the man who lives on our bench

If there is an actual concept of hell I'm probably going to it. For many reasons. Amongst them assuming someone is homeless without any proof. Case in point, I came home after being away for much of a weekend to find a random stranger sitting on one of the benches on my apartment building's front porch. He looked... well, disheveled to say the least. Definitely hadn't showered in awhile. And dazed and confused is an accurate description of his mentality at that moment. Upon seeing him I jumped back startled as it was early in the morning on a Sunday and I had never seen this man before. When he saw me he said, "Are any of the guys who live here home? I have a pack of cigarettes." A number of thoughts ran through my mind: Is he friends with my neighbors, have they given him cigarettes before, and dude, it's 8 o'clock in the morning so even if they do know you they probably aren't wanting to be awake to share a cigarette yet! All I said, though, was, "I don't think so," and went inside to lock my door. He continued to sit on our bench looking dazed and confused. Then, a couple days later I was inside my apartment already when he opened our entrance and made his way to sit down on our bench again. And so I still think he's homeless but is trying to be our new occupant that doesn't pay rent.

anger management

I don't get angry. Not really. I've had several moments but I can probably count them on one hand... maybe two. Sometimes I think that maybe I should. The whole Freudian psychology thing about repression. But so far I haven't experienced any adverse effects from being mostly anger free so maybe I'm repression free. There simply aren't many people or situations that can get me that worked up. The only ones who've ever managed to truly do that are my parents, brother and sister. No one knows quite how to push your buttons like an immediate family member. But for the most part those episodes took place in my childhood. As I grew older I learned to let things roll off my back because they weren't worth the energy. There's still the occaisional frustration due to interactions with these folks I love but anger has certainly been replaced by understanding. The only person outside of my family (and perhaps a member of a competing sports team) who's ever gotten me that worked up was a guy I was dating (and I use this term loosely). One night he randomly went off on me about how he didn't want to get into a relationship and said some really mean things (inebriated). Now this was a guy I never saw myself getting into a relationship with so certainly hadn't mentioned such a thing in any shape or form but he wouldn't listen to me. I was angry for about a week over his meanness but once I chilled out I realized how much that had hurt me and don't think I've been angry since.

The reason I'm thinking about anger is due to an incident at the grocery store last night. The grocery store was having momentary problems with some of their cash registers. This resulted in long lines of people waiting to eventually check out. For most of us this wasn't a big deal. Everything can't always go smoothly. I used the time to catch up on text messages and glance at magazines I would never buy in real life. One man didn't see things in quite the same way and went off on any employee in the vicinity. He was irate that one line had been redirected to another line with a now operating cash register but his hadn't (I was also standing in the same line). Now I understand how that could be frustrating; however, the woman behind him and I simply stepped over to a line with a working cash register. So we had to wait a couple extra minutes. In the grand scheme of things that isn't a big deal. Waiting hours for your blood pressure to go down (particularly for someone a little older) seemed like a much bigger deal to me. He continued to yell at the clerks and managers who came to see what was going on. He poked his finger in the face of the sweet young manager who came over trying to help. Everyone else in these long lines were looking at him like he was loco.

I mostly felt sorry for him. People who get that worked up about the little stuff cannot have happy lives. And research (look up the stats) shows that they live shorter and less healthy lives. I have yet to encounter anything or anyone to get angry over that's worth that. Yet, you see this fairly often. People ranting and raving over seemingly nothing. And they do it in public. That's the scariest part. Because if they act like that in public, I can't imagine how they must act in the privacy of their own home. Now I understand that people'll get angry on occaision (as I've done so myself) but I try to avoid being around anyone who's that way on any sort of regular basis. You never know how short a fuse they have and I don't want to be at any end of it.



Dude at the grocery store needs this

overheard randomness part tres

Young woman on the train chats on her cell phone to who knows who. She's larger than average (to be nice) with her butt crack hanging out of pants that are certainly three sizes too small and a shirt that shows more of her stomach than even Giselle should. Her hair looks like it hasn't been brushed (perhaps even washed) in the new year and I'm pretty sure her breath smells (not being nice). Her conversation goes something like this, "First Tyrone came over last Sunday. Then, as soon as he left Jason called me. But I told him he couldn't come over. I mean, it's Sunday. I can't have two guys over on a Sunday. It's the lord's day. So he came over on Tuesday cuz he had to work Monday... No, no one came over on Monday. But Wednesday night I went out with Jill and met this guy. I don't remember his name but he came home with us... No, nothing happened... I'm not doing that on the first night we met! Plus Tyrone was coming over the next morning for breakfast. I had to get new dude out fast. And Jason wanted to get together that night. I don't know how this happens!"

Two seemingly normal guys stare, their mouths agape. I'm guessing they agree with her last statement.

overheard randomness part dos

A young lady check's her baby's diaper while sitting in a [really high class] restaurant with her friend. She interrupts her friend who seems to be going on about absolutely nothing anyway and announces to almost the entire eatery, "Damn, I'm out of diapers!" To which the perplexed friend responds, "Do you have any maxi pads? She's small enough, right?"

assistance at the thrift store

I hate shopping. But I love thrift stores. While this might sound like an oxymoron (which might be a good word to sum me up in anyway) let me add that I also like treasure hunts. Which to me is really what a thrift store is. The actual likelihood of finding something amazing is pretty slim (although still much higher than JC Penneys) but when you do it's the most amazing thing you've ever found and you can be sure no one else has it. That being said I actually find a lot of really cool stuff at thrift stores so my previous point might be null and void.

