True story. In which the t-shirt comes through again.

A few weeks ago, I posted a story about my t-shirt saving me from Jehovah’s witnesses. The t-shirt has this design screenprinted on it:

screenprinted on the t-shirt

This is screenprinted on the t-shirt.

The other day, I happened to be wearing the shirt. I went into a Chipotle restaurant and ordered a burrito.

The total, with tax, came to $6.66.

The guy behind the counter pointed at my shirt and said “whoooooooa!”

I demanded his soul on the spot.

True story. 4/3/10. Self-defense via fortuitous dressing.

This morning, a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses just happened to be walking by when I took the dogs out for their morning poop. And they just happened to approach me and tried to catch my attention. We made eye contact and they moved in for the kill; but something caused them to pause and then continue on without addressing me.

I’m guessing it was my t-shirt that has, printed on the front, a fake name tag that looks like this:

screenprinted on the t-shirt

This is screenprinted on the t-shirt.

Apocalypse how? -or- medieval good times

A couple of days ago, I found myself in a bit of a long conversation with one of the regulars at the bar I am currently working at. She is a rather loquacious individual, with a quick mind and an observant eye. She and her husband have seen many changes at the bar, so they know of the subtleties and hilarities that go on there. They like to come and bear witness to it all. But yes, she is a chatty one. Two of her topics that she frequently brings up: 1) what to do when the Zombie Apocalypse comes; and 2) ren faires.

So there I was, finding myself cornered into a very one-sided conversation with her about: the zombie apocalypse and ren faires.

She is REALLY into this zombie thing. She has escape routes and defense plans for the bar. (Which begs the question: would zombies really head for a place designed to render braaaaaaaains incapacitated and with dead cells?) But I digress.

Anybody who knows me knows that I have a very low tolerance threshold for ren faire types, and also a very low tolerance, period, of this whole “zombie” fad that has been going on lately. So I posed this query to her:

“Well what would you do if the zombie apocalypse happened during the ren faire? Because in order to be true to character, you wouldn’t be able to use modern technology against them.”

Her thought process abruptly halted while she searched for an answer.

Meanwhile, I made my escape.

This must be the introduction to the opposites.

This morning, the local homeless guy ambushed me and my trusty pal Joyce as we walked by. (I gave him money once… and he’s never left me alone since. Even after I told him “I got laid off. I’m probably not the best person to ask.”)

Anyway, he ambushed me, and said something that I didn’t think I had heard correctly. “Do you need any change? Like for a cup of coffee?”  I thought he was asking for change, but he very clearly said “Do you need any.” I said “no thanks” and walked on.

As I walked away, he shouted:  “okay, because I wanted to help you out sometime.”

Yes– I got offered money by a homeless guy who “wanted to help me out.”

The REALLY weird part, though, was this: about a minute earlier, I had asked Joyce if she could cover the cost of my coffee because I had no cash on me.

Who knew that a prescient homeless man was walking the streets of Alameda? I wonder what other sort of divine omniscience he may possess.


Last week, I was heading to a restaurant in Berkeley with my trusty pal Joyce. We were going to grab dinner at the Indian place. Telegraph Avenue was fairly deserted– it was about 9:30 at night– but that didn’t stop a Berkeley street rat from finding and accosting us. This one, however, offered something slightly different.

“Hey…” he began. “Are you guys interested in some psychedelic–”

I was expecting him to finish the sentence with “mushrooms” or something like that. I was not expecting the next two words he actually said:

“…vagina necklaces?”

I bought two. Joyce and I each now have our very own psychedelic vagina necklace.

They were these little bi-colored, diamond-shaped fimo clay situations. The really cool thing is that he carefully chose them for us: mine was gray and cream-colored, to perfectly match the jacket I was wearing that had gray and cream colored diamonds. I won’t speculate on his reasoning for choosing Joyce’s, but hers was tiny and pink.

Incidentally– he forgot the clit.

Best IM conversation of the year…

…if not the last several years…

Between me and a friend of mine, whom I shall call “Numbnuts” to protect his identity.


Numbnuts (10:17:37 PM): Dude I had the gnarliest dream ever

Me (10:17:51 PM): (corpulent middle aged mutual male friend) vacuuming naked?

Numbnuts (10:17:53 PM): last night I dreamt that someone bet me $10k that I wouldn’t cut off my nipple

Numbnuts (10:17:58 PM): and for some reason, in the dream

Numbnuts (10:18:05 PM): I thought that it wouldn’t hurt or anything

Numbnuts (10:18:13 PM): so I had one of those little pruning shears

Numbnuts (10:18:25 PM): and I reached down and cut off my left nipple

Numbnuts (10:18:41 PM): and this gigantic lightning bolt shot out of it

Numbnuts (10:18:46 PM): and blew a hole in the wall

Numbnuts (10:18:57 PM): It freaked me out so much that I woke up and called my brother

Numbnuts (10:19:08 PM): and then went back to sleep and forgot about it

Me (10:19:16 PM): WOW

Numbnuts (10:19:22 PM): I just remembered it again just now because he called me telling me how fucked up I was

Numbnuts (10:19:33 PM): and I had to spend an hour talking to him convincing him I wasn’t using again

Me (10:19:39 PM): HAHA

Numbnuts (10:19:42 PM): Blue lightning bolt!