she will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.

Sidewalk stories.

I have never been so happy to have stepped in dog shit, let me tell you.

It seemed particularly dark on my way home this evening. Though the moon was out, I didn't see many stars through the low cloud coverage. I decided to walk home, because I wanted to do some listening and thinking without dealing with public transportation. I also think I have to put money on my Chahlee Cahd and I don't want to.

As a result of the darkness, I made it a point to keep an eye on the trail/dark bushes/woodsy area/bike trail off to my right because why the hell not? I was fiddling with my ipod (yes, in spite of the fact that I think about things like looking into bushes or window refections to see if there are people around me, I still walk around at night with headphones on. I'm an idiot. I know. I'm glad we agree.) and keeping watch to my right when I placed my left foot squarely in.. something.

Unwilling to pause to examine what I may or may not have trod upon, I kept moving, scraping the bottom of my shoe against the ground at all kinds of funny angles and hoping I didn't get anything on my pants. This continued for a bit before I got to a slightly better lit part of the trail. At this point I saw there on the ground a dead bird, and recalled I had seen a few of them on this stretch of road on my way in.

Panic.

Remember that time I said I killed an ant in the kitchen and felt bad about it for a stupid amount of time afterwards? Well, I wasn't making that shit up. Today I fiddled around with a spider until I could get him on a piece of paper and relocate his ass to the little patch of green under the sign at school. I did the same with an ant, (though the jerk was carrying another ant in his mouth) and have done similar things with houseflies. The idea that I may have just set foot IN THE REMAINS OF A DEAD FUCKING BIRD really bugged me. Like a whooooole bunch.

Thankfully, though I had managed to get most of it off by limping around like an r-tard for a block or so, it was only poo.

Other adventures:

I was having the most fun with my umbrella until it flew down the sidewalk. I figured out how to spin it horizontally, like, superfast, guy, and then spin it the OTHER way additionally. NO JOKE. I got it going so fast this one time that I didn't even bother to change direction. Eventually the string broke and there it went! No one was hurt.

In fact, as I chased the thing down the road, I realized this was the second such incident I had while dicking (seriously spell check, "dicking" is clearly a word and I am totally spelling it right) around with an umbrella. The other one was when I was doing the thing where you extend it like a baton with a flick of your wrist. Apparently I'd over done this game in the past and the first time I tried it during this particular outing, the top of it shot down the sidewalk like a Churchill Downs thoroughbred.

You guys, this blog is really exciting.

***you can probably skip the next part***

This OTHER time I was out when it was raining HARD and raining HORIZONTALLY. I was trying to keep my already dog eared and useless metal pile of crap umbrella from turning inside out/impaling my eyeballs on it's spidery metal asshole tines when one bright red/half dead one came clattering down the street at me, motivated by wind and freedom. I ran to catch up with it. Forgetting my own feisty, futile mess for a moment, I grabbed the little guy and escorted him to a trash can. While doing this I realized I was being watched by an older bearded guy in a leather jacket. "Now I have two!" I told him, holding them up before shoving the red one in the bin.

He gave me a look, I went back to my stuff.

As an aside, it's hilarious to watch people fight with umbrellas. I understand this and am fine with occasionally being that person trying to reason with one while not getting hit by cars/rain/people/the umbrella and maintain composure. Try this next time while watching this dance: pretend the umbrella isn't there.

***THIRD UMBRELLA STORY ENDS NOW, you can start reading again, but it probably wont get any better***

Final sidewalk story:

I was out with my mom and my sister about a year ago while Mom was visiting over the weekend. It was still early, and I feel the need to mention we had not yet had anything to drink. We passed a bus stop on the corner of my (at the time "our") street where a few people were waiting. Almost immediately I noticed a mostly undamaged double level square shelf thing, unfinished, sitting there on the sidewalk apparently unattended. Understand that a good amount of furniture I've let into my apartment since living here has been items I've found on the sidewalk and deemed worthy of adoption. I live in Cambridge, so it's usually not much a of a stretch.

While my mother and sister continued on, I ambled up to the thing and picked it up. Within seconds a guy leapt from the line of waiting bus people and also picked it up. There we were, holding the thing between us, eyeballing each other warily. I wasn't exactly sure what was happening until he offered the following information: "That's mine."

Oh.

I have no idea why I did what I did next.

"Oh! It's beautiful!" I said, sounding probably more than a little insane. It absolutely was not beautiful, it was as boring a piece of furniture as has ever been made by human or machine in the history of furniture design, and for the next few minutes I tried so very hard to appear like I was simply taken with the objects natural charisma and HAD to find out more about it. NOT that I was about to make off with what I didn't REALIZE was someone else's stuff.

"Did you make it!?" I asked. There was no way he made it. He wasn't letting go of it, so after turning it a little and examining it from a few angles to complete the facade of my interest, I did. I stuck my hands in my pockets and made a stupid attempt at small talk, which consisted of my asking squeaky, rapid fire questions about where he got it, what it could be used for, what it was made out of and then bolting to catch up with Mom and Sis. They didn't ask why I was cackling like a lunatic when I came up behind them. I don't know how I feel about that.

This poor guy probably has a great story now, about how he was almost robbed by some crazy woman on speed.

**

Dear Trader Joes,

By the time the bananas you sell are able to be eaten, I have forgotten I have purchased one.

**

Let the insane tan-lines begin!!