Feaverish

Evidently Whitey has nothing better to do these days than pull over nearly-innocent bike commuters…

…she feels free to take (surprisingly large) dumps in the most inaccessible indoor locations…

Have you ever gotten BO while showering?

…this morning it offered me coffee, a donut, and a handjob…

…itââ�¬â�¢s only then that I realize that sheââ�¬â�¢s breast feeding…

…itââ�¬â�¢s totally gonna be worth it when some superfan tries to use The Force to stop a rock from hitting him in the face…

I know: I�m everything that�s wrong with America. I KNOW!

I�m experimenting with a little aroma I like to call �burnt broccoli.�

Leotards, Elizabethan codpieces�whatever you�re familiar with.

…do I even have to mention the golden tendrils of my silken, sun-bleached hair?

Seriously, I’ve got tons of new stuff to post, but no time in which to post it. Things are mad hectic right now. I mean, do you even realize how long it takes me to change out of my deep-sea-diving suit and into my jet pilot’s outfit? Do you? DO YOU EVEN CARE???

I’m in the fruit aisle massaging a mango when I spot it: a five-dollar bill on the floor, all alone. No one in the immediate vicinity, no one walking away, no way to tell which of my fellow shoppers has lost it.

What to do? You can’t very well yell out “Anyone lose five bucks?” If it’d been a thousand, maybe, maybe I could have asked aloud for its owner to step forward. But a lot of people who wouldn’t lie for a thousand dollars will happily lie for five.

I could have taken the bill to the customer service people, I suppose, but that would have only been passing the notââ�¬â��soââ�¬â��proverbial buck. They’re not going to have any better luck finding the owner, and the bill’ll probably just end up sitting on their counter, glanced at from time to time, until suddenly it’s gone. Everyone will suspect someone else of taking it, but no one will really care. One more entry on the daily list of gripes to trade with your significant other when you get home.

This grocery isn’t in a poor part of town, either. What I mean is, for the majority of the clientele, it’s no huge deal to lose five bucks. I’m living empty hand to empty mouth here, but at worst it’d be a minor disappointment to lose a fiver. It’s five bucks ââ�¬â�� pack a lunch tomorrow, life goes on.

In the end, solutionless, I walked away, leaving the bill and moral mare’s nest on the floor for someone else to deal with. Again, if it’d been a thousand dollar bill, the Fates would ordain that it be swept up and thrown away, unnoticed by a preoccupied night janitor. But even the Fates aren’t going to bother with five.

Making the whole situation worse was the episode of esprit d’escalier I had on the ride home, when it suddenly came to me what the only truly moral solution was. Of course! Why couldn’t it have come to me a half an hour before? Curses! Still, I pass it along here in the hopes that it can be of use to someone, so make a mental note: If you ever find five dollars on the floor of a supermarket, and you can’t find the owner, round up a couple of kids and make them fight for it, bareknuckled, in the parking lot. That’s gotta be worth five bucks.

Oh and speaking of Netflix, it’d be cool if everyone added me as a friend (or let me know that you want me to add you as a friend, or something). That way we can make fun of each other’s bad taste and whatnot. I think you just go to your Friends page and add my email address (this site’s name at this site’s name dot com).

I’ve got a deliciously campy sci–fi movie–watching weekend (scifimowawe’nd) coming up. Arriving from Netflix: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, The Last Starfighter, Fantastic Voyage, and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

Looks like I won’t be needing that shower after all.

This morning I subjected myself to a revolting little bath’n'rinse on account of our shower not working. Water comes out the tub-fill tap, but for some reason can’t find its way up to the shower head. I pretty much exhausted all my plumbing skills (hitting pipes with wrenches, swearing, ogling the lady of the house, etc.), but to no avail. Finally I gave in and just kind of squatted in the tub and poured water over myself while loofahing what I perceived to be the dirtiest areas. Antediluvian, I know. I tried to convince myself it was as good as a shower, but my logic centers weren’t really buying it. Also I think I poured about a pitcher’s worth of water right into my ear, because now I’ve got this annoying little sloshy sound whenever I swallow and when I tug on my earlobe it sounds like an Aphex Twin album.

Back in the day I had no problem going a day without a hot shower, but — and maybe this is just me getting old — but now it’s like I physically need one if I’m gonna even pretend to face the day at all without bursting into tears at every misfortune.

L on the other hand is perfectly happy with a bath. I’ve never known her to use soap, either: just a single drop of peppermint juice keeps her flower–fresh for a week. It’s very annoying if, like me, you can’t eat Chinese food without reeking of fish oil for days.