This was posted on my forum first in response to a rant, but it being mine, I decided to share elsewhere.
OK. I'll bite.
Day begins early today. Woken up by my goddamn phone by someone who apparently hasn't gotten the memo about sleeping in on weekends. Apparently produce can't live to see the noon hour. Some kinda fuctup twisted organic Cinderella story or something. Sleep still in my eyes and I'm getting bitched out for this or that impolite behavior. Something about phone etiquette. WTF?! Need to get rid of that phone - it is a magnet for trouble.
Beat.
The L is taking way too fucking long to arrive. I hoof it six blocks down Taraval to pick up a decent coffee with the change in my pocket, go outside, and wait an additional 15 minutes for that goddamn train to arrive. Make it out to Farmer's Market to buy, what else, flowers and produce. Of course, I'm not alone, or else I wouldn't be buying flowers and produce. I'm neither metro nor granola enough for that kind of behavior.
Lunch was good, homemade for being a dutiful bag carrier. It was only tinged bitter by the jets screaming overhead, and the simulation of being in Iraq hit a bit too close to home for me. It took me back to the Fourth of July, the skies lit up red like cloud-sprays of blood, and I ruminate on how American celebrations resemble war in a very creepy, even sick, sort of way.
We get stoned on very decent greenery and make our way down to the hookah bar, puffing our way through a thoroughly decent rose-tobacco bowl. This was preceded by a beautiful tour of an apartment highrise roof, replete with jet-booms and personal conversation. And having had my fill of nicotine, cannabanoids, and feminine company I attempted to return home to the Sunset.
After three L trains pass by without a single free spot for a body to use, I give up and head back above ground to catch the 71. There I am accosted by a very gay, black man (piercings abounded in his face and I want to know not where else) who attempts to supplicate me with weed and a very disturbing invasion of my personal space. Ditching him, I have a comedic conversation with a drunk OG dude that is a respectable gentlemen to every woman that walks by, meanwhile whispering back to me about said woman's "ass for days," and how the only way she is going to get wet is if he had "jizzed on her ass." After saying this, he began to say jism over and over in a sing-song sort of way. Keep in mind that he had just wiped off a dirty, wet seat for a woman to sit down in and all the women in the bus were cooing over how nice and respectable he was.
I was laughing my ass (which doesn't go on for days) off.