practice random acts of tourette's

I am so freaking dog tired...kicked my own ass at the gym today...and I really want to be in bed. Chris and I were at Jose's house tonight for dinner and to talk about Jose's website; Chris is designing it, I kinda tagged along and brought dessert from Victoria Pastry in North Beach (gotta represent my hood, yo) and tried to contribute to the dinner conversation. I love Jose's place...it's in an Italiante style Victorian from the 1880's, right next door to the Hayes Valley housing project. It's cute.

But that's not the topic of this blog.

On my way back home, walking down Columbus Avenue, I saw a wiry-looking, kinda tweaky-acting guy walking towards me. I had just plucked my ear buds out after listening to Tracy Bonham, so I was feeling a little crunchy and gritty and wondering what the hell I'm doing with my life. Anyway, the closer I got to this guy, the stranger he appeared. He clenched his fists, and his face was a bit distorted into a slight grimace. As I passed him he opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled the most wonderfully obscene, random thing anyone has said to me in a long, long time.

"FUCKING COCKSUCKER FAGGOT-ASS MOTHERFUCKER!" he blurted as I passed him.

I didn't know whether to be annoyed or laugh my ass off. I turned around and said, "What the fuck did you just say?" in a non-hostile, slightly amused tone, trying to surpress the smirk that was fighting to spread itself across my face. I didn't think I looked very gay, definitely not cocksuckerish, and definitely not a motherfucking faggot-ass. I was wearing a bulky turtleneck sweater, a black jacket, a black knit cap, and jeans. If anything, I looked like a mugger. Perhaps a big fucking cocksucker faggot-ass motherfucking mugger, but a mugger nonetheless.

That's probably why the dude stood there, trembling, blinking at me through these thick glasses that made his eyeballs look huge. I briefly entertained bitchslapping him to the ground and scolding him while swatting him with a rolled-up San Francisco Examiner, but quickly ruled that out. It's not in me to hit anyone, and I was anything but angry...more entertained than anything else.

Standing there looking at that sweating, tweaky, trembling little bug-eyed mess of a man, I thought of Eleanor in the movie Eight Crazy Nights.

I repeated myself, "What did you just say to me?"

"I'm really, really sorry. I have Tourette's Syndrome," he replied nervously.

"Oh, okay. I guess you didn't really mean that, then."

"No, definitely not. I don't even know you."

"Do I look like a faggoty cocksucker?"

"Not at all."

"Hmm," I contemplated. "Good."

The last thing I want to do is traipse down Columbus Avenue looking like some little faggoty thuggish cocksucking mugger. If I'm gonna go out of my way to look like a fucking, cocksucking, faggot-ass motherfucker who loves meat popsicles (why is it so fun to type that???) , I'm gonna be in a muumuu, chugging a St. Ives, and smoking a cigarette butt while dragging my pet coffee can behind me.

Folks tend to leave you alone when you do that.

"Well, have a good night then," I said in a very friendly tone, trying to assure him I was not going to pummel him into the sidewalk. I'm sure it's happened before. I grinned at him, and continued on my way.

So we went our seperate ways, the guy shuffling away with his head slightly bowed, looking more at the sidewalk than where he was going, me towards my apartment. I felt bad for him, but was happy I had met someone with Tourette's. I've always loved Touretters; I have several friends who have it in varying degrees. I can feel bad for them while they make me laugh. I think there should be a porn with nothing but porn stars with Tourette's Syndrome in it.

God, can you imagine? Filthy language on top of filthy language, complete with fucking. That's hot.

Ugh, it's late, I've typed more than I intended to, and I'm tired.

Time for bed.

'Nite.