Excuse me maam: garden party edition

July 17, 2013

You might not know this about me, but I get called Ma’am or Miss a lot.

Like on the people yelling “Beam me up, Scotty” at William Shatner level. Okay, maybe it isn’t quite on that level but enough to stand out and enough to deserve its own segment here. Back when I had long hair and painted my nails, at least it sorta made sense. Only a little though because, hello, full beard. Half of these “mistakes” would happen while the person was looking at my face or at least the side.

And that’s why:

excuse me miss

It had been a while since this happened last. Where was the crime committed? In my very own backyard. I’ll set the scene.

Daytime.
In our backyard.
The neighbors had some people working on their landscaping.

I was minding my own business and taking some trash out to the garage. As I did this, I turned toward their yard and made eye contact with two (TWO!) of the workers. We held the gaze for probably too long, and I nodded at them before going on my way. I continued on my way and as I entered (bow chikka bow wow…sorry) the garage I hear:

“Ma’am?”

(Silence)

“Miss?”

(That’s weird why don’t they know Chris’s name if they work for her. I’m trying to clean up the garage a bit.)

“Hey MA’AM!”

(Are they calling me? Nooo, they couldn’t be.)

“Ma’am?”

(Could they?)

“Hello…Ma’am?”

(I stick my head out of the garage.)

“Oh…OH! Sorry…”

They then asked if they could take some of the trees from her yard out through ours. I say yes, and of course later find they stomped some of our plants.

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the one with an origin story.

July 18, 2011

The fact that the wifebot was in a show recently meant that I was at a Theatre a lot over the last three weeks. This is something I’ll rarely complain about. I love the vibe, passion and energy that flow freely at a theatre when a show is up. Strangely the audience was usually made up of older adults.

(Strange in that it wasn’t the traditional plays being performed.)

I rarely miss a show of hers and this time was no different. I was at every single performance even the preview show. This means a lot of time around actors and directors, which for me is always a little strange. I dig them; it just always feels a little weird.

This also (generally) means I’m going to field the “you’re a playwright?” or “what are you writing over there?” questions. You can throw in the paranoia that I’m writing what they are saying or writing about them.

Now I’ve been known to steal conversations and clearly there is overheard Ohio but come on people. Not everything is about you. One night I was talking to an actor and they asked why I didn’t submit to the fest.

(And that is a story of my idiotic messing up of the deadline.)

As I talked over my glass of complimentary wine a dude who had been eyeing me as I wrote made his way to where I was sitting. As I returned from the wine table/my conversation he asked if I was going to be sitting there again. I told him he could have that seat as I was gonna walk around a bit.

He frowned and said “I was hoping you’d have a seat with me. I’d like to ask you some things.”

Jimi: Fuck that shit can’t you see I was working on some writing?

Or

Jimi: Sure why not.

I sat. He peered at me.

Him: I heard you’re a playwright.
Me: yeah.
Him: How does one go about becoming a playwright?
Me: Write plays? I mean I found my passion there and see things on the stage now.

The conversation went on from there. Mostly about how, what and why I write plays. He asked if I could talk about the play I was working on with him.

You may or may not know that the play I’m working on is a struggling playwright (ha ha) who gets dumped, fired, and rejected on the same day. He gets drunk and wants a simpler time. He remembers (and longs for) the time fondly when he was young and had an imaginary friend. His friend’s name is Percy T. Whale and yes he is a walking talking whale. He wishes for him and he returns. The problem? Percy is a drunk, annoying jerk who only causes trouble.

So I tell him this and he starts to get into it. He‘s asking questions and throwing out suggestions. He asks if I’ve considered letting someone writing a scene or two for me.

(Uhm?)

As the conversation continues it seems more and more like he’s hoping I’ll ask him to collaborate with me. Luckily Lindsay came and I was saved. The next week an older lady heard I’d seen every show—I help out the theatre doing whatever I can—and asked me why. When she found out that my wife is an actress and I’m a playwright she began asking questions.

I talked all the while hoping she’d ask me how I became a playwright.

Origin of a playwright:

When I was twelve I hated reading and loved math. I wanted to grow up and do something in the math field. One day while walking around and solving math problems in my head I came across a dog. I went to pet it and it bit my arm. I passed out.

When I woke up I was in the hospital and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I had a fever and just started writing and writing plays. I wrote until the fever went down and I’ve been a playwright ever since.

She didn’t ask but that will be what I tell the next person.


the one where I’m a drunk Nancy Reagan

July 14, 2011

Let’s take a little trip back in time.

(Oh come on if you’re reading this you clearly don’t value your time.)

It won’t be a far trip (or particularly entertaining one—damn got to work on my selling technique) I promise. I won’t even use my usual “where we’re going we don’t need roads” Back to the Future joke.

(Ha sorta did so take that!)

