PART 2
Imagine the voice of Mrs. Sofia Petrillo as I say, “Picture it!”
Picture it! A young man (me) pulls into a 7-11 one sunny morning in Los Angeles. (All classic stories start at 7-11 or Walmart.) I was in a fine mood and looking good. I jumped out of my Jeep Wrangler (Gay!)
and headed for the entrance. On my way into the store, I passed a woman
standing near the entrance, which happened to be directly in front of
my car. I noticed her and identified her as homeless and possibly
deranged, so, of course, I kept my distance. (Fuck mace … I had Lysol Wipes and Purell ready to go!) I went into the store and got my morning Big Gulp filled with diet soda. (I don’t do coffee in the morning, but I use to get diet soda on my way to work. Call me high class!)
As I strutted my hot sh*t out of 7-11 and passed the woman once again,
she grunted. This grunt was directed at me. I have learned that I bring
that type of reaction out in homeless people. (Just like when my Grandpa sees me and each time is compelled to ask, “When are you getting a wife?”)
I faced forward and headed right for the car. I did not want to
reinforce her negative behavior. If she had been Boo Boo, I would have
grabbed the spray bottle. (Naughty homeless person! Naughty!) I
climbed into my vehicle and looked straight ahead. As I set my gaze
forward, I looked into the eyes of a woman who could have taken me apart
with her rough and in- desperate-need-of-lotion hands!
She was stout and had a bit of a weight issue. (Can you say “Precious”?) She was angry-looking and the aggression just fumed off of her and her reddish complexion. (I could have suggested laser treatments, but it slipped my mind.)
Her hair was unruly and a dirty brown color. She was dressed in an
oversized t-shirt and a pair of men’s basketball shorts. It goes without
saying, but she was in need of a shower and a washing machine, but that
was not what I was worried about. You know what? Now that I am thinking
about the movie “Precious,” she resembled a white and homeless version
of Mo'Nique’s character from the movie. (Yummmoo!)
When our eyes met, my heart started to race. (This happened once before when I worked at American Rag and helped Simon Rex on my first day.) All I could think was “Pamplona.” (I wanted to run. Fight or flight, bitches!)
I froze like Bambi in the headlights of a f*ckin’ Mack Truck, and I
felt the urge to pee myself. I stopped myself from panicking and tried
to focus on putting my drink in the drink holder and on getting the keys
in the ignition. I was failing on all accounts. She would not stop
staring me down, and this caused me to break into a cold sweat. I
believe she may have huffed and puffed and stomped her feet like a bull,
but scary moments play tricks on your brain.
I finally got my keys inserted where they needed to be, and I steadied my breathing. (Let me tell you … I had never had such an issue sticking it in!)
My eyes never left her face. I didn’t trust this woman. In my head I
imagined an old Western, and only our eyes would be shown on camera.
Back and forth the camera would show each of us squinting with anger
before we would draw. In the background there would be that dramatic
Western music. One of us was going down, and I prayed it would not be me
and my car.
Right before I got the car turned on, a crazed look came over her face. (My sudden movement might have spooked her … like cattle.)
What happened next seemed to go in slow motion, but I know it only
lasted about 10 seconds. I watched as she reached down and across to the
left leg of her soiled gym shorts. She did this all with such speed
that I couldn’t look away in time. She grabbed the leg opening (Slow motion, “NOOOOO!”) and pulled those f*ckers up and over and exposed full bush! (Bitch went commando!) I panicked! (AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!) I screamed and cried! I felt like a big black lady wailing and fainting in a Southern Baptist church. (Sweet Lord, save me!)
I finally got the car on, but some how I forgot how to get it into
reverse. While this is happening, she is standing in daylight outside of
7-11 on Fairfax Ave. with her coochie saying, “Howdie-Do!” to all the
citizens of Little Ethiopia.
I
was mortified, but I finally got the car to shift as she continued to
threaten me with her vagina. It was angry! What made this worse was when
I shifted the car into reverse, I knocked my Big Gulp over onto the
floor. (Life’s a bitch!) Now I was scared and parched! I felt like Nancy Kerrigan after the clubbinh, “Why! Whhhyyyy!”
I
began to back up at top speed. I might have taken out a few small
children and/or someone’s grandmother, but I had to get out of that
parking lot, and I was willing to accept the casualties. As I shot
backward at warp speed, I took a chance and took in the full picture
below the equator, and the following description may never make you feel
horny again. My love for passionate nakedness left my body and soul for
a long time after that moment. Oh … it’s back now, but for a few hours
that day it was not happening. (The compass would not point north, okaaay?)
All
I can say about the Beaver was it most definitely had rabies and needed
to be put down like Old Yeller. It needed its damn vaccinations and it
needed them YESTERDAY! I thought I might even need a shot or a cream
from just looking at it. (“Hello Free Clinic! It’s Colby … yeah the regular!”)
Let me tell you that this wildly furry and untamed creature had never
heard of a Brazilian. From what I saw in my glimpse, it had collected a
great deal of lint over the years, and I think I saw a lollipop stuck to
it. You know the Green Apple kind with caramel? Oh … and one word …
Baguette! (Think about it.) I am sure that Beaver had done some things that no little Beaver should have to do. (Call PETA!)
As
I drove away, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw her slowly allow
her shorts to slide back down. I may have been mistaken, but I think I
saw her lips mouth, “I love you.” (You know what lips I am talking about, you nasty sluts!)
On a side note, she really should read my blog and learn some dating
etiquette. I know she wanted me … but damn! The Beaver stays in the cage
until after dinner at least.
Let me tell you that typing this out has made me flop sweat. Wow! Now … we can all breathe. (In … and out …)
This truly illustrates that I am a survivor. We can all put that behind
us and move on. Never look back. I will admit that reliving the trauma
was a lot for me, but I will do anything for my loyal fan. (Thanks Chuck!)
Two
weeks ago, I promised that there would always be a lesson to be learned
from my stories, so here it comes. Yes, even this can have a positive
spin. (I know you all were wondering where this was going.) I
am challenging us all to give back and help. Though the homeless folks
are not my cup of tea, I do give back in my own ways. I care about the
environment and work to protect it in the little ways that I can, and I
also volunteer with an amazing organization that helps youth in crisis. (I am not a complete bitch.)
Think
it over and see what you are passionate about. If it is the environment
… go for it! Go build a house made out of used shoes or protest some
toxic waste place. If you love animals … go help those little bastards!
Adopt a dog or a cat, or volunteer to save a big fish. God bless those
big fish! If you love those homeless … um (swallow) people …
God bless you! Go hand out food, but don’t expect me to be there next to
you. With my luck, I would run into the Beaver and she would want
seconds on biscuits. (With a side of the Colbs.) I can’t take that chance.
In
all seriousness, giving back can change your life, especially when it
is something you truly care about. It gets you out of your own head and
allows you to focus on something bigger than yourself. At times, I too,
though I am attractive, talented (Seriously, read this blog),
giving and intelligent, need to get out of my own head, and focus on
something bigger than myself. It helps you be well-rounded, and it helps
you to be thankful for what you have. Bitches don’t even try to tell me
that you “don’t have any time to give back.” We all can find one day a month, or even a few hours of one day per month. Hell, write a check if you must!
So,
I release you, my people, out into the world to help those in need, and
to spread the message. Be dedicated to whatever you choose, and be open
to how it can enhance your own lives. Start small, if need be, and work
your way up to Colby status. You can do it!
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