Wednesday, December 19, 2007

ThePeach Is Peer Pressured to Update her Blog; Results in World’s Most Random Post

As you all know, I cave quite easily to peer pressure. I’m a fairly convincible person. This applies to peer pressure regarding drugs, drinking, sex, not doing work, and to commercials telling me to buy stuff. So, my life goes a little something like this:

ThePeach: I’m not drinking tonight. I have to finish grad school applications. I’m serious this time.
TOP: You will come out. You will have at least 5 drinks. You will stay out until 3am. And you will eat nachos with me.
ThePeach: Ok.

ThePeach: I’m not smoking pot anymore. It makes me too unmotivated and hungover and retarded.
WeeOne: I sent you pot for your birthday. Expect it to arrive in the mail any day now. I also sent you a DVD of Family Guy Episodes. Be sure to message me when you’re high so we can discuss how nature and fashion are fucked up.
ThePeach: Ok.

ThePeach: I don’t want to have sex tonight.

**Ha, suckers! That never happens. It goes a little more like this.

ThePeach: I would like to get freaky in all kinds of ways tonight.
FauxHawk: zzz
ThePeach: Ok.

ThePeach: I can’t spend any more money on makeup. Ever. I have to pay the cat’s vet bills and my bank account is already severely in the red this month.
Commercial: This covergirl lip gloss will make you pretty, skinny, rich, and tell your mom she’s a whore for you. Buy it now. Buy 10 of them.
ThePeach: Ok. I’ll buy 20 to be safe.

So, to conclude, I am an awesome person.


1. TigerCat is a Ho

Guess where my sister is right now? Hawaii. For 10 days. With CockDoc. Paid for by CockDoc’s parents. Plus a 1st class flight.

*grits teeth*

I hope she has a simply wonderful time.

Guess where I am right now? Work. Eating stale bagels. Unbuttoning pants due to bagel bloat. Shivering because the heat is broken. Smelling like a wet boot thanks to the puddle of slush I fell in earlier.

In all seriousness, I hope she has fun. For reals.

Did I mention that TigerCat will be gone for Xmas? That’s fun for me. TigerCat will spend her Christmas lying on the beach, sipping Pina Coladas, and walking hand-in-hand with CockDoc through the gentle surf at sunset. I will spend my Christmas pouring my grandpa whiskey, watching documentaries on crops with my grandpa, administering first aid when my mom burns herself cooking dinner, and picking the turkey off the floor after my mom drops it and then hides in her room, cying, for a good portion of the evening.

Merry Christmas!

2. ThePeach has an Awkward Moment

My friend TheCrazy threw a surprise party for her husband, TheCastrato. I attended. I drank aplenty. At the end of the night, some of us went to get some late-night food. We decided to go to Burrito Boy (refried beans plus a gullet full of vodka…yep, that mixes just as well as you’d think).

FauxHawk, his best friend TheYetti (whom I love, btw, despite his unfortunate body hair affliction), TOP, and I trundled off to Burrito Boy. All the while (and extremely under the influence), FauxHawk and TheYetti tried to convince me that this would be the best culinary experience of my life.

ThePeach: Really? Burritos?
ThePeach: I’m not much of a “burrito” person, per se. It seems kind of gross.
FauxHawk: Once I caught you eating fries that you found lying in the street.
ThePeach: What’s your point?
ThePeach: Ya, I don’t know.
ThePeach: Awkward.
FauxHawk: DO IT!!
ThePeach: Awkward.

3. ThePeach has Another Awkward Moment

I attended a fancy work Christmas part-ay this year. I have worked here for 3 years and this is the first time anyone thought to invite me. I’m well-liked.
Anyway, the party was a formal affair. It was held at the Yacht Club. Champagne was floating around. There were caterers running about in their wee little uniforms. All of my boss’s bosses were there. Some of these bosses are high-powered doctors who have never even met me before or didn’t previously know that I existed. Again: well-liked.

I put a lot of effort into looking classy. I wore a dress and appropriate-height shoes. I didn’t get too drunk until the bosses left (and then I may or may not have performed a solo interpretive dance to Meatloaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” as CockDoc turned somersaults behind me). I was charming and polite. Enter TheBoss:

ThePeach: *walking back from the buffet* Hello, TheBoss’ Bosses. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves tonight.
TheBoss: WHOA, LOOK AT ALL THE FOOD YOU TOOK!!!! *giggles*
ThePeach: *nervous laughter*
ThePeach: *nervous laughter*
4. A Serious Moment

This story is not meant to be funny, but serious. It involves a raging schizo it will probably end up seeming funny because all crazy people are hilarious, but laugh not, my friends. Laugh not. This was a major moment for me.

