Sunday, November 11, 2007
10:45 AM - Equal parts cute and weird
Saturday, November 10, 2007
10:55 PM - Do I look like I give good advice?
Okay, weird week. I've been trucking around the city lately on my bicycle; visiting areas I normally don't go, walking into random bars for a drink or two, talking to people out of the blue, and even helping a few people along the way.
Take for example the cute, stranded, blond, jersey girl from Friday morning. She's standing outside of her car (a blue ford something-or-other), poking away at the electronic combination lock just above the door handle with a worried look on her face. Being the nice guy that I normally am, I ignore her (though the two homeless, paraplegic war-vets in the neighborhood do not and see if they can do anything) and head in to the pizza joint for my morning hang-over pizza. 10 minutes later, I come back out, and now she has a small crowd of wanna-be gangsters surrounding her (the war-vets rolled away, after deciding it was fruitless) and she now has a semi-terrified look on her face. I sigh, walk over, and ask her if she forgot the combo. She affirms this, I reach into my wallet and pull out my handy-dandy debruijin sequence (five factorial) and ask her if she won't mind me opening it for her.
"How are you going to do that?" She asks.
"Don't worry about it, it's just a matter of numerical brute force. It'll only take 15 minutes max. I promise." The wanna-be gangstas start laughing at this point, telling her I'm bullshitting, which makes me even more eager to begin.
"Go ahead, I'm not getting anywhere" she steps back and lets me kneel down by the door. 8 minutes later the head-lights flash and the door lock clicks open. The crowd behind me shuts up for a brief moment, then the cutie gives me a big hug, asks me where I learned how to do that, and, just to fuck with her, I say "prison."
I can tell she just regretted that hug, but still, she thanks me profusely again, practically pushes me over to get back into the car, and drives away. One of the guys asks me for my cheat-sheet, but I just shake my head and tell him to get his own. Score 1 for the nerds.
On the opposite side, a crack-head followed me around for about 20 minutes on her bike cause she thought I was her friend Ralph. I told her I look nothing like a Ralph, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't be her friend cause I have no friends, only mortal enemies and concubines (and she did not fit into the concubine category, no matter how thick my beer goggles might get). When I stopped to get a slice of pizza from my second favorite joint in old city (are you seeing a pattern here) she walked in with me and asked me if I knew where such-and-such a bar was. The hot Romanian chick behind the counter was giving us a strange look and I realized if I was ever going to have a chance of scoring with hot Romanian pizza chick (complete with accent and noticeably foreign fashion sense) I'd have to ditch the delusional crack-head. Is "delusional crack-head" redundant?
So what did I do? (I giggle thinking about this even now) I point toward the rear of the store, shout "what the hell is that!?!!" and as Ms. Cracky McCrazy looks in that direction, I grab my pizza and run out the front door, hop on my bike, and peddle like a madman back to my hood.
Running from your problems is the greatest thing ever and (if you do it right) it never comes back to bite you in the ass. If I teach anyone anything, it'll be that.
--HK_Newbie
Take for example the cute, stranded, blond, jersey girl from Friday morning. She's standing outside of her car (a blue ford something-or-other), poking away at the electronic combination lock just above the door handle with a worried look on her face. Being the nice guy that I normally am, I ignore her (though the two homeless, paraplegic war-vets in the neighborhood do not and see if they can do anything) and head in to the pizza joint for my morning hang-over pizza. 10 minutes later, I come back out, and now she has a small crowd of wanna-be gangsters surrounding her (the war-vets rolled away, after deciding it was fruitless) and she now has a semi-terrified look on her face. I sigh, walk over, and ask her if she forgot the combo. She affirms this, I reach into my wallet and pull out my handy-dandy debruijin sequence (five factorial) and ask her if she won't mind me opening it for her.
"How are you going to do that?" She asks.
"Don't worry about it, it's just a matter of numerical brute force. It'll only take 15 minutes max. I promise." The wanna-be gangstas start laughing at this point, telling her I'm bullshitting, which makes me even more eager to begin.
"Go ahead, I'm not getting anywhere" she steps back and lets me kneel down by the door. 8 minutes later the head-lights flash and the door lock clicks open. The crowd behind me shuts up for a brief moment, then the cutie gives me a big hug, asks me where I learned how to do that, and, just to fuck with her, I say "prison."
I can tell she just regretted that hug, but still, she thanks me profusely again, practically pushes me over to get back into the car, and drives away. One of the guys asks me for my cheat-sheet, but I just shake my head and tell him to get his own. Score 1 for the nerds.
On the opposite side, a crack-head followed me around for about 20 minutes on her bike cause she thought I was her friend Ralph. I told her I look nothing like a Ralph, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't be her friend cause I have no friends, only mortal enemies and concubines (and she did not fit into the concubine category, no matter how thick my beer goggles might get). When I stopped to get a slice of pizza from my second favorite joint in old city (are you seeing a pattern here) she walked in with me and asked me if I knew where such-and-such a bar was. The hot Romanian chick behind the counter was giving us a strange look and I realized if I was ever going to have a chance of scoring with hot Romanian pizza chick (complete with accent and noticeably foreign fashion sense) I'd have to ditch the delusional crack-head. Is "delusional crack-head" redundant?
So what did I do? (I giggle thinking about this even now) I point toward the rear of the store, shout "what the hell is that!?!!" and as Ms. Cracky McCrazy looks in that direction, I grab my pizza and run out the front door, hop on my bike, and peddle like a madman back to my hood.
Running from your problems is the greatest thing ever and (if you do it right) it never comes back to bite you in the ass. If I teach anyone anything, it'll be that.
--HK_Newbie
© hk_newbie----Everything here is copyright of the losers that wrote it, by virtue of them writing it----