AnyTauntingMyTwoReaders we’re going all the way back to Sunday. Close your eyes and picture what you were doing last Sunday night at about 10pm east coast time. Got it? Good, now forget it because this is about me and what I was doing. I was sitting pretty much where I am now. Where?

(nosy.)
(Oh I should be painting you a mental picture?)
(Fine.)

I was sitting at the table in what we call our library. My computer is open just like it is now and I had a glass of water. The window was open and I had a fan on the floor next to me. I was wearing a Miami Dolphins tee shirt and boxers. These boxers sort of have a malfunction where the little pee flap thingy is. The thing caught on the drawer (the same one that tried to bugger my bum.) and now the flap is a little bigger than needed. With this in mind I positioned the fan and my legs so that the air would blast right into there. Ah nice and cool man bits.

(See what happens when you want a picture painted?)

So there I was being all Fitzgeraldly and typing away:

Typey typey type type.

When I needed a break. So I went on google+ and there was nothing new posted in the last like 5 hours, so I headed over to the twitter. I happened to see a tweet from the lead singer of a band, posting a link to summer tour dates/album info. The band is Patent Pending. Now these guys were here couple months ago and are part of warped tour. I’ve not missed a Cleveland show of theirs in 5 years but warped tour doesn’t count. stream theier latest album here or check out The Magical World of Joe. We decided a long time ago (after attending one and being trampled by a migraine while there) that festival shows are a no go. The other reason is you know unemployed and all can’t just spend tons of money all the time.

So I was going to ignore the link because I knew when the album was due and figured they wouldn’t be here anytime soon. Eventually I was curious (thinking maybe near the end they’d return) and clicked.

Me: Holy yoda’s green little balls! Patent Pending has a concert tomorrow night!

(Probably didn’t say it that way but I wanted you thinking of yoda’s little green balls. You’re welcome.)

It was to be at Peabody’s which we hate but will go there to see Patent Pending any old day. It turned out it was in the tiny Pirate’s Cove (inside Peabody’s) which brought back mostly fond memories. They wifebot (when she was just the girlfriendbot) and her friends would go there for 80’s dance night. I’d attend (no dancing) and sit at the bar drinking and writing.

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So we show up and are pretty much the only (non people working there/playing) drinking at the show. The show was awesome and I consider Joe (lead singer) a friend by now. By the end of it I was carrying a nice buzz. We headed on home but had to stop at Walgreens for cat food. After telling all the workers in there they are awesome I grabbed the kitty chow and stopped at the cheap movie bin.

Training Day was calling my name. From there I walked toward the cold drink section. As I did this happened:

A lady woman storms passed. Her children like 6 steps behind.

Little girl: Mom…mommy you said you needed medicine the drug section is back there.

Mom: Shut up. (she goes on to inspect the soda pop section.)

Me (tapping little girl on the shoulder): Say no to drugs and you’ll be awesome!

(Thumbs up.)

Little girl: ….

Me: Awesome. (thumbs up)

I left her there to ponder my wisdom.

Next time I’ll go with this:

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the one with hoochie mamas, strippers and paste

June 17, 2011

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The long awaited Top Overheard Ohio sent in May. Once again in no particular order but my favorite probably is:

“We decided to stop having sex till our wedding night to make it special but after 2 months I may pound her into paste.”–drunk guy at bar


“we’re friends and I like you, but not enough to buy you cocaine.”–Frat boy to roid ragey looking frat boy.

“The hot new secretary walked in as I was doing the ‘up my ass’ monologue from Pulp Fiction but all she heard was ‘up my ass’ & she ran out”

“Mom and tits don’t belong in the same sentence, unless it’s to say thanks for my new tits mom”- big haired chick in lobby @CleMarriottDwtn

“You remember the time we stopped in the middle of sex to go get some @Tacobell? From now on either smoke pot or drink Patrón but not both.”

“excuse me, does my daughter look like a hoochie mama? bc she is actually really intelligent” Lady in fitting room

“no we’re East Cleveland, but nobody likes us there so it’s the Heights for breakfast.” -East Cleveland police officer @ The Inn on Coventry

“Don’t hate on strippers with c section scars. Those are the ones with tight pussies.”


Excuse me maam: Virginia Style

November 9, 2010

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Yep. It already happened again. This time it took place in the lovely mountains of Virginia. The Three Shillelaghs were up there on our traditional trek. The last time we were up there a brewery was being built. This year it had been up and running for a while.

Everywhere I go I like to try a local beer. So we immediately made plans to head up to The Devil’s Backbone Brewery and Restaurant. After a beautiful and relaxing morning we headed out. We stopped at an awesome place named Graves where I chased down that elusive Choco Taco! Yeah!

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We headed up the mountain—Blue Ridge Parkway. This is also a tradition. We do enjoy our traditions, you may have noticed. Anyhoo we get up there and park. There be some optimal picture taking area. The area is beautiful and pics to come—maybe.

Oh come now (That’s what she said!) stop your whining this is another kind of post.

