Friday, April 29, 2005
FUN WITH THE BIPOLAR
So I was walking home yesterday and was in my happy place, where I go whenever I attempt any form of exercise, which dislodges fat cells in my bubbly ass, which then go and set off mini-aneurysms in my brain, creating the phenomenon most people know as happiness.
Or endorphins, if you prefer.
There I was, farting merrily along, and here comes a complete lunatic, which is not at all unusual in L.A.
I wasn't hogging the sidewalk and I didn't make eye contact, even. No idea what set her off.
"YOU DID IT TOO, DIDNCHA, YA LITTLE BITCH...!" she hissed.
I walked about 20 feet before the sheer nastiness of her statement and tone seeped in under the fat glob riding on my brain.
".................................................................huh?"
I turned and looked back. She was walking but still looking back at me. Despite my myopia, I detected a sneer.
(Cue Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'".)
Did what? It? No, not on the way home, I don't think. Unless by "did IT" she meant paying my income tax, I didn't do it! Falsely accused! Sheez.
I momentarily contemplated delivering a well-placed roundhouse kick to her melon-head (you never do get to use your snappy moves, do you, Billy Blanks?), possibly knocking some sense back into her - hey, it worked for my car, computer, etc. - when I realized that only stupid people get into altercations with wandering loonies who have no idea who you really are anyway because, in their mind, you are probably Nancy S. Chalmbers-Mertz, who once crossed them by stepping on their toe in 1987, scuffing their shiny red retard shoes, and not even saying "sorry."
Well, I am not Stampy Nancy. But still, I wondered what I'd done wrong.
Had I offended her with my lousy posture? Did I move to the side to fast? Was I wearing an insensitive shade of yellow that reminded her of her deprived childhood after-school program, where the snack was always generic knockoff Hostess cupcakes with no little icing squiggle in the middle?? Was it my hair...? Did she mistake me for one of the cops in the Rodney King thing? Because I had nothing to do with it. Those photos were faked.
I was almost all the way home before I realized, hey. She called me "little"!
Hey, thanks, crazy lady...!
FUN WITH THE BIPOLAROr endorphins, if you prefer.
There I was, farting merrily along, and here comes a complete lunatic, which is not at all unusual in L.A.
I wasn't hogging the sidewalk and I didn't make eye contact, even. No idea what set her off.
"YOU DID IT TOO, DIDNCHA, YA LITTLE BITCH...!" she hissed.
I walked about 20 feet before the sheer nastiness of her statement and tone seeped in under the fat glob riding on my brain.
".................................................................huh?"
I turned and looked back. She was walking but still looking back at me. Despite my myopia, I detected a sneer.
(Cue Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'".)
Did what? It? No, not on the way home, I don't think. Unless by "did IT" she meant paying my income tax, I didn't do it! Falsely accused! Sheez.
I momentarily contemplated delivering a well-placed roundhouse kick to her melon-head (you never do get to use your snappy moves, do you, Billy Blanks?), possibly knocking some sense back into her - hey, it worked for my car, computer, etc. - when I realized that only stupid people get into altercations with wandering loonies who have no idea who you really are anyway because, in their mind, you are probably Nancy S. Chalmbers-Mertz, who once crossed them by stepping on their toe in 1987, scuffing their shiny red retard shoes, and not even saying "sorry."
Well, I am not Stampy Nancy. But still, I wondered what I'd done wrong.
Had I offended her with my lousy posture? Did I move to the side to fast? Was I wearing an insensitive shade of yellow that reminded her of her deprived childhood after-school program, where the snack was always generic knockoff Hostess cupcakes with no little icing squiggle in the middle?? Was it my hair...? Did she mistake me for one of the cops in the Rodney King thing? Because I had nothing to do with it. Those photos were faked.
I was almost all the way home before I realized, hey. She called me "little"!
Hey, thanks, crazy lady...!
|
