Some Skag Spit Sunflower Seeds

I thought that when I took my writing vacation a ton of great ideas would hit me. My batteries would be recharged, so to speak.

Didn’t happen.

Looks like I’ll just continue to trudge along writing about my daily life. You seem to like that best anyway. The good news is that the book is essentially done. The first draft is complete and I need to figure out what Amazon needs to greenlight it. Probably some editing. I decided not to do the whole book in Comic Sans font, by the way. If you’re not familiar this is the most reviled of all the fonts. I still think it would have been funny. But, Times New Roman, you old classic bastard, won over my heart. Actually I think Word just defaults to that and I shrugged – good enough.

I’m back suckas! So get ready for more of the same.

Today, on the bus home from work, I stood next to a woman who was eating sunflower seeds. She looked normal without any sort of obvious mental condition. I mention this because she was clearly batshit crazy. My suspicion is a personality disorder and definitely a narcissist. I came to this conclusion as I watched her crack her sunflower seeds from mouth to hand and then deposit the shells directly to the floor of the bus. It was  magnificent.

I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was a hell of a lot more engaging than the movie  Lincoln, I can tell you that. Sure, she didn’t free the slaves or anything, but watching her teeth and hands  mesmerized  me. Well, she did free the meat from the shells, that’s for sure. I think the inside of a seed is called the meat. In fact I’m pretty sure it’s considered a “meat” in the food group thing. Or maybe I made that up years ago and didn’t remember. I don’t have an editor and I’m not about to fact check. I roll raw, people.

Also, you don’t see a lot of chicks downing sunflower seeds. That market is generally reserved for high school baseball players who don’t have the cajones to try out some RedMan – the chew of champs. It’s like when I see a woman smoking those cigar cigarettes. You know – the thin, small brown ones. I respect the unladylike-ness of it. By the way I should report that I work in kind of a crappy area of town.

Actually, that’s not true. The neighborhood is fine. It’s completely changed over the past decade or so. Just nobody thought to tell the pimp clothing store next to us. I’m not kidding. They sell real pimp clothes. It’s amazing. And awesome.

I will say though that watching someone deposit their shells directly onto a bus floor made me both angry and sad. Angry that some poor schlub will have to clean up this bitch’s mess. Probably the nice driver who said hello to me as I entered. Sad because it’s a subtle reminder of depression. You can’t look at it without getting a little bummed out. After the bus ride I jumped on the subway onto a new car that already had black marker all over the windows where some shithead had tagged it. He was nice enough to write the f-word a few times, too. Depressing.

Now, I never pick up my dog’s poop. This is my thing. My dog is seven pounds and it dries out within a day and who cares, right? I’ve come back after a few days and you can’t even see it anymore. But that’s not the point. I’m depositing shit-shells on the floor and not picking them up.

I think you can sort of judge a person by how much depression they cause in others. If someone saw my dog taking a shit, me congratulating her on being a “good girl” and then simply walking off, they might get upset. So, I’m causing some bad feelings in others and simply because I’m too lazy to pick up what a big dog owner can’t get away with. Now, I’m proud to say that’s pretty much my only vice that affects others.

And, unlike the seed lady I’m ready to change. No more will I let my dog’s poop go uncleaned! I will pick it up. I pledge this to you. Word is bond, yo.

I did buy like 500 biodegradable baggies and I’m ready to rock. Can wait to feel my dog’s first conjure of black magic. If I throw up, I’ll take a photo. And not clean it up.