~Wednesday~ This morning’s buscapde includes a hurried threesome, a Marlon Brando lookalike, and some butt floss.
The bus was running early today, and at one stop, three ladies boarded:
- the first one I’m quite sure walked like a duck, talked like a duck, and slept with other female ducks—I know she dressed like a duck
- the second one was a plus-sized girl; and
- the third one had on what could only be described as the opposite of sensible shoes, not quite stilettos, but definitely higher than high heels.
They had to run to the bus as it waited for them. The one with the high heels had hips with a circumference of at least two
times their diameter. Probably pecan pi at that. Suffice it to say, all that teetering junk put a lot of pressure on those spikes, and it didn’t make for a steady walk. When she finally made it to a seat in the back of the bus, she said, “Gurl, I got my exercise for the day!”
A man sitting a ways up, on the center-facing seats, offered up a profile of a thinner, older Marlon Brando. His greasy black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and it was thinning enough that there were streaks of scalp showing on the side of his head. The ponytail was no longer than 1.5 inches—just enough to stay in the tie—and it was lopped off on the end in a way that looked like he’d done it at home with a jagged-edged knife or some dull scissors. On the seat beside him, he had a long, black, canvass suitcase, which made me think that as soon as he got to the end of the city bus line, he’d be Greyhound bound.
The girl sitting directly in front of me got off at my stop. She had beautiful auburn—almost copper—short, thick, curly hair. She was tall, and she had on blue jeans and a turquoise top. As she stood up, the hottest pink ever thong rode up over the waistline of her jeans. I’m quite sure that if I were straight I would’ve wanted summa dat.
I don’t think I’ve ever copied a whole day of my Tweets into my blog before, but I wanted to capture today’s:
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This is the onesentence.org entry that comes up if you click the link in the second list item above. It’s so awesome that I want to capture it explicitly.
BatmanMy heart broke as I pulled the black cape around my neck and saw the tag that was labeled, “Does not enable you to fly.” 2009-06-23 15:42:36 / Rating: 103 / |
I had a very busy day at work, although I did not get the one thing done that I wanted to today. Oh well. There are only so many hours in the day. Right?
I met one of my professors from grad school, and now my friend, Susan, for lunch at Sadlack’s. I had the Skillinator X again, asked for it with mayo instead of mustard, but it came with mustard instead of mayo anyway. I ate it that way, and it was pretty decent. A little more healthy, so that’s good.
Susan and I had great conversation, which is always the case. David (the proprietor and a friend of mine) was actually able to explain “the rhetorical purpose of the boxed-in items” appearing intermittently throughout the menu: 1) It draws your eyes to them, and 2) They are items that are either their best selling items and/or their highest profit-margin items.
When I returned from lunch, my officemate had left a Tropicana Orange Icee from Burger King on my desk. Sweet. (Literally!)
After work I ran some errands. I stopped by the K-Mart pharmacy, where I filled a new prescription, the one for Protonix, which I’m trying as a replacement for Nexium. My Nexium prescription was $50 for a 30-day supply. This one was $10. Let’s hope it works.
Next, I went for a haircut at Great Clips, where I didn’t find ScottSteven from last time, but two stylists, one being the one who was there with ScottSteven when I went last, and the other one being someone I don’t ever remember seeing before. The “new” one got up when I came in.
“You been here before?”
“Yes.”
“Your phone number?” After giving it to her, and it being entered, “John?”
“That’s correct,” I said.
“Hi, I’m Kecia,” she said indicating that I follow her back.
She sat me down, put that spongy strip around my neck and as she tied the apron around me, said, “Hi, I’m Kecia.”
To which I replied, “You already said that.”
“I did? I say it so many times in a day,” she lamented.
“Well, it is your name,” I said. What else are you supposed to say to a comment like that?
We confirmed that my typical cut, which she’d read in my computer entry, was what I wanted today, and just after she started, I said, “You trim eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like mine trimmed at the end, then, please. I didn’t get them done the last time, because that guy, Scott, Steven…”
She interrupted me, “Yeah, he has a couple of names.”
“He does?” I veered with her. “He told me his name was Scott when he took me last time, but his cosmetology license on the wall says…”
“Steven,” she said, then added, “Uh-huh,” as if the subject was well-discussed in the place.
“Well I need to know which name to sue him under,” I said, and she guffawed at that. “So anyway,” I said, “The last time, when I was waiting, I heard him ask her (indicating the other stylist) if she could show him how to trim eyebrows, and I made a mental note to not get mine trimmed if I got him as my stylist.”
They both thought that was funny, and I digressed about the phlebotomist at my last physical who had, “In Training” on her badge, and how that wasn’t a label you like associated with a person who’s about to stick you with a needle.” More guffawing all around.
Snip. Snip. Snip. Cut. Cut. Cut. Then she went into, what I recognized in retrospect as, super-saleslady mode.
“Your hair’s dry. What kind of shampoo you use?”
This totally surprised me as I’m the biggest grease ball on the planet. My hair (and facial skin for that matter) is so ridiculously greasy in the morning that I’m sure it’d rank right up there with a quart of Quaker State 10W40.
“Well, I put spray gel on it after I shampoo,” I said.
“That’s got alcohol in it,” she retorted, a little bit in the tone of a hormonal librarian. “A lot of alcohol,” she added.
“You callin’ my hair drunk, girl?” I said, just like that—adding “girl” on the end.
She laughed then said, “What kind of shampoo you use?”
“Head & Shoulders,” I said.
“That’s got wax in it,” Miss Dewey Kecia Decimal said again, just a little too quickly and harshly for my taste.
Then the first sales pitch, “We got some good shampoo here that would be better than that.”
“American Crew?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“I know. I got some of that, and in fact, I use it on and off in between the Head & Shoulders. But that stuff’s $11.00 a bottle. I’m not paying that for shampoo. Y’all gave me the bottle I have as a promotion one time when I came in here. Besides, I’m afraid if I stop using the H&S, my dandruff will come back.”
“What kind of dandruff you have?” she drilled. “Is it the white kind or the yellow kind?”
“The yellow kind?” I asked.
“Yes. The white kind isn’t dandruff. That’s just flakes of dry skin. The yellow kind is thick, and gooey, and it sticks to your scalp. It doesn’t fall onto your shoulders.”
“The white kind,” I responded nearly gagging.
“Well, we have a Great Clips brand of shampoo that’s like the American Crew, and it’s only $7.95,” she said coming back with her final offer.
“I’ll think about getting some of that when my current supply runs out,” I lied.
Never a dull moment at the Great Clips. I gave her my $7.99 coupon, a ten and a one, and said, “Thanks,” as I didn’t let the door hit my behind on the way out.
Dancing was fun enough tonight. Carl reviewed, for about the third week now (which is good), the dance “Buttons,” which we do to the Pussycat Dolls’ song of the same name.
I left at about 10:50, as opposed to the normal 11:15, 11:30 time, as I had to be up at 4:30 tomorrow morning to take Joe to the airport.
Turning on my phone on the way home, I had a message from Joe that he’d hurt his knee, and that asked me to bring a few large Bandaids, if I had them, in the morning when I pick him up.
Since I wanted some English Muffins anyway, I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to get both. The Food Lion on Western was closed (I guess it closes at 11, as it was about 11:10), so I went to the one over on Avent Ferry, which closes at midnight.