Thrift stores are also great people watching locales. For sure you'll hear the loud and proud sisters yelling at each other across the store about what they've found (okay, I've done that a time or two as well). You'll also hear a mother and daughter arguing loudly about something the daughter wants but the mome doesn't want her to have. Creepy middle aged men hide out in the women's shoe section. I'm still not sure if they're waiting for everyone to leave so they can buy a pair or if they're checking out the ladies' legs. Baby's are running around screaming madly looking to be adopted since I'm pretty sure they don't have parents. Someone always shows up for some drunk shopping. Hipsters act like they're too cool to be there but end up leaving with fifteen bags of the most used clothing they can find.

And this past Sunday I met Scarf Picker Outter Man. There was this rack filled with scarves. Granted you don't really need a scarf in southern California but I've come to appreciate the fashion of them. But since you don't need a scarf in southern California I refuse to pay full price for them. So when I saw this rack with all of these beautiful brand new looking scarves I went nuts. Scarf Picker Outter Man must have noticed that because he proceeded to spend five minutes of his shopping trip (to buy what I do not know) picking out scarves for me and draping them around my neck asking all the other randoms what they thought. With his help I purchased four new "for fashion only unless it snows in the near future" scarves. And that is a new reason why I love thrift stores.

i'm getting a river board?

I made a new friend on Saturday. This in and of itself isn't unusual; I’m always making new friends. I’m good at it. It’s kind of a strange talent I realize, not exactly something that can be put on the resume. Well, I suppose you could list people skills on there somewhere. I think the key is that I really like people (just not the boring ones) and I always assume they’re going to like me back (there’s always a cosmic shock when someone doesn’t). But now that I think about it, I wonder how many of my friends are actually aware that we’re friends…

Back to my new friend. I returned from an almost life ending surf sesh mid afternoon (I’m going to start practicing my underwater breathing skills in the bathtub each evening) and was standing on my apartment building’s front porch talking to one of my neighbors while holding my surfboard under my arm. Two middle aged men who were definitely a little off (they didn’t quite look homeless but they also didn’t quite not look homeless) stopped in front of our porch. The one asked if he could ask me something (I always wonder why people waste a question even asking this but then I go and do the same thing.). I said sure, positive this was going to be entertaining. I could tell my neighbor thought the same thing since he gave me the “oh, who’s Amanda going to talk to now” look and stopped talking himself.

The man said, “Have you ever seen one of those (he pointed to my surfboard) that’s a bit smaller with these things you can strap your feet into?” The way he was gesturing made me think he was talking about a snowboard so I said, “A snowboard?” He said, “No. It goes on a river.” I said, “Are you talking about a wakeboard? Like you ride on behind a boat?” He said, “No. My friend has one and you just wear it in a river.” I just shook my head and said I had no idea what he was talking about since I had no idea what he was talking about (and still don’t). He said, “I’ll have to bring one by.” At this point I was trying to figure out how to dissuade him from doing so since he still seemed to be a bit off and wasn’t sure us having the kind of friendship that involved me inviting him in for an alcoholic beverage (or even milk) was in my best interest. So I said, “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” He said, “No. I’m going to bring it over and you can have it.” Now he was offering to give me the river board. There was no other response to give other than, “Okay. Thanks.” Plus I am curious to find out what a river board is.


Might be able to surf the river on this... if there's a wake.

foot fetishes aren't just in the movies

As part of my job I often make presentations on college campuses. I love this because I enjoy college students (not only for the dating opportunities) and ultimately want to be a full-time professor. However, I’m often mistaken for a college student even at the community colleges I go to, where the median age has to be 19, which can sometimes be a problem. The only benefit being that getting hit on by dudes who can’t even legally enter a bar does wonders for the self-esteem so I can't complain too much.

So what I'll do instead is relay this story of one of the more bizarre encounters I’ve ever had. I was sitting on a bench at an anonymous community college campus between presentations (as I had more than one scheduled for the day) reading what was probably Harry Potter (as that was during my "I never thought I’d have an obsessed stage" obsessed stage). Now that I write that on paper (or rather a computer screen) I realize why I might get mistaken for a directly post-high school student. At any rate I was enjoying a free moment during the work day when a tiny, nerdy looking guy approached me and asked if he could sit on the bench with me. I found it a little odd that he wanted to sit directly on the bench I was sitting on when there were completely open benches all around but since I was eager (and a bit nerdy myself) to get back to my book I said, “Go ahead.”

He took this as a signal of my obvious interest, about to turn into full blown love at any time, and proceeded to chat with me. I was okay with that (well, just the chatting part) since I love talking to people and you never know what you’ll learn. Until suddenly he pointed to my shoes and told me I had high arches. Well, I know for a fact that I don't have high arches so I told him so. He insisted that I did. To which I replied, “Actually I know I don’t. I had my feet examined at a running store and I have normal feet.” Not sure why I felt the need to justify this. He again insisted that I did and told me to point my toe and when I did he moved his hand toward my foot. Thinking he was going to point out how I had a high arch (and mind you I had on heels so I don't know how he would be able to tell what my arch looked like anyway) he instead started to carress the bare part of my foot. Yanking my foot away I asked him what he was doing? That's when he said he had a thing for high arches and went off, "Well, I like all arches, high, regular..." and he kept talking and talking about his arch fetish. And it took me a minute to get my mind together because I couldn't believe this was happening to me; I'd though foot fetishes were something for the movies and I felt like I was watching myself in this movie. Finally he said something along the lines of wanting to photograph my foot. I said, "No thanks." He continued to say that he didn't have a camera with him anyway but would like to photograph my foot in the future. Snapping out of my daze I pretty much yelled, “No!” and really hoped the couple sitting across from us couldn’t hear this. He continued to go on and on about his foot fetish (which up until that moment I really thought only existed in the movies) with me sitting there unable to think anything but, “Is this real life?” Finally I tell him that he needed to leave NOW! To which he responded, “Okay, but can I get your phone number in case you change your mind in the future?” Needless to say this man is now my future husband…