Borders on the border

I was at our local Borders bookstore the other night rediscovering how crummy it is even for a Borders. It’s also right on the east-west divide of town, where the haves meet the have-nots and a few of the latter live in desperate circumstances in motels.

Surrounded by soccer moms, clip-art cute college students, and red-faced businessmen, I looked through the map section. Next to me an undergrad-aged East Asian-American guy was thumbing through a Parisian travel book, and next to the computer books a nerd of some kind with a shoulder bag and headphones was peering at an ASP howto book.

Suddenly the bathroom door next to us burst open and out lurched the other Costa Mesa: a 35ish tweaker with long dirty blond hair, sweaty t-shirt, bad acid-washed jeans, and a wild 1000-yard stare. He looked around with that bus crazy bugeyed face that says “look me in the eyes and I own you,” so I studied a map of Turkey carefully. Without a particular victim to address, Motel Guy emitted this statement to the bookstore in general:

GOD DAMN, I HATE THE SMELL OF ASS!

He left, so he couldn’t see me giggling helplessly into the maps, or the soccer moms blanching.

They had sushi but it was all raw and stuff and totally gross!

It is about the civilians, the civilians, the civilians, and the civilians are not capable. I don’t care how beautiful you are if you drive on my lawn. Hey, okay, what are they going to test you for? I don’t want to move anywhere without dumplings. I had to use the “Rite-Aid voice” on them.

The only other place you see those is rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike. Yeah it looks like a restaurant but it’s just a room where you sit and people bring you food. Why did we respond an engine company for hiccups? This isn’t organic and it isn’t magnetic either.

My point was that in the years he sat at that he had worn the carriage return wafer-thin from a minimum of 1/8 inch, to frail. The psychoactive vegetable material is way past the oil and vinegar stage.

I don’t know why I dated him. He wasn’t even any good at real estate.

That was a good couple of days.

yoscott arrived in the middle of his massive road trip and stayed a couple days. It was great to see him. Went down to the beach today, ate Ruby’s, people-watched, and took the ferry to the Island, inadvertedly triggering a minor phobia. Sorry, Scott! Ate sushi. Went to Ruba. Somehow managed to introduce him to half the people I know mostly by accident.

The night before was a meatsplosion and gluttonfest including Leah and my mom as well as Scott. That was great too. Leah is a great friend, not least for bringing the horseradish.

There was a strange party of cigar Republicans, soccer moms, and slack-jawed kids at Ruba. Boy they sure didn’t fit in.

A guy at Tower was desperately trying to return a CD he had purchased in error while trying to get a Spice Girls CD for some 12 year old girl’s birthday (?!). She was in a limo outside (?!?!?) and he was sliding into full consumer rage as we departed. I still can’t find anything at their going out of business sale worth actual U.S. dollar moneys.

I managed to introduce Scott to stand-up guys and beautiful women, solely. How’d I do that?

I am convinced that burntcurtis somehow knows every interesting person on the planet.