Three Way Light Bulb Near The Little Debbie Snack Cakes

Just a few thoughts today, then I'll put the baby to bed. My crack o' dawn dentist appointment went well. After injecting the novocaine he was distracted by his assistant long enough for it to go to work. He then filled a small cavity so quickly I thought the building was on fire. And I stole an Entertainment Weekly from the waiting room that had a really good article about the DVD release of Reds. I emerged onto Broadway with numb lips, dodged some traffic, and stopped over at the Salvation Army store. There I purchased an attractive lamp for my bedroom that is almost certainly a fire hazard. Perhaps there is a scam at work here, where the Salvation Army sells sparky lamps that burn down houses. After the blaze, the lamps are collected by the family and donated back and the cycle starts again. I don't mind, though, it's a good-looking lamp for $9.

In the parking lot of the FoodMaster I saw one of the ugliest people I've ever seen. There are different kinds of ugly, like English bulldog ugly, or Peter Lorre ugly, where there is ugliness, but it's sort of appealing. Then there is a level of homely where you just get sad. It stirs up feelings of hopelessness and despair, kind of like the guy selling hot dogs and pretzels at a flea market. Yeah, I am thinking of somebody, but maybe you know what I mean. I can't remember the last time I was at a flea market, but I remember the guy working the snack bar and how he made me want to kill myself. Not that the Salvation Army Thrift Store offers up a joyful experience, but at least there you run into poor college students and "colourful" people shopping for clothes and potentially useful items...like lamps. Although you do occasionally see someone carefully considering the purchase of a stuffed animal, or a mug that has World's Greatest Dad written on the side. And then all you can do is run like the wind.

Anyway, the ugly thing floating around outside of FoodMaster had clearly given up all hope. It wore sweatpants and had hair that looked like it was brushed with an oily coathanger. A few moments later I beheld an attractive woman in the store, over near the Kashi, and she took the pain away when she smiled at me from behind her round little glasses. It was a polite smile, the result of almost bumping into her whilst searching for a three-way light bulb. I know I'm coming across as a jerk right now, picking on Gollum out in the parking lot and praising the adorable woman in the store. It really is perfectly fine to be ugly...I'm an romantic, I see that beauty is on the inside. And the Woman Near The Kashi was far from mainstream attractive. She was plump, mid 30's, and had an air of somber detachment. Sort of the way you should look in a grocery store. But she also looked intelligent, thoughtful and like a person of character.

Meanwhile, that poor thing out in the parking lot lumbered around. Sweatpants? If you don't want to radiate despair all over your fellow humans then please don't wear sweatpants out of your flat. As I think about it, I'm getting a little pissed at Sweatpants Gollum for not taking others into consideration. No matter how pathetic I get, I put on a clean white shirt and black pants, Mister. And I have the scruples not to be caught DEAD in sweatpants. Why? Not for me, but for everyone who has to look at me. Because as mediocre and bland as I look (and fat), at least I'm making an effort. I'm doing laundry, washing my ding-a-ling every morning and brushing my teeth. And I could easily skip on washing my ding-a-ling, because these days it's rarely seen. But for fuck's sake, you don't have to be attractive, just don't suck the will to live out of everyone who looks your way. It's about compassion, it really is. Life has absolutely no meaning whatsoever. What keeps most people going is that everyone else seems so think that it does. The lemmings can provide a false sense of purpose for each other just as easily as they can guide each other off of the cliff.

For the sake of your brothers and sisters, wash your ding-a-ling and put the sweatpants away. Wear them only for comfort, and to test your partner to see if he or she really loves you. I'm poor, fat and ugly but I make enough effort (it doesn't take much) to not look like a walking fart with sneakers. J'accuse, Thing, I have seen the sweatpants on your very soul and I stand in judgement.

OK, yeah, sure, maybe It has a story and that story adds up to sweatpants and perhaps a bedazzled denim jacket. You're right, I shouldn't be judging anyone. After all, I've been to Lincoln Park and danced with despondency with the worst of them. Maybe I'm a little on edge because my boxer shorts are a little loose and I'm flippin' and floppin' all over the place. That's probably it. Never underestimate the negative impact of ill-fitting panties...I think Trotsky said that in Mexico City the morning before his assassination. Maybe not. I put on my night shirt last evening (or my evening shirt last night) and took off my underwear, which was just a bit too tight. Actually, it was an ex-girlfriend's panties that were left behind. Hey, why not? But the fit was just a little off, and my mood immediately improved as I shed them, like I had taken an oxycontin. My wang was free and the shirt loosely tickled my ass and legs as I walked about. It was really awesome...almost worth putting on tight underwear in the first place. Like swinging a bat with weighted donuts before stepping up to the plate.

Actually, it was nothing like that...at all.

I hope you've enjoyed today's entry. And, like me, I hope you think that, "three way light bulb" sounds vaguely dirty.