayes (R.I.P.)-type guy (who we saw tip his hat at someone earlier — I love that), and then 3 registers with customers already being helped.

One cashier finished and called out, “I’ll take the next person!” and Crotchety Yellow Shirt and his hemorrhoid pads tried to dash out behind Isaac Hayes Guy, but Isaac Hayes Guy was no fool and he cut Crotchety off, taking his rightful place at the counter.  Crotchety grumbled and griped, but shuffled back into line, ahead of the Asian Wine Drinker.  While this was going on, a strapping middle-aged, tank-top wearing homosexual (not that his sexuality is relevant, but it paints a picture and I happened to be in the gayborhood) with a cart full of ammonia bottles and paper towels pulls up in line behind us.

Asian Wine Drinker keeps looking around the store, turning around and looking past us, past Ammonia Mo, all over the place. But before I could ponder what he was looking for, Isaac Hayes Guy was finishing his transaction.

This is where I kind of lost my cool.

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When I pulled into the drive-thru Starbucks this morning, it looked like gridlock on the 405, so I parked next door and decided to walk in.  On my way past the front door, I was greeted by an extremely fragrant hobo and his hobo wife, Nadine. I only her name is Nadine because she put out her foot when I approached and said through the handful of rotten teef she had left (and I do mean teef), “I’m Nay-DEEN and nobody done passes Nay-DEEN without good mornins.” Her accent is probably charming… for the lead singer of a jug band, but I could barely understand her.

So, I went around her, but said good morning anyway. Eau du Hobo stood up as I reached for the door, staring me in the eye while rummaging in a bucket.  I got a little worried for a split second, but then he produced a half-eaten roll of Mentos that looked like it had been run over by a car a few times.

“Look at you!  You are a Golden Goddess of Venutia!” as he waved the Mentos around.  “You are a vision, a Venutia vision!  Look at her, NAY-deen!  She’s a Venutian and I’m just a big ugly alien!  Aren’t I, NAY-deen? From Maaaaarrrrrrrrs!”

Insert big stinky hobo grin here.  Then he offered me a Mentos.

I smiled… I couldn’t help it!  I declined, of course, but I smiled. I mean, come on!  An employee came outside on the tail end of that exchange to tell Smelly and Nadine to move it along because their cart was blocking the doorway and as I followed her back inside to get in line, she turned around and said, “Nothing like an ego boost first thing in the morning, huh?” with a wink.

By the time I got back outside, Stinkpot and Nadine were gone.  My coffee this morning was awful — they must have poured me the dregs of the pot, but the trip was worth it for the hobos alone. I just wish I’d given them my $2.25.

GFI and I have acquired a new regular at Casa Cocktail (that’s my building — I just decided it needed a name for reference purposes).  Well, we haven’t — Slick has.  He’s got a new girlfriend.  This while the seat on his old girlfriend’s bike that lives on the landing is still warm. But whatever, I’m not here to judge him on his relationship decisions.  I’m here to mock his new girlfriend. Duh.

Let me give you a basic schematic of our building.  If you’re looking at it from the front, I’m on the bottom right, GFI’s on top of me, Slick is to her left and downstairs from him, Nurse New York.  So, we share walls, specifically that one main wall and ceiling/floor where all of our apartments connect.  On our side of the wall, GFI and I have our bathrooms. On the other side?  Slick and NNY have their respective bedrooms.  You can see where this is going.  Oh yeah.

Now, we never hear a peep from NNY. Once in a while I’ll hear her on the phone in her room, but usually she’s off being busy and nursey. However, Slick and his new girlfriend get downright National Geographic up in here!  National. Geographic.  It’s insane.  GFI and I have dubbed her Project X because when she and Slick go at it, it sounds like caged chimps.  Forty caged chimps.

One night on the terrace, GFI tells me that she had to brush her teeth in the kitchen because the thought that a mere 2-foot wall and a medicine cabinet was all that separated her from Slick’s grunting body was just too much to bear.  Then, the next night, I could hear them going at it from the living room.  When I went into the bathroom, it was like they were humping at the Hollywood Bowl it was so loud. 

[insert chimp screams here]

I think last week, mikey came by and he came out of the bathroom saying, “Dude. You can hear your neighbor and his girlfriend going at it.” Oh yes, I’m aware.  They seem to have no concept of time, which is fine. It’s monkeys in the morning, monkeys in the night, monkeys in the afternoon.  (And yes, I know chimps aren’t monkeys.) Hey, I’m all for sex at any time of day. Spontaneity is fabulous… don’t get me wrong, but I try to keep in mind that perhaps the entire neighborhood doesn’t want to hear the result of “my O face”, as it were. And from what I understand, I also don’t sound like a B-grade Matthew Broderick movie.

