When I see you smile...

Sometimes the bums make my day. Maybe they aren't all bums, but junkies, former junkies, the downtrodden, or just plain tattered. Perhaps the bums that I encounter are just particularly nice. Oh dear, maybe they feel some kinship with me when they mistake the Britney song that I was singing under my breath for the inchoate ramblings of a pre-schizoid mind. Maybe they're not wrong. I do talk to myself all the time despite many warnings that it makes you look "crazy."

There's a blond man who sits near the diner on Broadway who said "Hey sister, smile!"
I smiled and he replied "You have a lovely smile."
"Thanks!" I shouted and marched on to work.

Yesterday a limping and bedraggled man saved me from a three-way collision with speed-walkers, a businessman, and a bus when he stopped in the street, made space for me, and said "go ahead kid." I smiled, 'cause sometimes it's nice to be called "kid" in a non-creepy manner. "Have a nice day," the man said and I waved at him as I avoided the businessman. Mr. Businessman wouldn't have yielded any sidewalk to me unless I elbowed him in the ribs. Stupid blazer-with-shorts-and[ewww]-flipflops wearing, bullshit spewing, "I was speaking to Jones and his annual poopedycrap isn't blahdideblah. I said that it just isn't alllllllluring to me." Ew. Maybe I do sound a bit like your run-of-the-mill down-and-outer. [Shit, I love using hyphenated words and phrases. I bet I use them erroneously but have a look at my I-don't-care face.]

A bum, reeking of booze, with crazy hair was sitting on the corner curb next to PNCA. Both times that I walked by he said "hey honey" in a way that made me think that he knew me. I think that he mistook my stinky armpits for mating musk and wanted to start a little bum family.

Okay, so not all les miserables are as nice as the few that brighten my walk to work. there was the guy who projectile puked from a park bench at 10 a.m.; the guy in the flasher outfit that stared at me with crazy-eyes and then said in a gravelly voice, "alright, let's get this started" as he walked headlong toward me; or the toothless woman that cooed "hey honey, how're you doing tonight?" as I was saying happy birthday to my grandma. On my first visit to New York I yelled at a bum because he asked for money, I denied him, he whined "but it's cold," and I yelled back "I know it's fucking cold!" I am an asshole. But it was very very cold. I was by myself in Manhattan, in December, with no where to go but Starbucks[ick], there was a potential MTA strike and I only had a couple of bucks.

Anyway, in other news:
I got a promotion (it's weak, but it'll do for now)
I am buying a sweet wee lappy from my dear friend Nik
I only have one market left (saturday)
It's my day off
My hair falls out all over the place and it's really pissing me off
Ben and I are going to make a music video
My kittens are cute
Jess has the day off too
I need to do laundry
There is french-press coffee in my mouth. Yes!
I now have instant messaging again [yay], so hit me up for my info if you wanna chat.
As long as you promise not to send me any of those terrifying smiley faces.