The Bums, The Bums, They Love Me...

Why does this only happen to me?

For the third time a bum has asked me out.

The first time was outside of the gym downstairs. The bum told me I was pretty and tried to talk to me. I brushed him off because he looked as old as my father. But I wasn't too harsh, because I thought he worked in my building. He looked normal and was actually really hansom. He had on tennis shoes, a t-shirt and sweat shorts, so I thought he had just exited the gym that’s located on the ground floor of our building. So I went down to the parking lot, got in my car and drove around the corner, heading for the freeway. I saw him on the island in the middle of Wilshire, with his little "bum" sign asking for money. He saw me, but wouldn't make eye contact. I was shaking my head. He seemed intelligent and was actually articulate; he should have been working in my building.

The second time was when I was going to work on a Sunday. While waiting to get buzzed in the building, by the slow assed security, this guy approached me and started talking to me. He was around my age and looked normal too. He said that he had seen me in the area before and I told him that I worked here. Then he said that he did to, and showed me his "bum" sign that he was holding. He said the dude on the street island was tripping and that he was going to the island across the street. I realized he was coming from the island before he had approached me. I had initially thought that maybe he was crossing the street, coming from the direction of UCLA. He asked for my number, I turned him down swiftly. He made his way to the traffic-less Jr. island across the street.

Now from what I've seen from taking my breaks outside, working the corners on Wilshire is like working for Corporate America. Usually the person with the most seniority in the department gets first choice of vacation time during a holiday, even if the newbie made the initial request. This concept is similar to bum Island, except the seniors can kick off the newbies, no matter if the newbie arrived first. And sometimes there is a waiting list for the corner. I was outside taking my break the other day and the bum lady walked by and hollered to the man on the island that she had next, and then he said that he'd save her spot. So I guess they have shifts also. Yep, just like corporate America. I wonder if they get benefits and stock options too.

So Bridge and I are outside taking a break, and this bum approaches and asks one of the other people on the bench for a cigarette and light. He started with the first person, and then went on to the second, until he got what he wanted. Then he did the same thing again, this time going down the bench and asking every one for $5. He was blunt and serious, and then was looking flabbergasted when no one supplied the cash. Now this bum holds the bum crown. He was a young white boy, dressed in skater clothing, though he looked like he rolled down a muddy hill a few times. He had sandy brown hair. If he washed it, it probably would be blonde, but it looked like it had brown sand in it, therefor: sandy brown. His teeth were thick ass hell, about a half-inch. Mostly tartar. If it wasn't for the tartar and plaque, he probably wouldn't have any teeth. Actually, they looked like a wide tooth, a unitooth, since you couldn't see where each tooth ended.

So he's all jittery, like he really needs a high. He's probably a meth addict. He finally gets to us and lingers. We know the question is coming, but we continue to carry on our conversation. Then he finally asks us, I turn him down flatly. So then he steps back and throws his head back in laughter, like he's Tyson Beckford, and I look like a 400 lb. female version of Patrick Ewing, who just turned down one night with him; I should be honored.

Next he asks me to buy him a Rick James cd and disc man. "Charge it," he said. WTF. Of all people why would he mention Rick James? Rick James must have been the last black artist he listened to, when he was apart of the real world. He must have thought that he had found a common ground with me, like we would connect of the strength that he liked Rick James. *Rolling eyes* And did he have the audacity, to ask me to buy him a cd player. So then I told him no and again Bridge and I continued talking as if he wasn't standing there. That's when he decided to ask me out. He suggested that we go to the movies and get something to eat, as if he wasn't the same person that was just bumming. "No," once again. That's it, that's all, no more words were needed.

He started to get a little disgruntle, so I was going to make my way back to the building to get Security. Technically, Security can't do anything (security guards note and observe, while it's the police who actually are supposed to protect and serve), but they're big and Black, so that has to count for something. And he was on meth, not water. A person on water can lift a building, but a meth addict can't even lift his head, so I could have taken him if I had too. Plus Bridge had my back. But in the end, I didn't want to be the Black girl who was seen fighting in front of the building.

But what is it about me that attract these bums. I know I'm me *brushes hair off shoulder* (haha, jk, well not really) But all my friends are attractive and they've never told me anything about being approached by a bum. The last guy was 51-50 and probably didn't remember anything that he was saying, even as the words left his lips, but the other two were serious. Did they think I was going to come outside and have lunch with them on the island? Where they going to take me on a date with dollar bills and change?

Maybe I'm too friendly...

