Homless and the City

The homeless people in Houston are a fuckin riot. I know what you're thinking, wow Schizo, you've really hit rock bottom, dogging on homeless people. 

Well, asshats, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. First of all, if you're gonna be homeless, Houston would be probably in the top two places to be homeless. Unless it's July or August. Because it's never cold, the likelihood of you freezing to death is low. So props on that. Thumbs up.

When you're homeless, it's all about positivity.

Nonetheless, the homeless in Houston are insane. I mean INSANE. For one thing, they are everywhere. They sleep in the park I run in, they lurk in the downtown I work in, they are posted on every intersection of the roads I drive on. I literally cannot escape them. I have felt pretty passionate about the Houston homeless but have waited some time to tell you guys about it, mainly because I was trying to get a good picture of this gem of humanity. 

So this ole dude, I see every day after work. He cruises around on his red Benz in the Jack in the Box parking lot and, notice the cup, asks passer-bys for some mulah. Sounds simple, right? Wrong. This clown has the nerve to heckle people in their cars, the very people that are trying diligently to ignore him, while simultaneously wondering how in the hell a homeless guy got a Hoveround. So he hoots and hollers and people in their cars, trying to get their attention, so they will shell out some dough. Some do, some don't. This is a show I see daily.

One afternoon, homie picked me as his victim. Oh god, please don't let him be talking to me.  Mortified, I had a dead stare straight ahead while my left eye tried it's best to secretly move towards him and stare at this shit show. After a good effort and my best ignoring tactics, I think he's gone. I look up.

On to the next. 

But here's what I'm thinking, I get it, times are rough, but you can't heckle people for money. That's like a hybrid between being regular homeless and mugging. People already feel a twinge of shitty when they are blatantly ignoring the pathetic cardboard signs, cause you know, it is sad. If you're a reasonably decent human, that is sad to you. 


But lots of things are sad. You can't go around making people feel more shitty than they already do. Isn't there like an unwritten homeless rule against this? 


Maybe it is actually written. Maybe it's a law.

The other day after a post-work downtown happy hour, a homeless man approached me.

"Scccuuusee me ma'am... SCCCCUUUUUUUUUUUUSEEEEEEEE MEEEEEEEEE!!!!"
"Uhh...umm...arhhgddhhs...yes?"
"Do you have any cash?"
"No, sir...I'm sorry I don't have anything."
"But I'm starving. I just need sumfin to EAT."
"I understand. I still don't have anything. Nothing."

At this point, I am high-tailing it to my car, parked like three blocks away. Awesome. 
 
Please don't let him kill me. Please don't let him kill me. My parents would be so sad.

"MA'AM. SCCUUUSEE ME."
"No no no no no. I'm sorry."

Why am I apologizing? Dude, I don't have cash. Do you want me to pull rainbows out of my ass? Contents of my purse are as follows : old gum covered in lent, Burt's Bees lip balm, a nail file. 


He is following me. The heckling ensues. DUDE. UNLESS YOU HAVE CHAPPED LIPS OR HALITOSIS I CANNOT HELP YOU. 


So then these other two homeless homies get on to my little friend and are all like, "ah, man, why you be botherin her like that? Get the hell outta hur, man."


I didn't stick around to see what happened because this was my great escape. 


So I called boyfriend huffing and puffing, "ahhhmaaaaaaaaaayygawd I practically just got murdahed."


Sometimes I'm dramatic to get his attention. Only sometimes.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

It's getting pretty frosty down here in Houston. We are trading our flip flops in for closed-toed shoes and while I'm pretty pumped about a slight dip in temperature (this coming from the girl who WORSHIPS the sun, but honey, it's hot) I'm not sure how the rest of the city is going to react. Pretty excited to see the sheer panic when Houston gets to a frigid 60 degrees. Brrr.

The other day when I was getting ready for my run, a coworker said to me, shocked, "wow! You even run in the cold, huh?!" Well first of all, yes. Second of all, I don't know what you're referring to, but an overnight low of 50 and daytime high of 70 isn't cold. I know I've got a good number of readers in Omaha, Nebraska (shout out!) and I can feel you rolling your eyes. Thank you for that.

