Tropical Depression

I hear a sound that I strain to decipher. I wonder if it a dog or a flock of geese, terribly lost over Venice Boulevard.

Yesterday == sunburn;
today == judge judy at my work;
tomorrow == work later;

endl;
endl;
endl;

I spent the afternoon clipping coupons, binging on fresh strawberries and looking at cryptic text forecast discussions on the national weather service pages. The marine layer doesn't want to give in today. I still couldn't help but think my fifteen minute wait at the bus stop wasn't helping my condition. I had a pounding head-ache and my throat felt as if I might be catching something. I took a walk to the grocery store past the stucco sea foam green hubbles that line venice boulevard to the market to buy cat food. Obscenely cute guys both wearing YMCA polos in front of me at the check out buying tons of frozen lean cuisine entrees, and a representative of every member of the Kashi product line. I couldn't understand if they were related or if it was some sort of gay analog to the pets-looking-like-their-owners thing.

I've decided that I want to learn spanish. It seems like a lot of the nicest people I encounter, at bus stops and co-workers, people I ask for directions half the time, don't speak english very well... It's frustrating, so I want to remedy it. Maybe It'll be my summer project until school kicks in.

The customers at my work, while predominantly english speaking, are very snotty. A lot of people on the west-side are snotty. People at bus stops and people walking are generally a better lot, but you know what they say, "One bad apple...", right? I could give a single example but my mind boggles at the sheer enormity of cases I could choose from. These people are sick wastes of human flesh. Parasites that suck off the blood of anything accessible to their position in the social fabric. People who take courtesy for granted while not extending even the most basic consideration to the feelings of others. sick. sick. sick.

My work is next to a plastic surgeon. Every day I've walked home, through tinted windows I see some old rich lady in huge designer sun glasses bandaged and bruised up six ways to sunday barreling out of the alley in some tacky fancy car. Depending on my mood I extend my hand to feign a signal that expresses my right of way, somedays I take the side of caution and stand there and wait for a break in the alley traffic. I pray for sudden engine failure followed by an engine leak that precipitates a series of sudden punctuated fiery explosions, but to no success.

Well maybe that might be going a little too far but I do hate these people. These people who request a bag for there bread, a box for their bag and a bigger bag for their box. Their snotty kids with their tiny dogs. The overpriced cupcake boutique across the street, (choke choke choke. choke on it!). Ahhh....

Work can be nice sometimes too though. There are moments of unexpected kindness and ease. Nurses from the clinic down the alley who deign to attempt simple conversation. tips. cloudy days and a random man named Dion who introduced himself as follows: " Hey hey! (loud and short, punctuated) my names Dion and I'm one coooool cat." He introduces himself to the matronly blonde lady in a pantsuit, Dior sunglasses and pearls similarly. He manages to get a limp hand-shake after three attempts. He walks to the door and stops to pour some cream in his coffee. The blonde woman orders some order with too many special instructions, most of which make no sense and pays... The drink is made with all obnoxious requests ignored. She takes the drink and steps aside and waits there with pursed lips and a blank face. The man behind her starts to order and congenially asks her why shes still standing there. She responds in a low hiss, "I'm waiting for him to leave".

A sunburned old man walks in (possibly french but the accent seemed suspicious), asks me if the baguettes are french. I want to to make some smart ass comment but I resist. I say yes and he orders two. He tells me to save two everyday for him from now on, and there are easily 50 behind me. "surrre thing sir".