this is what i was wearing today when i realized that i had been completely duluthified:
short jacket [my zipper is broken on my actual winter coat, so i had to make do]
horizontal slung purse
edie bauer backpack
omnipresent stocking cap
i think i just need a beard to complete this
today i did a scientific experiment on what kind of people go to the Y during daylight hours. like serious daylight hours, when the sun is like a thousand paparazzi flashbulbs in your face.
a harbor city oil truck was parked in the middle of the road in front of the house, a huge hose snaked into the neighbor's backyard. my car was blocked from leaving. i looked around for a harbor city oil oiler. then i went back to the car and wrote this note:
nice parking spot, asshat.
i was studying the word asshat on the piece of paper when the oil man returned to his truck. he laughed when i asked him to move his truck: took his sweet time putting away the hose and checking gauges and kicking tires and doing whatever it is that you do when you aren't hustling your bustle.
why "asshat" instead of the more familiar "asshole"?
i wanted to convey to this oiler that i meant business. that i was more clever than the average pissed off resident. that anyone can say "asshole" but it takes a real firy wordsmith to come up with asshat.
asshat makes me think of one of those foam chunks of cheese that packer fans wear. except it's a butt. and back when i still thought i'd plant the note under his windshield, i hoped oily would take a second to see that i had used a pretty terrific word, and to picture his own noggin capped in skin-toned anatomy.
the Y, by day, looks like a convention of mommy bloggers: past, present and future. everyone is either pregnant or has an infant in a spandex sling that matches their sports bra. it has a very circus effect. like something from a medical textbook: freaky siamese twins -- one 5'6, the other 20 inches -- bound by stretchy neon.