The day was nice. The sky bright blue and had a few puffy white cotton balls floating around in it. It wasn’t too chilly down below (TWSS!) but up on the mountain it was nippy. We enjoyed the view and snapped pictures before heading back down

Devils Backbone had a pretty full parking lot. The restaurant was no different. The sun was slowly creeping down as was the temp. There was an option given to us. Wait for who knows how long to sit inside or have dinner on the patio. It was a nice patio and a nice view too.

It was cold though. The patio did have heat. It consisted of a very lovely fireplace, two hanging heaters and then two moveable heaters. They also offered blankets. The wifey enjoyed the fireplace because she was right next to it. I was to the side/behind of it and Pelvic Joann was across the table of it. The two hanging heaters only helped the tables they were above. Those were the prime seats. The moveable heaters were not on.

In their fairness we didn’t ask about why. Eventually (as we neared the end of dinner) one was turned on and brought over to us. I sat with my hoodie on and up. The ladies took advantage of the blankets.
They were the cause of the post. I mean the blankets not the ladies. Dinner consisted of delicious meatloaf (kat), coffee braised steak (me) and the bone smoker platter (hahaha) for Pelvy. They had bread pudding for dessert.

During the meal some woman sat at the prime table in front of the fireplace AND under a heater. They eventually left and were replaced by some raucous men probably in their 50’s. I made eye contact (my face and beard clearly showing) several times. They were fans of really bad jokes and ribbing one another with even worse jokes.

As we left the ladies left the blankets on their chair. One dude tried to stop them I think. I vaguely remember hearing “hey” as I made it to their table. My front was facing them before turning my back to scoot between their table and the fireplace. My hoodie still up and my hair tucked into it. I get this tug on my arm.

“Miss. I think you ladies left some…oh never mind.”

I turned to face him at this point. Now either he noticed the blankets weren’t ours or that I had a beard and was clearly not a lady. I kept going and he turned back to his table of mid life crisesers.


Excuse me maam: Game time

November 1, 2010

First go check out the latest Monday’s Maniac over at The B Movie Brigade.

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Yep. I get called “miss”, “maam” or “her/she” so often that I’ve turned it into a reoccurring segment here. Hooray for easy peasy posts to bore you with. Because if jimi is one thing she’s lazy

Damn. I mean he. Crap. Moving on.

The Cheap Seats is littered with posts about being called a girl. Sift through em if you like.
No? Yeah I feel ya, I was too lazy to get em for you too. Oh well. Hooray lazy. What was the point of this again? I mean other than me wanting to make a stick figure have my head on it.

(Horribly done by the way) Oh there he goes with the parenthesis again. What are those suppose to be an aside or something?

Notice the prominent beard?

Don’t worry nobody else does either. The Rizza, the pole smoker and yours truly had just walked into the crowded lobby area of the Q. She (The Rizza) went off to the “you have a purse so need to be checked out line. We being men went to the quick lanes.

A side note: The Q (Quicken Loans Arena—where the Cavs, Monsters and Gladiators play) and its staff appear to enjoy holding me up. Almost every single time (or actually whenever I attend with the Rizza) they’ve found another reason to slow me down. The pens in my pocket, my belt buckle, a notebook and etc etc.

This night was no different. In terms of holding us up I mean. I walked self assuredly (but with a manly brisk walk!) to the ticket scanner.

“Good evening my dear.” Ticket in one hand pointed at the scanner and keys in my other hand for the security to see as I pass through the detector. I left all pens and belt buckles at home. Success!

Scan.
Blrrrrrp.
Scan.
Blrrrp.
“Hmm.” She pulls the ticket into her hand. Scan.
Blrrrrp.
Scan some more.

“I knew I should have brought my personal ticket scanner.” Flash my hairy smile. Her face does not brighten however. “Damnit Jimi did you flash the grimace again instead of the smile?” I thought as she pointed over to the side.

“I’m going to need you to stand off to the side over there sir.” And then she was already on to the next customer.

Soon a squirrely looking guy walked over to her and she talked to him and pointed over at me. “Could you see him please sir.”

“For you anything.” I walked over. He smiled. I smiled (perhaps grimaced?) and the dance began. He took the ticket. He used his big boss ticket scanning scanner and of course our old buddy

Blrrrrp.

Yeah, so he looked at the ticket some more. He scanned it again. Nothing but blrrrp. He looked up into my face and presumably my hypnotizing dark brown eyes. He chuckled.

“HMMM.” A stronger version of their go to answer. He read the ticket and then ripped the bottom part of and handed it back to me.

“Well okay that was fun.”

He looked up at me from the scanner and then tapped “Florence” which is probably not her name but I don’t really care.

“Okay you can go on and let her through now. She’s good to go.”

I tugged my beard once. I tugged a second time. He stood there. She stood there. “Well thank you Flo.” I said as I passed through her line one last time.


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