Left to my own devices....

It was pouring rain in Los Angeles over the last two months. This is big out here as we have no other noticeable weather phenomena for the other ten in Southern California. We have varying degrees of temperature and separation from Kevin Bacon but the rest of the time is spent with out incident. I don't mean to ignore mudslides, Santa Ana winds and wildfires but we don't have the show the rest of the nation gets treated to daily. We have to take what we get. And we really don't take it too well.

This is the land of the pampered where the dog groomer will come to your doghouse, the spray tanner will come to you in this land of sunshine. You can find sushi in kosher grocery stores, and a valet attendant for ANYTHING. People are spoiled out here and when thrown a curve, they swerve. Rain will for all intensive purposes, shut the state down. A brief shower can cause freeway wide nightmares and lengthy showers will clear Trader Joans of milk, flat bread, tofu and cheap wine. Days of rain may as well be an extra horseman for the Apocalypse. Appointments will be late, sinkholes will swallow firetrucks and the news will have reason for program interruptions. This is great for any fallen congressman with a scandal or war far away from here, the rain will take full attention. It even has taken away from Super Bowl joire as people will now have to plan out the route to the party and scavenging for supplies for the buffet. So much extra work to do! Somebody post for assistants for rain survival on Craigslist.

Being from New England the rain doesn't bother me. Having had a 4 x 4 pickup for years, nothing was ever out of reach due to a storm. Me and the post office fear no rain sleet snow or dark of night and no evil shall escape my sight.. (is this the Green Lantern Oath? I get confused) I will not be deterred when I want Red Snapper or Red Stripe. I'm less fool hardy now driving a smaller car and keep that in mind as I charge potholes and swerve wreckage. I'm less fool hardy as I am forty and well aware of my surroundings. I'm less fool hardy as I am a damn fool. Superbowl Sunday necessitated something from the store and so Mick and I embarked on a mission of errands and then to the grocery. We had a plan and confidence. Out in to the great wet yonder.

We dodged the river running south on Coldwater, the cove that was happening at Riverside. We admired the torrent of the LA River and the speed that aqua duct carries it's load. We avoided incident and pulled into the market's parkette. On my 40th BDay Xtravaganza Sista Sal and I ventured to Target to buy 'Mamma Mia' and have an old fashioned night at home consisting of movie, wine and pasta. At Target I found the largest, switch activated rainbowy umbrella ever known to man or 'Mo'. This thing was so gay it was floating. It would transform the average human into a Fairy Poppins. This thing made 'Yes On Prop 8' r's run for fear of being clubbed. A club-a-dub-dub, I dubbed it the Big Gay Umbrella. Of course it was at home. Having left the BGU at the apartment I needed something to keep the polluted water falling from the sky off my pours. I don the green grocery bag on my head as a rain bonnet to charge to Good Rafaels. There are varying degrees of our grocery chain out here; Bad, Good, Average, Ghetto and Rock n Roll, but this is topic for another blog, another time. I make caricatures out of the bag to amuse Mick, and passers by. I pull off the bag to shop, he parts to retrieve his part of the List. We are to rendezvous at the Fish Counter at 0-Wheneverhundred hours.

I charge the aisles with my Ma's shopping stride. Swift, alert and effective I navigate the aisles, wishing fellow shoppers a "Good Day" or nodding to suggest, "The rain will leave soon, chin up". I do this with my eyebrows as well. I bob. I weave. I collect. My basket mostly full I find the Seafood Counter and recognize the attendant from Average Rafaels working today. The ladies in front of the case are displeased with my bravado and greeting. They shirk from my swagger, avoid eye contact and jockey their carts around the shiny glass display of fish. Methinks them a bit too.....under the weather, and continue my conversation letting him know he was missed at his regular store, and how the kids replacing him could care less. He smiled, went back to work thanking me. I queried where was the happy lady that was denied retirement from the company as she was such an asset that usually worked here. He quickly met these and all other small talk questions that he normally would feed off. I wondered if he was particularly busy today, I mean it was Super Bowl. But there were only three others at the counter waiting, each looking downward or away dreamily. My buddy didn't feel up to chat. No matter. We'll be home soon, dinner cooking, feet up, dry and clean.

"There you are." Mick bounds up to me at counter. "Look at me," he says. I turn my head saying, "Why?" His eyes go BIG onto my forehead, reaches and removes a plastic bread tie that had been pinched onto my forehead like a fawn's horn. Like a skate punks' hoop piercing their eyebrow this small flat pack-manager was adorning my countenance. What am I a N'avi warrior from Avatar? I had just moved through the store with similar energy and will admit that the image had crossed my mind. I had....just...moved...through...the...entire....store....with...this....on....my....head. The realization sets my internal bread bag spinning open. My surprise spills out like a waterfall. I grab my order, thank my friend and hurry to the checkout. Damn this Good Rafaels doesn't have the self-check out like Mystery Rafaels, Or Average. I'll have to see more of my watchers in line. Fie to me. Mickey is hilarious at this point and can't even look at me. If this was something I'd been unaccustomed to I might have been offended. He can't even breathe and asks, what happens when I'm by my self out in the big world. Do I have spatulas in my pockets, slippers on my feet or stickers on my elbows. He searches me for a bar code. I have one code in a bar, tip well.

The humor claims me, like a suitcase off a conveyor belt (y'know that stuff is tagged too!) We exit and are the object of stares, the laughter cited this time. I am a damn fool. I am the woman in the restaurant with the toilet paper out the back of her skirt like a tail. I am the elderly driver with their raincoat belt hanging out the car door. Hold the bread tag. Actually, I am this fool. This past Thanksgiving I trod Bad Rafaels with my bird going aisle to aisle before checkout. All the while the loudspeaker asking the patrons to "please check their carts as something is leaking from their purchases. The loudspeaker repeated this instruction several times. Low and behold I found my turkey to be......dripping....when I lift it up at checkout and the clerk looked over her glasses just enough to intimate, "asshole. It was you." I am Mr Magoo in training. I can even do Jim Bacchus voice for the cartoon if we want to remake the cartoon. Cast me. I'm crabby. Left to my own devices, I seem to be the stuff of humor, I'd say butt of jokes but as a gay man this is misleading. I am hysterical en route to the car, laughing so hard the rain isn't even noticed. In the car, we both cry and I look at the mirror making sure I'm not permanently scarred. I need to share this with another individual who is capable of such luck. Someone who will sympathize. Someone that more than likely will start mailing me one of these a month for the rest of my life. I pick up the cell phone and call Sista Sal. "Sal, you are not going to believe what I just did." I really do set myself up for these things (success).

(la rain pix courtesy of treehugger)

(breadtag pix courtesy spiderhoo)