b flat

i was inspired to recall purely, grotesquely american phrases whilst walking through the (mcdonald's wrappers- and starbucks cup-strewn) filth of downtown seattle last night. thus far the two cataclysmic ones are "born to shop" and "my baby's daddy." more undoubtedly to follow.
i feel hungover without the benefit of alcohol. i am in a sludgy funk, tired and sullen, blah precipitously hovering near depression. the whole parent thing yesterday certainly set it off, coupled with the fucking court date on monday. my neighbor's horrid child has taken to screeching like a fucking air-raid siren. today he was clomping up and down the (barrier-free) deck, crawling on the chair outside my window, purposely banging his head against the glass. i was laying on the sofa at the time, helix asleep on the curve of my hip, reading a book. his father, my landlord, walked in front of my window and looked inside. i waved, pointedly trying to convey a "what the fuck are you doing in front of my window?" look. for his credit he did look embarassed. it is quite convenient to have free birth control with the rental of my lair.
i would like to be selectively invisible. selectively anonymous. doesn't everyone?
rummaging through the 'prisoners' bin in front of left bank books, i came across a romance novel titled, i believe, "secret agent dad". so i had to fucking look. there was not much copulating, much less heaving bosoms and purple velvet-headed warriors. i tossed it back quickly. when i was in junior high my friend meagan and i would loiter around waldenbooks after school and read the sex scenes of romance novels out loud, the more grotesque and lurid the better, laughing hysterically. tis a marvel we were never kicked out of the store. we then progressed to writing our own scenes, saturated with euphemisms, asexual freakish nerds that we were. i haven't heard from her in nearly fifteen years. (that was a fucking scary revelation. holy fuck. that dates me a touch.) i wonder.
today, a saturday:
-a group of people animatedly signing, viewed through the dirty bus window. my immediate thought: "if i learned to sign i'd fucking end up blind." second immediate thought: "wow, i really am in a crappy mood."
-the insanely good smells from the basement tibetan restaurant, promptly augmented by the vomit smells of dick's a block away
-teenage boys asking my opinion on the tag they'd just left on a light pole. "very nice and silver" i answered. "i like the asterisk." (view said pole at 5th and pike, SW corner)
-two people around me singing independent of each other to 'loves me like a rock.' (would be even cooler if it wasn't currently playing)
-"you have purty hair" said a man downtown, leaning against the rite-aid wall for support. "you look nice."
-the man beside me: white wine, a red bandana, and a somewhat ferocious manner of typing. glasses. long hair. mumbles to himself as he selects the proper phrases. it is rather endearing.
-being put back on 3 12's at work. fuck yeah! i am going to have four fucking days off in a row starting in march! so i promptly signed up for extra shifts.
-kosher chow mein noodles with a funky taste. i ate them anyway.
-picking individual scales off a surprisingly tolerant asunder. (probably going septic)
-realizing that i honestly DON'T REMEMBER the last time i washed my hair. that's kind of gross. good thing i'll be deleting this line.
-cherry blossoms, daffodil stalks, rhodedendron bushes: all abruptly blooming within the last week. eat yer heart out, former life.
-screaming along very emphatically, complete with hand gestures, to a very loud song from my torrid youth as i drove too fast through the i-90 tunnel, headlights off, sunglasses on, a danger to myself and others and not giving a single shit.
on that note.