Rude Awakening

I crashed at my friend's place last night. I was up before my friend Ryan and his wife Alyssa woke up and I just got dressed, brushed my teeth and then bored with nothing to do, I brushed my teeth again and waited around a bit more for them to get up. You don't want to knock on the bedroom door of a married couple who has been kind enough to let you become unconscious on their futon. You run the risk of interrupting a saucy sesion of "The Naughty Waitress and the Fry Cook." In that way, the marital bedroom is a bit like an ancient Indian Burial Ground. "Where none shall tread uninvited." At least that's what the sign says on the ancient Indian burial ground near my apartment. The one near you may have slightly different rules.

So I am trapped with no means of transportation and sitting in the livingroom. I could have done the "Oops-did-I-turn-the-TV-on-too-loud" thing. But that's rather juvenile. Just as I was starring out into space and trying to mind meld with the couch there was VERY LOUD POUNDING on the front door. It was the sort of knock that barbarian invaders might make to attempt to batter down a castle wall. It was jarring and I imediately worried that my hosts would think I was the source of the pounding. I quickly went to the door and answered it. I put on my best butler voice and said "Mmmyessss, may I help you?" I almost choked on my tongue when I saw the beastly woman at the door. She was in her early sixties or perhaps she was a woman in her thirties exposed to intense radiation and was now seeking my help. She looked like she might have applied her make up in complete darkness. She had this ultra-bright, bleached blonde hair cut in long, long bangs pasted against her forehead. She actualy reminded me of the scary lady from the movie Goonies in a ratty blond wig. She had on a T-shirt that said "PACT" and wore heinous turquoise sweatpants that were... well they were not fresh from the dryer. And after my eyes were able to adjust properly I noticed that she also had an accessory with her. It was a very well dressed, slightly embarrassed and perplexed 11-year-old hispanic boy. He said nothing. She spoke to me in a gravelly voice with a huge manic clown smile on her face. "Aaare you the man of the house?" I told her, "No, I'm just a house guest." The hispanic mute blinked in confusion. Her fake smile drooped a bit as she told me (at 9AM on a Saturday)that she worked for a foundation to help children with cancer. She asked if I could make a donation to help them out. Which I interpreted as "Jesus Christ I rented this latino kid, so the least you can do is gimme a few bucks to buy whiskey."

I told her I couldn't help her out and her semi-smile turned into a witch sneer and then her smile vanished instantly. She and her hench-boy quickly hurried off before I could thank them for rousing my host and hostess.

I really hope that they aren't a legit charity.

A lot more has been going on in my life but it's not at all remotely funny so it's not blogworthy. There is a big furry dog staring at me here in this strange kitchen/office nook where I am typing. I am in dire need of a hearty dose of unconditional love right now so... sold.

*This blog has not been spell-checked to advocate protest against the war in Iraq.