Miss Becca: “Hello”
Me: “Hello, is it me you’re looking for?”
Miss Becca: “Oh yes”
Me: “I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your smile.”
Miss Becca: “How are you? Where are you from?”
Me: “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and my arms are open wide.”
Miss Becca: “Wow baby what brings you to Twitter?”
Me: “‘Cause you know just what to say, and you know just what to do, and I want to tell you so much …
Miss Becca: [blocks me]
Me: “… I love you.”
No, spellcheck, I did not want to address my Mexican-American friend as “Chihuahua;” I indeed meant to call her “Chiquita.”
Thanks for having my back, though, because confusing those two words can really affect the tone of a message.
Obvious scammer on Twitter (disguised as sexy girl): “My name is Kaleta.”
Me: “My name is Luka. I live on the second floor.”
Scammer: “That’s nice to hear from you where are you from”
Me: “I live upstairs from you. Yes, I think you’ve seen me before.”
Scammer: “Oh really”
Me: “If you hear something late at night — some kind of trouble, some kind of fight — just don’t ask me what it was.”
Scammer: “Oh I see so can you send me pic of you If you don’t mind.”
Me: “I think it’s because I’m clumsy. I try not to talk too loud.”
Scammer: “Oh om Ok Can you send a pic of you This is me” [Sends picture again. I have been reliably informed by a friend that the picture is actually one of the Playboy Playmates. Which is curious, because “Kaleta’s” Twitter profile somewhat puzzlingly refers to her as an “Able God.”]
Me: “Maybe it’s because I’m crazy. I try not to act too proud.”
Me: “They only hit until you cry. After that you don’t ask why.”
Me: “You just don’t argue anymore.
You just don’t argue anymore.
You just don’t argue anymore.”
I’m honored to share here that Winedrunk Sidewalk: Shipwrecked in Trumpland has featured another piece of mine — “An Open Letter to President Donald J. Trump Upon His Acquittal.”
You can find it right here.
Thank you, Editor John Grochalski, for allowing me to share the piece with the readers of Winedrunk Sidewalk!
So this meme about Nestle’s Quik was making the rounds on Facebook this week. (It apparently originated on the realestateispower Instagram page?) I grew up loving Quik in the 80’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are millennials who do not recognize it — it was a powder you mixed with milk to get a flavored treat. (It’s okay … when I was very young, I didn’t really know what this Tang was that adults occasionally referred to — it was just something that was popular a little before my time.)
Now, please understand … when I say Quik, I do not mean the peculiar strawberry-flavored variant that you see pictured below. I and every other self-respecting kid in my neighborhood appreciated the chocolate variety. Strawberry was for … Russian kids. Or maybe hippies. Or girls, possibly.
Anyway. it turns out I’m not the only one who deliberately put too much mix in, so that I was rewarded with that delicious chocolate mud at the bottom of the glass. Facebook has informed me that was machination employed by others as well.
Genetically altered supervillains!!!
After a lifetime of reading comics, I finally created my own villain and got her origin story published — thanks to the really nice people at A Story In 100 Words. The title of my 100-word tale is “The Toxins in All My Pores,” and you can find it right here:
“The Toxins in All My Pores,” by Eric Robert Nolan
So I just saw an eagle. I believe it’s only the second one that I’ve seen in my life. (I went through an embarrassing phase upon arriving in Virginia in which I thought all those vultures were eagles, but I got over that.)
It looked truly enormous, even from a distance — much larger, I think, than the eagles I’ve seen in Youtube videos; I’m not sure what the story there is.
This comes a day after a veritably massive heron took me off guard, too. (It was like a pterodactyl. It buzzed me like Maverick buzzes the tower in Top Gun.)
I keep trying to get pictures for you guys; I’d love to run photos here. But I’m always too clumsy in grabbing, pointing and shoot my camera. (I need to practice drawing and shooting really quickly, like maybe one of those Westworld robots.)
After my vain attempt to get a shot of tonight’s eagle, it occurred to me that if I knew where it nested, I could at least keep my eye out. So started eyeballing the treelines in my neighborhood. I might have looked funny, because I had to squint, because my eyes aren’t what they used to be, and I’ve been told that I look “grudgy” when I squint, like I’m “looking for revenge or something.” So I probably look like a lunatic walking around now, vengefully squinting upward, like a dude just waiting for the Martians to attack again so he can finally fight back.
My neighbors think I’m weird enough. I can tell by the questions they ask me.
I’ll keep you guys posted.