I Was Sooo Going to Blog This Morning…

I know it’s been a week and a day. My intention when I first started Lolo in Real Life was to blog at least once a week. But guess what? The real Lolo is a procrastinator…

I had a good logical post prepared, but I forgot that I setup my iPhone to automatically deletes my photos once the photos are downloaded to Adobe. But I’m still going to blog. Maybe this post should have been titled What Could Have Been, because this could have been a better entry if I had the photos to accompany my prepared post.

It could have been about the issues I’m still dealing with from my childhood. And from my teenage years... And from my early adult years… And from last year, last month, last week, and last but not least, yesterday…

It could have been about my mother’s dependency on her children. Of her thinking that we’re supposed to take care of her and not just care for her.

It could have been about my mother telling me I need to have at least one child, so that when I become older, I’ll have a child to take care of me and not just care for me.

It could have been about how I increased my 401k this quarter, because I want to have enough funds upon retirement, so that I won’t be a burden on my child, if I eventually choose to reproduce.

It could have been about how I don’t think I’ll ever reproduce. I had this thought when lil Lela was being born. It was scary; I didn’t think she was going to make it. And for the record, giving birth is not sexy.

It could have been about how giving birth isn’t supposed to be sexy…

It could have been about how I’ll contact the Black perv Dr on the E! plastic surgeon show to make sure my vjayjay snaps back properly after the birth. Our family has big heads…

It could have been about how I’m thinking of having the g-shoot in my g-spot, by the same perv Dr, but think it’s a waste since we only get to have sex once a week.

It could have been about my boyfriend and our money issues. Funny thing is, neither of us is lacking in that area, but it’s still an issue in our relationship.

It could be about how I still want to give my boyfriend half on the flat screen, though he said I didn’t have too. I’m sure he’ll bring it up at his convenience…

It could be about my dad coming over to pickup the old tv last night. And how I enjoyed his company. I’m still daddy’s lil girl.

It could be about how I thought this post would only contain a few lines, now I see that I could go on and on and on. So I filtered and will save some for next week.

It could have been about how I'm so going to visit all my commenters sites, which I've already bookmarked, but have been too busy to read and comment.

It could have been about my successes, failures, strengths, weaknesses, accomplishments, goals and dreams.

It could be about how it’s all about nothing and everything at the same time.

I'm Trying to Stay Out of Jail...

So a few weeks ago, I got a jury notice. I waited until the last minute to respond. Once I was finished registering, the voice told me to call the day before my assigned week, so that another voice could tell me if I was required to attend the following day.

My assigned week feel on a holiday. Whatever that past holiday was, I think President's Day, so I was in the clear for that Monday. That Monday night I called to see if I had to report on Tuesday, but I was cleared for another day. Tuesday night comes and I blog, cleanse, and then sleep. Wednesday comes and it wasn't until lunch that I realized I hadn't called the jury line. I dial the number and the voice tells me that I was scheduled to appear that morning at 8:30 am. I'm panicked until I get costumer service on the line and she simply reschedules me for next week.

So next week rolls around, and oops, I forget again. This time I realize I forgot to call turning into the parking structure at work. Once again the voice tells me I should have reported to jury duty at 8:30am. It was only 8:20am. Funny how the voice speaks in past tense, as if it knows, I fcked up again.

I call again, and again I'm rescheduled for the next week, this week. The operator talks to me in an exasperated voice while sighing and such, like she's knows I'm the same flaky procrastinating chick from last week. But by this time, I'm shaking in my boots and not giving her any lip. Just taking her ish and being thankful the Marshals aren't waiting for me at my cubicle.

So last night rolls around and though I did blog until 1am, I still managed to remember to call and sure enough I had to report. Don't want the popos knocking at my door...

I have to say though, that it's not as bad as I imagined it to be. I thought I'd be in a courtroom, sitting on those hard wooden benches, while waiting to be chosen as a juror. But instead, we're in a large waiting room. The seats are soft and comfy and we have two vending machines as well computers with prepaid Internet access.

It wasn't until lunch time that I noticed a sign saying that the computers could surf the web via a credit card. But there were folks justa longing at the stations. So I did the polite thing and nabbed a chair after I had returned from my swift Burger King run during lunch. We got an hour and a half for lunch, so I knew folks would be taking their time to return.

If I could live off of snickers and butterfingers, this would be heaven. A paid break from work where I could blog and blog hop is the perfect Monday for me. The only drawbacks is that the Internet is a little slow and that I can't live off of Snickers. Wish everyday could be like this though.

And it turns out that they don't send folks to jail for avoiding jury duty anymore. Maybe that was an urban myth, but they just slap them with a $1,500.00. Still, I'm glad I finally made it and next time I might be looking forward to reporting.