It really doesn’t bother me all that much… I think it’s pretty funny, actually. Especially now that we have a good name for her. It makes it all that much more entertaining, but I know it’s bugging GFI. Their monkey love woke her from a dead sleep the other night… that’s no good.  So I think next time we’re all out on the terrace, I’m going to warmly rib him about this new girlfriend and suggest that he move his bed to the opposite wall.  Hint, hint. Nudge. Nudge.

Now, props to Slick. He’s either really good (which is just not something I wish to consider) or she’s been watching too much porn and needs to refine her faking technique, but either way, let a girl wash her face in peace, would ya?  Sheesh!

Last Friday night, I grabbed a bottle of vodka from my freezer, a jar of blue cheese olives, threw on my coat and climbed upstairs to GFI’s place for some ‘tinis on the terrace.  Before I could even made it to her door, Slick poked his head out his screen door and said, “OOo!  Are we having martinis?  I’ve got my own vodka!” and he ran over like an eager kid with his own bottle of Kettle One.  So, there we were, neighbors hangin’ out, having vodka. 

About half a martini later (I know, I don’t know what was up with that), I left to go to Target but when I came back, there was some guy up on the terrace with GFI and Slick. It was dark and I couldn’t see who he was, but GFI shouted down to me, “This is Chester!  You’ve got to come up and meet Chester!” I wasn’t really in the mood, it was cold, but she sounded like she really wanted me up there and I didn’t like her being up there in the dark with two guys, one a total stranger.

So I got up and there’s Chester.  He’s an older guy, like in his 60’s with white thinning hair, a golf shirt, jeans and white tennis shoes.  He looks slightly grizzled, like he’s spent time in a whiskey bottle and smelled a bit like it, too.  He was swigging a beer and moments after introducing ourselves, he tells me he’s had half a bottle of tequila before he came upstairs to meet the neighbors.  Charming.

Anyway, this guy is kind of creepy.  He’s lived in our building for 3 years on the opposite side and is a chauffeur. He’s got a town car and a Corvette he parks in the back. We’d never met him or even seen him before Friday night.  Something about the way he looked at me made me really uncomfortable, same with GFI.  He has this wide thin smile (slightly open-mouthed but doesn’t show teeth) and kinda beady eyes that make him look like Robin Williams and Jonathan Winter had a lovechild.  He was nice, so I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I’m usually a pretty good judge of character.  I usually know how to call it and this guy… he just didn’t sit well with me.  But again, I didn’t want to make snap judgments about a half-drunk stranger in the dark.

(Why do I feel like I’ve said that before?)

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I’ve been getting to know my neighbors a bit here and there.  The English Couple from across the street invited GFI and I over for a drink during the holidays, which we’ve not had a chance to do yet, but I think we will soon. They’re really a nice older couple and I’m dying to see their backyard (what I can see of it looks pretty sweet).

I know the guy upstairs next to GFI in Furley’s old apartment.  We call him Slick. Then there’s The Lawyer next to him. Downstairs from him is Granola Guy and between the two of us lives a really cool nurse. I have no name for her other than her first name, so for the purposes of this blog, we’ll just call her Nurse New York.  In the building next to us is Crazy Pajama Bird Man.  He’s got parrots, a poor relationship with his baby mama and can often be found outside in too-big socks and ratty pajama bottoms using a cherry-picker to trim the trees.  And finally, also in the building next door, we have The Patio Lesbians.  Man, those women sure love their patio.

I figured I’d gotten to know enough of the characters for a while, but that was before the man next door to The English Couple got a Harley for Christmas.

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Sunday morning, I was up super early and ran out to the grocery store to pick up some peppermint extract. (I hand-rolled 100 homemade chocolate truffles in 4 different flavors. Go on, call me Bree again. .) Afterward, I realized it was only about 10 minutes until Target opened, so I pulled into the parking lot and waited. I needed some jellyroll pans.

About 7 minutes till opening, I decided to get out and stretch my legs while other shoppers started to congregate around the front doors.I sauntered up after them and milled around the front door with a brood of moms I would not want to mess with. Those women were there for a Wii and by god, they were going to get one. They all had their running shoes and game faces on.  I was actually a little concerned. I felt the need to let them know I had no interest in Wii and wish them luck lest they think me opposition and beat me down on my way to the cookie sheets.

There was another man standing near me who looked kind of like a cross between a weathered fisherman and Burgess Meredith in Rocky.  Standing about 5 feet away and without us making any eye contact whatsoever, he suddenly turns to me and says, “I like your coat. I used to have a coat just like that.”

“Thank you,” I said and smiled.  Wrong answer.

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