You know how your mind tends to concentrate long passed experiences with someone into a memory of a single event. Not necessarily an important event, most likely quite short. Usually something you did not pay much attention to at the time of its occurrence. Then, whenever you think of that someone you would remember that specific scene every single time… or similar scenes would always cause you to remember that person.
So I got two of these scenes. Both involve a toothbrush.
Ever since I got an electronic toothbrush I’ve been haunted by this memory. I rarely use it outside of shower, but when I do, I stand in front of the mirror, look at myself brushing my teeth, while my mind is doing saltos mortale somewhere high in the clouds. And as I catch my own expression every once in a while that my mind comes back, I always remember this one moment in a man’s bathroom (which was the size of an average San Franciscan living room, by the way). I was either getting ready to go to bed or to go out and was walking through as he was brushing his teeth in front of the mirror. He looked so relaxed, yet with right eyebrow just slightly raised, staring in the mirror into his reflection, as he was moving his buzzing toothbrush methodically from one tooth to the next. I think maybe I remember this because I was struck by how intelligent and confident in what he was doing he looked. I think maybe because I viewed him in that way through most of the relationship (even though I did not act like I did), that image now defines him in my mind.
I brush my teeth really thorough, and always, always brush my tongue – it doesn’t feel right if I don’t. Sometimes, if I am in a hurry or really excited about something, I accidentally shove the toothbrush a little too far. That, obviously, gets followed by the inadvertent, you know, eeky gag reflex. That’s exactly the moment that reminds me of this second person. When he was staying with me for a short period of time right before we both, together, but separately went into an explosive breakup, we were getting ready to go somewhere. I remember being in the shower at the time. He was brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink, and all of a sudden I heard an “Eeaugh!” coming from the other side of the shower curtain. Then, after some time, “Ugh, almost threw up.” I think I just smiled to myself and continued showering. Now I just giggle from the memory whenever that happens to me.
- My bikes don’t have a passenger seat. Says a lot about me, eh?
- There are some things best done on one’s own. Nothing wrong with that. So does that mean you are a lone wolf or just bad at sharing?
- If I share my motorcycles, the person has to get insurance and has to be very careful not to scratch anything and not to mess with my setup. I’m that horrible. Or maybe I just require people to be considerate with others’ belongings just as I am. For example, I don’t sit on people’s motorcycles without their permission and presence.
My last ride was 240 miles / 8 hours. I left at 9am, forgot to eat until 3pm, ate at some random place that didn’t have a real kitchen or even a toaster in Stewarts Point, kept riding until my bike started dying in the middle of sweeping turns. Then I still wondered if I should stay in Healdsburg, where I ended up. I decided not to, headed back, but not on the highway – I took random backroads towards where I thought was South with no GPS or any sort of connection to the world. I got back around 6pm, cooked a pot of jambalaya enough to feed a small family of 10, and went out to a club until 2am. The next day I was riding my bicycle to and up the hill near the Cliff House all the way to Lincoln Park entrance, turned around, and proceeded to get trashed on bloody maries at the Beach Chalet.
From this example of a day-and-a-half in a life of yours truly, you can see that I am not a lone wolf by choice and am not bad at sharing, if people to share with are present. Problem is that latter rarely happens because I move at a speed of light and most people get really tired trying to keep up, and I can’t stay and wait, because that results in emotional breakdowns. There is probably a term for this described in some psychology book. So, it seems that in my case, the best thing to be done on one’s own is life.
It’s not that I have not thought this whole time… Maybe it is that I have not thought intensely enough? Maybe I was preoccupied. I have no time anymore, but that does not matter.
Question: What to do with me? What to do with these?
Today, during lunch hour, besides the three aged over-dressed, over-hairsprayed, over-made-up Marina types having a champagne lunch at ParAgon, these were quite a find:
FU, Penguin
I am sorry I don’t read your blog, mang. I wish I did, because then I would know what your target audience was when I saw this book on the shelf, let alone your general message to the public.
Besides the lack of dominos (!!!) discovered in the Games section, this was entertaining.
Find Its
With the target audience being mothers with critters of manufacturer recommended ages 8 through 98 this is sure to be a blast for everyone, except your 99-year-old granpa. Sorry Pa, not this one. Amazon recommends this to children of age 5 and over. I remember going to the ER after shoving small part of fake flowers up my nose sometime around 3, and I am was relatively intelligent. So those who are bound to write “your” instead of “you’re” or create similar games in their future have a good chance of eating this can of cut up plastic noodles for their sixths birthday. Oh, please (if you are lucky) notice the wonderful pushpin hiding in the colorful plastic paella – this is actually shipped that way. Proof:
What the… I started to tread toward the exit doors, and right near there I saw this. It was the final straw. Proceed.
Here’s The Deal:Don’t Touch Me
Of course, I grab it. Turn it over.
“GAAAH! I wazn’t gonna! I swear! Is that contagious?”
I feel very sad about not taking a picture of the champagne lunchers, because Google doesn’t produce anything even remotely descriptive.
I just started my sound system and it made me smile… I took a shower this morning and thought “My two most favorite things are right under my nose… one slightly to the right and one next to it on the left.” Hands immediately went *grab*. I get on the bike and smile… I get out of the car and check her butt out.
No 5-HTPs were abused during the time I wrote this. Or before. Long before.
There are some very interesting creatures of different species out there… The owner of this mating call is roaming in the woods in Canada, for example.
The story is this: a girl was out with friends having drinks on King St (in Toronto ). This guy approaches her and won’t leave her alone -saying how cute she is. She finally gives in and hands the guy her business card to get rid of him. The attached is an MP3 file of not one, but TWO voicemails this guy left. This goes down in the history books – especially the second voice mail.
After hearing them you can clearly see why she didn’t call him back – instead she called in to the Z103.5 morning show & had them play this on the air.
Somehow I feel like this joke has already been played on someone else a long time ago, or that I actually had the experience of dealing with similar things in the past.
