White/Black Cadillac & A Burned Down Shack

This thing I have is funny. I don't know what it's called but my family and close friends call it that thing. I can feel silly things I shouldn't know. It comes in bouts for weeks at a time and then it goes away. I'm in one of those periods where I have the thing.

For example, I was at work at the radio station on Sunday and Pokey Pants was across town at my house passed out from the night before. After about 2 hours at work, a flash went through my body like hot liquid magma. I knew what it was. So I sent her a text that read: "I can feel you rummaging through my pantry stealing all my Little Debbies. You're doing it right now."

She wrote back: "You're good. You scare me. That's exactly what I was doing. But I bought the Chocolate Chip Cakes, anyway."


Later that day, I called my sister and I heard the slightest stickiness in her voice when she answered with "hello." Before I even said hi back, I greeted her with, "You've recently drank sweet tea, haven't you." Because my big sister is self-involved and completely bored with my useless telepathy, she said, "Yeah, I've got one on the table in front of me. So how's it going? Let me tell you about my new boyfriend...." You'd think she'd at least be mildly amused by me.

I was kind of rude to my friend "Kayche" this weekend because I could read his mind so well the other day. Everytime he would start to explain his thoughts on how he wants me to fit into his new business venture, I would cut him off and say, "Yeah, I knew all of this after your first sentence. You didn't need to explain this far - I already heard you." I didn't realize I had no way to know what he meant, so he was saying, "But how could you know what I meant? I hadn't said it yet." Then he remembered that I just have days where I'm way smarter than I should be. He was extending to me some somewhat complex ideas and visions, but I was smelling what the rock was cooking before he even turned on the oven. (<-----That was funny, wasn't it. It gave me a brain boner.)

So here's where it gets good and bad. Before I continue this, please know, I am not making light of my pal's misfortune. I have sent so many prayers and offers of help to my good buddy who lost his entire place in a fire two nights ago. But here was the weird coincidence: if you saw my last blog, I was writing a silly post about creating a sitcom about homeless people. If you look at my time stamp on it, it says I wrote it at 1:20 a.m. (But my timestamp is set for West Coast time, so it was really 4:20 when I wrote it.) If you read the reports: the exact minute I was making homeless jokes, was also the almost exact minute my buddy was losing his home due to a fire. I know that's coincidence, but I have lots of coincidences these days.

Oh, and five days ago, I ate a Reuben for the first time in 3 months. I made myself one because I had to work during our monthly radio station meeting - and that meant didn't get to order the free rueben at the meeting when the boss buys us lunch each month. So five minutes after I ate it, my ex-girlfriend from 6 hours away in the mountains, who I hadn't talked to in months, sent me a weird text saying, "Next time I see you, I'm buying you a Rueben." I told her I still had Rueben in my mouth (that sounds really homo - laugh!) and that she was scaring me. She said I was scaring her. I think she was the scary one. Either way, I'm holding her to the rueben. I didn't even know she knew I liked ruebens. And why are all of these weird stories about food this month. By the way, Asheville has lots of great food. It also has lots of gay people. Which one do you think begat which? It's a chicken or egg thing - or I guess it's chicken or fag thing. If you've never been to Asheville, you have to go. Not for the gayness in the anus - for everything else. It's just beautiful. Even this beach boy loves it there. You rarely see a town with so many hippies, butt-bumpers and rednecks all getting along so well.

OK, final story hear. I was on the eliptocal yesterday at the YMCA watching the 6 oclock news. The guy beside me was also watching my TV because the one on his machine was broken. I knew that the stories at six o'clock would be the same stories I had seen at five, so I decided I would make the guy beside me think I was crazy... by telling the truth! I never talk to people at the gym, but this scenario was too tempting. I wanted this guy to think I was a scary liar by telling him two honest facts.

When the fire story came on, I pointed to the TV and said to the guy beside me, "That's my good friend's apartment you see burning to the ground. I've lived with that guy twice. It looks like he may be living with me a third time. He's a real nice guy. That sucks what happened to him."

Then the very next story was about a man hear in town who had gone missing. I turned to the same guy beside me and pointed at the TV and said, "That's Reggie. He was my next door neighbor for three years on Pheasant Court. Him and his Cadillac are missing. I just saw him two weeks ago. He's a real nice guy. That sucks what happened to him."

I watched the guy passively start not listening to me. I could hear his brain thinking, "Oh my gosh. This psychopath beside me has some disorder where he thinks he knows everyone in each story on the news. He's crazy! I'm going to start ignoring him." That's what I wanted him to think. Even though my friend's condo really did burn down, and my old next door neighbor really is missing. If you see a big black man with a big mustache driving around in a white Cadillac, tell him to call his family and let them know he's OK. You'll notice him. I mean, he'll stand out: how many times have you seen a big black man with a big mustache driving a white cadillac? Oh, right.