A crazy lives on my street. I call him the “Wellington Street Crazy”, not to be confused with the “Wellington Street Cripple” who zooms up and down my street in a scooter, flipping people off with his one arm. It’s a good street.

The Wellington Street Crazy (or WSC, for short) lives in a mental-health outpatient group-home a few blocks from me. He paces the streets every single day, grumbling and scowling at people and occasionally yelling at them. Once he told me to fuck off because I wasn’t his mother or the Queen. Ok.

In the summer, WSC rides a very old and rickety bike up and down the street all day long. Seriously, that’s all he does. He looks very peaceful upon his bike, which is a pleasant change from his usual “gonna rip your face off with my teeth” snarl.

WSC has really impacted me for some reason. I’m not sure why. I just find his presence on my street very profound. So profound that I actually wrote a poem about him and got it published last year. (Ok, I write poetry. You SHOULD fully judge me for this. I’m one EMO characteristic away from cutting myself with razors and painting my room black. And yes, I live with my cat and I write poetry. I am lame. Fuck you.) Here is the poem:

The Wellington Street Outpatient

Old wheels groan with exhaustion;
the pedals are weary
with stiffness and pain,
their joints are streched tenderly,
patiently, by their caregiver.
Sitting atop that seat
with mannequin posture,
looking at no one,
willing his friend to carry him
one more block and back again.

He doesn't talk except when he screams,
pleading with demons, swearing,
assaulting the concrete.
The neighbors don't look from their papers
as they have grown tender for the man
in crumpled coveralls and a cap:
stray hairs like fine white wires
poking out of his neck
as he coaxes his rusted reprieve
one more block and back again.

The sun whispers on his bony shoulders;
he passes the parade of briefcases
and sandwiches in ziploc bags,
the moan of the wheels overpowering
the clicking of corporate shoes.
No one dares break the trance,
the timid calm in those weathered eyes,
so no one says hello
as he determinedly pedals
just one more block and back again

By ThePeach

Ok, so we’ve established just how profound I find this schizo (and just how lame I really am). Now, another important factoid about WSC: I see him EVERY SINGLE TIME I LEAVE MY HOUSE!! I swear to god. If I leave the house at 9am, he is walking past my house. If I come home from work at 5pm, I pass him on the street. If I stumble home drunk at 3am, he is going for a midnight stroll. At first I thought he was stalking me, but then I realized that the man is just constantly pacing the street 24/7.

Also, he has never once made eye contact or any sign of seeing me in any way. I thought maybe he thought I was one of his hallucinations for a while. I have passed him every day for 3 years and we have never spoken, smiled at each other, or otherwise acknowledged each other as humans. This isn’t to say I haven’t tried, but after awhile I gave up. Possibly for fear of him ripping a rusty spoke out of his bike and stabbing me in the aorta with it.

So, last Friday I was walking home from work when I passed WSC, as usual. But this time:

ThePeach: *clomps down street in cheap boots*
WSC: *stops walking*
ThePeach: *looks at WSC*
WSC: *looks ThePeach in the eye*
ThePeach: *automatically shields aorta with hand*
WSC: *smiles*
ThePeach: *carefully smiles*
WSC: Hello.
WSC: How are you?
ThePeach: Good…how are you?
WSC: Oh, I’m surviving. Bye, now. *starts walking*

The Wellington Street Crazy talked to me!!!! He talked! He smiled!!

I consider this was one of the more profound experiences in my life. Not that “finding fries in the street” and “discovering Smirnoff Ice coolers” were tough to top, but still.

Ok, this way wayyy too sappy for the likes of you sluts. Here’s something to make up for it:

Titty, titty, motorboat, poop, fucking, muffins.

I think I just accidentally wrote the title of my autobiography.

Ok, that’s enough randomness for now. Maybe later someone can peer pressure me into pooping on TheBoss’ desk.

I’d like that.



asian cymbals said...

You should not only poop on his desk, you should wipe your ass with his coffee mug!!!

Excellent post, my dear Peach.

the nurse said...

haha I used to see the street crazy everytime I left my house too. I can't believe he talked to you. now back to peer pressuring you to talk to me. mine used to be the only peer pressure that truly worked. I sent you a link just download it.

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Anonymous said...

I gotta have more cowbell!! And, by cowbell, I mean blog. It's been ten days!

Anonymous said...

It's been a month!! I cannot stand the lack of posts!! Please, Peach, don't leave your public wanting!

The Peach said...

Ok, ok! Keep your pants on. Actually, no. Take your pants off. Now we match.

I have a story about a jamaican cabaret performing midget that will probably appease you. I will attempt to write it today.