Monday, July 07, 2008

This Doesn't Help Things.

There’s a heat-wave in UniversityTown this week and it’s muggy as the bowels of Hades outside. I am covered in a perma-sheen of sweat and sebaceous fluids (thanks, Dad, for the sexy Italian genetics), my hair is a curly, frizzed, matted hive of mayhem, and my cat has been lying on its back in the corner, wheezing like Rosie O’Donnell for the past two days.

It’s fucking hot.

I also have been too lazy to install my air conditioner yet this year, so my priorities when getting dressed in my tropical apartment this morning were not so much appearance-based as comfort-based. Combine this with the fact that I haven’t done laundry in, oh, 5 weeks, and you might begin to understand why I left the house looking like a hobo-whore this morning. Literally a hobo-whore. I had limited options to begin with, thanks to the moulding pile of laundry in my room, but still…I could have picked better. My bottom-half was good – in theory. I chose my lululemon shpants (short pants) based on their flowiness, lightness, and the fact that they are as close to shorts as I can get away with wearing at work without TheBoss being able to eye-ball my bare thigh. Coverage is key, friends. So ya, in theory the bottom-half of my body was fashionable. Oh, except that I have been wearing my shpants to the gym for the past 2 weeks, plus I wore them at the cottage last weekend, and haven’t had a chance to wash them yet. Is that white stain marshmallow, semen, or sweat residue? Life is a mystery.

The top-half is where I really lost things. You see, UniversityTown has this wonderful discount department store called the S&R and, being the cheap whore that I am, I purchase items there on a regular basis. I really don’t see how I can describe the S&R to the unenlightened except to ask you to imagine a Giant Tiger on welfare that spends its welfare money on meth and cheetos instead of food and health-care. So, the S&R is like a sick, dirty, poor, overweight, meth-addicted Giant Tiger with snaggle tooth and armpit stains. AND I LOVE IT. Where else can you buy a pair of hooker heels for $9.99 that make your toes bleed as soon as you walk in them? Nowhere.

So, last weekend I bought a shirt for $7.99. It has great cleave, which is what drew my eyes to it on the headless mannequin with one arm. The body of the shirt made an attempt at stylish flowiness, but kind of overshot it and was more tent-ish than anything. It was borderline maternity wear. But hey – good cleave plus $7.99? ThePeach will take you home and love you, shirt. Don’t you worry about a thing. So, today I wore that shirt with my dirty, stained shpants. I threw in a chunky necklace for good measure.

As the day wore on, the more I decided that I had gone too far at the S&R this time. I mean, my boobs were nice and out there – and I mean OUT THERE – but the tenting of the shirt was just getting ridiculous. I looked kind of homeless, but with massive, glorious knockers. I started referring to myself as hobo-chic, and finally settled on hobo-whore. I actually used the term hobo-whore in 3 separate convos on msn. I started getting really self-conscious, and that’s when I decided to call it a day. But first I would quickly run downtown on my way home to pick up some bagels. The knockers need to eat.

As I ran into the natural-foods bakery, I passed one of the many perma-hobos who camp out on the main street. This one particular hobo is a grizzled, weathered, toothless woman who squats in front of the natural-food bakery and begs for change. She has been there every day for 3 years and I stopped giving her change when she started drinking Starbucks coffee. Anyway, here is what happened:

Hobo: Spare some change?
ThePeach: Sorry.
Hobo: That’s ok. Hey, is that shirt from the S&R?
Hobo: I have the same one!!! In yellow! Don’t you just love it??
ThePeach: *sobs* Yes, it’s very flowy.
Hobo: That’s why I bought it!

OH, COME ON! COME ON! Give me a break, universe!! Whoever is up there and is scripting my life into a sketch comedy has a sick sense of humour. Seriously, what the fuck. My life is getting beyond ridiculous. Hey, humour-god – haven’t you ever heard of a thing called “subtlety”???

But, all anger aside, I really am a hobo-whore. Or, at least, I dress like one.

You would think this would be enough for me to throw the shirt out, wouldn’t you? How little you know me, readers. How little you know me.



Cleavage said...

So grizzled weathered woman (with the folding camp stool and her peroxide burned scalp, how I remember her!) makes enough money to shop at the same stores as you? You see where I'm going, right? Forget student loans, you just need a good street corner. And a folding camp stool.

The Peach said...

You are the second person who has correctly identified the hobo in the 1 hour since I posted this! well-done, cleavage!

I think you can get folding camp-stools at the S&R.

TheCrip said...

She bought a cell phone from me a million years ago and was on a two year contract with rogers. She would come in and pay her bills in pennies from her plastic chip container with the slot in the top of it. Once she offered a BJ to a friend of mine for 20 bucks so she could pay her cell phone bill.

I love this town.

thenurse said...

isn't their slogan "S&R you never know what you'll find"? or something like that. I think I remember most of the hobos there. remember the guy with the sign saying he needed size 6 diapers for his kid. but he had it for the whole 5 years I lived there. ok university town!

The Diva said...

Do they still have the violin playing hobo in front of the hardware store? He came into the ER once when i was in med school with a heart attack...but he was back on the corner a week later...ah university town