Good Days

I love good days.

I figure if I call them as soon as they are recognizable, you know like put it down in writing or tell enough people, it will be harder (hopefully nearly impossible) to ruin them.

I'm having a good day.

I just spent too much money at Gap, but the amount I saved outweighs all of that. New clothes are usually part of a good day. But a crazy African made it better.

Setting: Chinatown Metro Station...boarding Greenbelt. This 6-4, 270 lb, salt and pepper, ebony man is nearly screaming (you know the African-loud, not yelling, just loud) in the girl's face about the wonders of real estate. It's obvious doesn't know her. Typical D.C. Bizzare as Hell.

He ends up in my car and I'm crossing my fingers that I'm not the next target of his lectures. I luck out, this young black guy with a shaven head gets the blessing. Whew.

"I am African. Can't you tell?" he starts out. He holding on to the poll, standing. The train hasn't even left the station yet but he was born to have this conversation.

"I am old, 61" he said. His hair looks like snow on black wool. It's beautiful. "I am a LION!"

I'm a lion, too.

"I came to buy America!" I crack a smile. He's serious.

"So son, Baracko, tell me what you think about Baracko." The younger man is paying attention, but the African man doesn't give him any time to respond if he wanted to. His own mention of Obama got him too riled up. I love Baracko, too.

"AH-MER-EEE-CAAAAAAHHHHH, I LOVE YOU!!" He says it from his belly, where it really counts.

I'm cracking up, and I'm not the only one. Some hard asses are keeping straight faces like this cat is annoying them. There is nothing annoying about him though. He's refreshing. I should go around screaming how much I love this damn country too. I do love it, afterall.
"Does anyone have the time? The time, anyone?" is his next inquiry. I think he'll finally let someone respond. I hope someone responds.

"It's 2:48," yells out one girl.

"Your sister, or girlfriend, is beautiful," he said, referring to the young woman sitting next to her. "She can come back to Kenya with me, if she ever wants to go for free." El Oh El. This chick is 1/3 his age...and he's semi-serious.

Too bad it was time for me to get off. I picked up my oversized Gap bag and stepped off, reluctantly. Those were the best two metro stops of my life.

I love D.C.

The Very First Taste...

So I've decided that I'm going to stop procrastinating on this whole blogging thing. 

I've been thinking about what I would write about in one for like two years and at some point (this point) I have to say "You know what Traver, you're a chicken. Just jump in." So I'm jumping.

Busy day today, probably shouldn't be surfing the web or on Fbook, but I'm doing both. I saw that two of my friends on Fbook had become fans of BANANA IN PYJAMAS (misspelled on purpose...I guess it's the European version...they get everything late). But yeah, checked out the theme song on YouTube and happened to stumble across this...

I like to credit this programming for why I'm so smart today, no joke. Ah, the memories. Barney ( I was going to be one of those dancing/singing kids...I knew if I tried out I would make it, I was so much cuter than those kids on TV) Lamb Chop's Play Along (ask me where I learned you can only fold a piece of paper 8 times) and OH The Magic School Bus (shrinking down to take a journey up a human nose, I was there.) 

Anywho, the dry cleaners is calling me. (The $50.51 bill, not so much.) But the job fair is tomorrow and I guess not only pain, but money also, is beauty... something like that. PEACE!