I don't care who you are, this weather, in December, is pure bliss. I went on a run today at lunch and snagged the above photo of Downtown Houston. As you can see, the leaves are starting to change. For everyone else in America, this happened in October, September? Here in Houston, we are enjoying the leaf-changing in mid-December. The temp at 11:30am? 64 degrees. Be jealous. Gosh dammit look at that friggin sky. SMOG?! What smog?

See that ant of a man running a little bit ahead of me? I beat him. He didn't know we were racing, but, just for the record. 

We were also wearing the same shirt, so that was weird.

I do love this city. Don't tell anyone. Something about that skyline. I work there. 


Even if you can't get nutty about a city skyline, are you dying over those clouds and that sky? December, people. December.

This second picture I took was pretty artsy for an iPhone. Damn you Apple, once again, you own my life. 

The Most Dysfunctional Time of the Year

Unless you haven't been into a retail outlet since October, you know fully well that it is THAT time of year again. Let me just say, I friggin love Christmas. The Christmas season brings a whole lot to the table, but one of the greatest things that Christmas brings is the annual family photo. The forced image of denim and solid colored shirts that depicts a vision of "yes, we're doing great. We're so functional, we took a g-dang family photo." Family photos have definitely evolved over the years but the Christmas season, for whatever reason, usually brings out some serious gems. 

I'm not quite established in my adult life to get a bulk of my own Christmas cards (this, I'm hoping, comes with age. Crossing my fingers) but you better believe that when I get to my parents' house next week, I will stack up the Christmas cards, pour a glass of merlot, and die of happiness. This year, I'm really hoping to see a movement in over the top family photos. It's not fair that the 90s got all the denim and plaid. I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty tired of seeing dogs dressed up as Santa. 

Is there anything funnier than a really bad family photo? No. There isn't. If you come up with something you're wrong and your sense of humor sucks. 

Because of my love for family photos, I've stumbled across a web site that consists only of terrible family photos. Named appropriately, awkwardfamilyphotos.com. 

See below for some of my favorites. You're welcome.

Nothing  says family like a pregnant mermaid.

Things I love: denim, white, and the whole family wearing it.

I wonder if the curtains match the... never mind

"How we gonna get baby Jimmy on the window? OK, hear me out...I got an idea..."

Yup.

What the fuck?

OH honey, I know.

I love denim. Have I mentioned that?

Family in a box. Please look at the kid in the back left, is he adopted? Why is he so far away?

Busted

So you know how I've been running during my lunch hour?

Maybe you need a refresher...

Ahhh, yeah now you remember. Well, I've been showering in this little piece of hell for about a month now, and up until this week, I was yet to see ANYONE enter this bathroom. Which is pretty legit and kiiinda made me feel like the CEO of the company I work at. "Yeah, I just have my own bathroom, it's not a big deal, just one of the perks of the job." I may or may not have just leave my shampoo and conditioner there sometimes. I might leave it there over night. It might have been sitting in that shower for bout a month. 

Yeah, OK, so I moved right in. Stop looking at me like that. 


Anyway, here's the big revelation I came to a few days ago. People do in fact use this bathroom. And by people I mean women. 


And my use I mean SHIT. This is the place where sneaky little girly girls go to take SHITS in private. 


I know this, because the other day when I was changing to run, I heard the uncommon sound of the door opening and closing. In total confusion I was 100 percent convinced it was one of three things 1. a murderer 2. a rapist 3. a ghost. As I peered around the corner, it was nothing like I imagined. A real life, living, human female. I felt like someone had walked into my house uninvited. 


Until I heard it. 


Poooooooootyyyyyy poot. Ker-plunk ppoottt parrrrrrrrrfff... gurgle gurgle. 


Flush. 


Sink. 


Paper towels.


Door open, close. 

Say whaaaaaa? Did that just.....?? Did she just........??


YOU ARE SO BUSTED.


WELL GUEZZ WHAT. THERE'S A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN AND PRIVATE POOPING SESSIONS ARE NO LONGER. That's my bathroom.


hehehhehehe I hear you sneaky priss!


Come on, private poopers, don't be such a girl about it. Let 'er rip!


For complicated reasons, I am definitely probably overly comfortable talking about bodily functions. 


Another post, for another day. 

Obviously, I'm an extremely glamorous person. 


Isn't boyfriend lucky?

Safety First

And that's all I have to say about that.