some girls wander by mistake.

this really happened. (sorry about the weird thumbnail/offsite clicking, the embed option isn't working properly.)

i've told this story now going on six times now, and each time i forget a few gems from the conversation. the intonation i use is decidedly tom waits circa storytellers. read this post aloud as pleases you.

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i arrived at the bar (which happens to be up the road from my house, and clearly near his) at the designated time, surveying that there were 3 younger folks at the bar, and 2 older men sitting nowhere near each other. george asked me to meet him by the jukebox to the immediate right of the entrance, and i stood there for five minutes without noticing the big neon box to the right of the door was a cigarette machine, and that the jukebox, instead, was a tacky condom machine-looking eyesore on the wall by the bar. i overheard, quite distinctly, "florida" and "ipod" and "lady" before i decided to approach the man i knew would be george.

george asked me to have a seat, and seemed excited to get to business. i felt, oddly (especially for me) at ease with him, despite his grizzled appearance and the distinct smell that only many hours of drinking leaves on one's breath. did i mention it was 5PM? yeah. he pulled a folded sheet of white paper out of his pocket, as though he wanted me to sign something, and instead, nudged me with his elbow and, i thought, asked me to join him at bingo up the road. i laughed and tried to make sense of it, but when i spoke he cut me off--"hey, now, hey, now, let me finish here." he recounted the night he found my wallet, coming from bingo (oh!), being on the ground (not explained!) and thinking his hand was on a rock, but it was something else that had a skull on it (my wallet). "the kids must've gone through it, there wasn't any cash, it was open like this," he showed me, a little too defensively, and the first of seven or more references to kids stealing my cash. and i said, "whatever, i don't care about the cash, i'm just glad to have it back." only he hadn't handed it to me yet, so i suppose i didn't even have it back. yet.

he kept on with his story, recounting calling the apple store, trying to pronounce my name, wanting to just go to wal-mart and page me over the intercom (which he did, loudly, from the barstool. and, otherwise, zomg, wal-mart???), not getting a call back, asking his secretary (which he clearly did not have--this man did not have a job, much less a secretary) for advice, not taking his secretary's advice which said to turn it into the police, going through my wallet, and so on.

he said his long ponytail was because he was a man "saving money on haircuts."

when the bartender came over i tried to buy him a drink or pay off his tab, but the bartender swiftly said, "oh, george has a fresh beer already, he's OK." i offered him money and he refused, telling me i was a lady and i had a hard enough time with my wallet. and he goes into the story again, reaching into his breast pocket where he is keeping the rest of the business cards from my wallet, including mine, which he asks to keep. then, after repeating some aspects of the story (specifically going under-water, the phrase "lock & key!" on repeat), i ask him again if i can give him money. he says no, then reconsiders. "do you have a five dollar bill? i don't want your damn tens or twentys, but if you have a five, i'll take it. gimme five." i said, "i do!" and hand over a new five dollar bill. george reaches into his pocket to retrieve a handful of singles, and proceeds to explain to me the state of origin and year for each of them, based on the markings. "i know a lot about money, you see." (your best tom waits impersonation goes well here.)

the story wraps up with me leaving and george wishing me a happy birthday. i have a general hope i'll pop into the bar and see george on his barstool and randomly buy him a beer one evening. but until then, george, you're crazy as shit and were probably wasted when we talked, but thank you for not being so crazy and drunk as to not be honest and wonderful.

party rats! for night blogging!

biking in slush today! wish me luck!

i've never ever bumped into anyone at an airport while traveling (thetathrees notwithstanding) in my life, but here i am in denver colorado, and dawningday is sitting beside me, waiting for the flight to PDX.

the world is small and strange.

realized yesterday by going through old project 365 photos that my garden gnome planter (and makeshift ashtray during parties) is missing off my front porch. absolutely no clue how long he's been gone, but i sure hope someone's kidnapped him amelie /raptorgirl style. sad.

i grew up watching a lot of different stuff (though was restricted from a lot of pretty standard american kid/pre-teen/teen viewing, e.g. the simpsons and so on) as a child. but this is something i vividly remember watching (though never could locate on the interwebs: "claymation" + "mark twain" + "halley's comet" is all i ever remembered)--the sibling sent me a link this weekend:



maybe this explains a few things.

also, good readers, i nearly slipped on a banana peel off haight street in san francisco. it was funny for like, 20 minutes after.

going through security at SFO with a mascot/rabbit head is fun.

tell me, dear lj-friends and readers:

when you're about to do something (or "fixin' to," for those southerners), something like approach your front door to unlock it, debark a bus/train, set out ingredients for cooking, or consult a map/grocery list, etc...when do you begin to "prepare" for this action? is it just right a second before it is happening, or is it many seconds more?

there are times where i get my key(s) ready easily like a full minute or two before i am near the door. i stand up on the bus before it has even slowed down to my stop. i'm not sure if this is conventional behavior, or the actions of someone with an obsessive nature.