Tuesday, June 7, 2011
So, one of my best friends got married recently, and we threw an awesome party for her in Hollywood. My only concern was this semi-cute but semi-creepy dude trying to dance on a stripper pole with my other friend who is a first grade teacher...
I went to see my sister's fiance's band, Tater Famine, play in the Santa Cruz mountains not too long ago...and met a really fine guy... Damn was he twacked out. I couldn't really get over the way he clenched his teeth to the music and his eyes were just so red and glazed. God, I miss staying awake for 5 days at a time....whatever, the band was pretty good.
Sad but true, that weird little dude that is part of the really random band, Die Antwoord, died this week. I really never knew if he was a goblin or a real human - but it is totally fucked up that he died one day after his 26th birthday, last Sunday. Leon Botha, died at age from a rare disease called progeria.
We had a little celebration in his name. I mean, I've been to South Africa before, but I just love what these guys did in the name of disgrace to their country. They just don't give a shit. Honey Badger fuck off...Ninja and Yo-landi will miss him dearly. My dear friends Sonja and Devor paid respekt....
Friday, March 25, 2011
I can't even believe this just happened right now. I just bought my bike back for $40!
This afternoon, I came back from work to find my bike and my roommate's bike gone from our building!
Tonight, I was walking down Fillmore waiting for the light to turn green. There was a girl waiting to cross next to me, and she started laughing as she gazed across the intersection to see about 20 gangsters hangin' out on a Friday night. The light turned green, and I started to cross when I saw it....MY BIKE!
This big, black dude wearing a marijuana bandana and gold chains was just chillin' on my bike. I walked straight up to him and was like, "Dude, that's my bike!!!"
He looked a bit shocked and and said, "W-e-ll, how do I know it's your bike?"
I was a bit flustered surrounded by 10 thugs, but until I realized DUH, I have the key!!!!
I offered him $20 just to give it back. His buddy stepped in and said they needed $40. He said it was his birthday. I told him my birthday was last week. I told him I only had $20. These thugs weren't too good at bargaining, and they dropped down to $25. I thought I only had a $20 in my wallet. I decided to check it out (a bit worried they would just snag my wallet and take off on my bike with it) and found I only had two $20 bills.
"What the hell," I said. "Take the $40 and give me my damn bike back!" I shoved the money in his face and surpirsingly enough, he got off my bike and gave it to me!!! WHAT LUCK!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
I have a confession to make.
The other day I was shopping at Ross on Geary, scrutinizing a $3 wooden hair brush under florescent lights, when this gypsy woman walked by and seriously looked inside of me.
"Your aura is really open right now," she said with a slight lisp, as she handed me her card. "You ought to come visit me sometime." I looked into her big, brown manipulative eyes and at her witch-like-get-up.
A bit bewildered, I was immediately interested. "Really?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Are you busy now? Why don't we have a chat? My name is Maya. My office is just across the street," she taunted.
"Um, OK," I replied hesitantly, but continued to follow her long black hair down the escalator, into the rain and across the street into her office.
The infamous neon Psychic Readings sign hung from the window. Two plush chairs sat on either side of a small, round table where she kept her crystal ball. The room was dimly lit and clean. I always wondered what one of these places looked like.
I sat across from her at the table, ready to pay for something. Maya told me she could give me a palm-reading for just $20, and a more extensive tarot-reading for 40$ I chose the tarot. My hands started to sweat. She seemed Indian or Sri Lankan, I didn't dare to ask, I just listened to what the witch had to tell me.
After she had read all of my cards, she gave me her spiel. She told me that I was surrounded by negative energy. That only she could get rid of that energy. That she would need to pray intensively to her "magical crystals" for six to eight hours until she went into a trance. I had done something horrible in a past life that was interfering with my present life. She would pray all night for me. And when she wasn't at her "sacred ritual ground" her sister would protect my energy for me, until she could come back and finish the job.
She was pretty convincing. I know it sounds crazy, but sitting there listening to this woman who somehow had an answer to every question - I asked her how much it would cost to get rid of this bad energy. She told me that the crystals she would have to use for my specific case cost $600!!! But that she would do it for me for just $200. My jaw dropped. Seriously???!!! No wonder those places stay in business. $200. Hell no!
She tried to persuade me into giving her the money. There was an ATM across the street. She gave me a small red crystal with a golden elephant on it. She told me that was a free gift from her heart. She said I should meditate with it at night before bed. She told me she was the only one that could help me. She made me uncomfortable. She was damn good at this voodoo shit!
I looked into my wallet. I had $47. I came back to reality. I threw down the $40 on the table and got the hell out of there. She tried to warn me about my fate. Oh Maya, you twisted bruja.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
You gotta love Lucky 13 on Market St. I always seem to make best friends with weirdos there. I remember once I went there, and had the whole bar convinced that I was the street sweeper! Drunk people were begging me to get them out of their stack of parking tickets. Obviously, I couldn't do it...but it was the rarity of the idea that had them kissing my ass all night!
A few weeks ago, my sister and her fiance were in town. We went to an opening of our friends jewelry shop, drank a ton of wine, and sauntered our way down to Lucky 13 from the Castro. I went outside to have a smoke, feeling a bit inquisitive (surprise, surprise) and struck up a conversation with a lesbian couple outside. These ladies weren't very exciting, nd the smell of some kind of herb distracted me, so I wandered away.
I made my way over to a group of two guys and a chick who seemed to be smoking something. "It's like herbal medication," they told me. Whatever it was, wasn't weed, but I smoked it anyways. It tasted pretty good and my eyes got all Chinese. Somehow, the stuff got me to believe that these random kids from Kansas were my new best friends. The pretty farmgirl told me that her Daddy had just been fired for drinkin' on the job. "...Cuz he's an alchohowlic, " she told me with all honesty in her eyes, and a thick accent in her words. "He di'nt wanna drink on' s job," she clarified, "he just di'nt know wha'lse ta' do."
Gotta love Kansas! I took 'em all with me inside of the bar and my sister's friends were all annoyed. But hey, we're not in Kansas anymore Dorothy!"
So, I just got off work, scored superb parking on my street right in front of my corner store, Third World Market, and went in for the usual mega-deal on two bottles of Barefoot wine for 12 bones. I decided on the red labeled Zin and the orange Syrah and went up to the counter to pay. The owners are from Palestine, and I see them pretty much everyday - so I said hi to Frank and went up to the counter to pay the other guy that is always at the counter talking on the phone. He starts ringing me up and this black dude decked out in Giants gear was all up on my shit. He hit me with all the lines, like how he has a "telephonic apparatus that he would like to put my number in." He said he would like to drink the wine with me and "entertain" me and that he hoped the next time I could "entertain him." I politely shunned him off, with a smile and a, "sorry man, that's not gonna happen." He was all optimistic going on about how he believes in chance and that he was sure fate was on his side and he would run into me again. I got a bit flustered with all these compliments (however degrading they may have been intended) and picked up the plastic bag with the wine in it too quickly, and the Zin rolled down the ice cream case almost breaking all over the store. My reflexed pulled through, and I caught it and homeboy made sure my shit got double-bagged - which I tried to decline. Anyways, long story short, he was telling me to have a good night and not to drink and drive when I went to grab the double-bagged wine again and noticed a plaid pair of boxer-shorts lying on the glass counter in front of me. I looked up surprised, and was like, "are those your underwear?" He said yes without even blushing. The whole store busted up laughing. I walked out of the store thinking to myself, "this wine is gonna be real good."