Largest rancher, last vaquero, rodeo ropers, cowboy songs, Tijuana River stables, rustlers in Pine Valley, the Cauzzas of Julian
8:30 a.m., May 19
Ok, it has been one silent weekend in South Park Square. I mean, absolutely nothing going on. Highly disappointed. However, I have a trio under the window with their random conversations, which will be touched in shortly, and also about how I just had to instigate something last night.
There are three people, two females and a male, sitting on the bench outside the bar/restaurant I live over and chatting away about the most random things. They talk as if they hold their tea with their pinkie finger floating. They have traveled to Japan and Australia and India, and about the different smoking habits in these lands. And the male was wooing the ladies with his story about how on one of these vacations he got sick and they had to do surgery; still has the scar.
"Wanna see it?"
"Yeah! Show us your scar, Mr. Man of the World!"
I can see them sitting cross-legged with their chins propped on their anticipatory balled-up fists, eyes wide like it's Christmas morning and the best gift is still in the garage and has tassels on the handlebars. Anyway. They've gone back in now so while I'm sad to say the commentary on the small pack of Out-of-South-Parkers is over, in a way I'm kinda glad. They were annoying. Moving on.
So it's been quite dreary here. Not in a weather sense because, you know, we live in San Diego. But just in a whole-lotta-nothin' going on. I mean, there's a bar that's supposed to be having an anniversary party. Where are the drunk idiots (aka the Yah Dudes) stumbling down 30th screaming, "No no... so check it... so I told her she did look fat in those pants," and the rest of the gang chuckles. As for the drunken females, usually it's, "Oh my gawd, I'm so drunk. Are you drunk? 'Cause I'm drunk. Ooh, nice shoes." Anyway. Back to the story.
So last night it's around 10-ish and I'm bored as all-get-out. I hear people walking by but nothing blog-worthy. So I figure, while people are filing by, let's go outside and have me a cigarette. Now, I already know the outcome of this experiment. Usually it's glares and comments. But that right there is the fun, you see. The comments are the best. Here are a few from last night. After I would hear the comment, it really depended on if I said anything back to them.
Oh, before I go on. I want to say that I don't think it's cool to subject people to cigarette smoke. In fact, if I am outside slowly killing myself and I see people coming, I will go out of my way to get the cigarette away from them. This includes getting about 5 to 10 feet away from where they can walk comfortably. Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, the list:
In no particular order:
These comments automatically get a verbal response from me. Simply because, come on, is that all you have? Here's my response:
"Whew, good thing you don't smoke with that cough."
I love the return glare.
A couple walked by and the lady said, "Oh, and I recently quit smoking." Well, doesn't that make you special? This situation I decided to keep quiet and just chuckle some. But it reminded me of a memory from when I was younger, maybe late teens, early 20s. This might explain where I get my sarcastic bitterness towards things. I was still living with Mom and on television there was a commercial involving a middle-aged couple playing tennis, and the guy was explaining how he was glad is hemorrhoids weren't bothering him anymore, thanks to Preparation-H. My mother, completely dead-pan and without missing a beat, says, "Yeah, but you're still a flaming a**hole." The reason it reminded me of this memory is because I had a very similar comment that I kept to myself last night.
"Sigh.... I miss smoking."
I heard this one twice, actually. I mean, I didn't even sit out there and have about seven cigarettes consecutively. I would go out for maybe fifteen minutes, really milk the udder some while the masses passed by. Last night I did this about three times. And I heard this comment twice among the numerous glares, mumbles, fake coughs, all of that. I hear that people miss smoking and it was as if they were missing a long-lost pet or something. You're welcome, random ex-smokers. It was my pleasure to revive a memory of something you are apparently very fond of. Next time, just visit your friendly convenience store and I'm sure they will be more than glad to conveniently dispense some death for you too. Provided you show ID, of course. If you're not of age, kids, don't smoke. And stay in school. 'Cause school is cool. And don't do drugs. But seriously, drinking is bad. Just follow along with this blog and you'll see.
Great. Now I sound like a cult-leader in the making. Anyway. I'll just end this now.
And that, my friends, is my neighborhood.