Allergic To Logic

Yesterday afternoon in the store picking up supplies as the Will Smith Summertime song goes: “cause you’re invited to a barbecue that’s startin’ at 4!”

(Yesterday was deeply incredible…that heat was totally bbq inspired. As I driving I had all the windows down and stereo up cranking like Bowie’s Modern Love and MJ’s Off The Wall. Summer is beautiful and wonderful in that order.)

I picked up ketchup chips and was debating which gummies to pick up for the kids/myself when a young lass…maybe 13 or 15 sneezed.

It was like a shotgun went off and people froze like they’re bringing back the Mannequin Challenge.

Her face went all red…looking down at her faded red Cons she mumbled: “I’ve allergies.” Poor kid. She was instantly lepered.

I guess people with allergies now hafta start carrying that Joker “medical condition card” just to participate in our society. That sucks. Hang in there Red Con Kid (and others like her.).

Oh, and I went with sour patch kids.

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The Library Is A Hell Of A Drug

After months of being separated, the Library and I reunited. And it feels so good. Cause we understood.

Only now the experience is like a cop TV show/Colombian cartel movie drug deal.

At the appointed date and time—you get a time and a date when the deal is going down. When your shipment has come in.

I step up to the table, make eye contact and wordlessly place my library card on the table and take 2 steps back.

She takes 2 steps forward, looks down at my card and she looks up at me: scanning. I’m not carrying a wire or heat: either a gun or coronavirus fever.

She nods. I nod back.

We good. She has the stuff and is willing to give it to me. Which is a deep relief because I’ve been jonesing since I quit cold turkey back in mid-March.

I step up to the table, make eye contact, and wordlessly place my library card on the table and take 2 steps back making eye contact the entire time.

It’s not said but I know: Make. No. Sudden. Movements.

I’m nervous. I wanna make a “joke” to evict the tension. I can feel a drop of sweat slowly sliding down my back like a lover’s gentle one finger caress.

I take two steps forward maintaining eye contact, in one sweeping motion grab the bag and grab the card turn and walk briskly to my car. In the car, I tear open the bag and yep…that’s the stuff.

Smells so good. I exhale. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath this whole time. I start the car thinking this should tide me over but the Library and I know…that’s not true. I’ll be back.

They got the stuff I want.

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Don’t Suck At Self-Care

Dracula Takes Good Care of Himself!

People will always come to your door to suck up your time; they’re often out for new blood.

Hang in there; winter is not easy it can drive you batty and feels like the Sun will burn if you ever see it.

What does “Count” is the rest you get. Dracula: Dead and Loving It.

If a vampire is down with Self Care how you can not be?! (Dracula remains…as always an inspiration! Sure wish “he’d” put out a self-help book. Especially since he’s got a reputation for helping himself…)

(Image Credit: Marv Wolfman/Script; Gene Colan/Art from Tomb of Dracula (1972) #24)

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PSA: Your Grande Insanity

Virtual Insanity is Starbucks’ attempt at atmosphere; it’s not a mid-day invitation for you to suddenly get up and mimic the MC Escher moves of the music video.

Especially if you can’t. Heed the fine print displayed at the bottom of every tv commercial: this was done by a professional do not attempt this at home.

You suck Grande:

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Poop O’clock

Back to the land of people, passwords and ugh…pants. #DownWithPants

Even though my Poop Schedule is still on Vacation Time.

I may struggle silently but at least I do not struggle alone.

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Here Comes The Future!

To quote Joe Pesci in Lethal Weapons okay-okay-okay. I’ve been saying this since the year 2000 but this year I really mean it: 2020 really does sound like some sort of sci-fi dystopian thriller humans versus Skynet future date.

Yet it’s here; we’re here!

Really hope one of y’all kept the receipt because this isn’t the future we will all promised. I mean do you know anybody who’s got third-degree burns on their butt from a jetpack?!

Welcome back to the Roaring Twenties: we’ve gone from flappers to transporters.

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Undercover Mannequin

So…

I’m walking through the Eaton Centre and as I’m passing by I dunno-what-store I notice something unusual.

There’s a saleslady in the window redressing a naked mannequin (nothing like some unexpected nudity to kick off the weekend…knowwhatIamsaying?) and for some reason…the mannequin is wearing underwear.

Neon bright yellow…underwear.

The saleslady is in the process of pulling up pants on the half naked mannequin…the pants I assume are what the mannequin is on the street corner passively pimping.

Hence my So…

Having never worked retail is there a reason why a mannequin “requires” underoos the public won’t see to sell pants?

Or…is this for the sake of the mannequin who comes alive at night and isn’t “that kind of lady?” (f we’re being honest that actually makes a lot of sense…

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Cherish The Gibberish

Under an ash grey sky I’m walking on Young Street when I stop at the curb waiting for the light to change.

Beside me a homeless man wearing Polar Vortex chic…rocking a sleeping bag like a poncho mutters gibberish. 

I listen closely (I always listen closely because when we want to be dismissive we label people crazy and that corrosive label offers some outstanding hidden gems.)

Sure enough he stops muttering then yells at the top of his lungs to no one: “WHAT IF THERE WAS A BLACK SUPERMAN?”

Then goes back to his regularly scheduled gibberish program…only he adjusts his sleeping bag-dress like an unruly girdle and wanders onto the street into oncoming traffic, annoying drivers who loudly honk in protest as he diagonally shuffles to the other side. It’s unclear where’s he’s going only that he’s determined to get there.

I’m still waiting for the light to change…but: man if ever there was a metaphor for social media.

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Settle Sauce

This post is for that group of dynamic individuals Beyoncé affectionately labels as all the single ladies…

Went out for lunch…spaghetti and meatballs the size of my head and now I’ve 2 spectacular bolognese sauce stains on my shirt…looks like I’ve been shot.

There’s no need for Tinder when all of this can be yours…it’s not giving up if you choose to settle!

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A No Pants P.S.A.

New Year; Same Old Crappy Pants.

Like the self-driving car inspiring a radical vision of leisure and entertainment…if you choose today and everyday in 2019 to not only picture a world without pants you can make this freshtastic dream a reality by what you choose to do.

Critics and Criticism are not obstacles to overcome they’re beneficial signposts informing you how much closer you are to your destination.

If you’re not getting criticism you’re not working hard enough.

#DownWith Pants

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