Last night, after dancing like I'd had years of training at a local club, I left and hung out in front of the pizza place next door with a few friends.
In my peripheral I noticed something that immediately made me do a double take, a drunk girl who had probably just left the club was leaned up against the side of a building making out with a homeless man!
Let me get this straight, in the club when she's dancing with dudes her friends were probably grabbing her to go to the bathroom or to the other side of the club, but when she's outside making out with a homeless man her friends are nowhere to be found. Her friends may have saved her from going home with that guy wearing the rolex, but luckily for the homeless guy they seem to have disappeared after the club shut down.
I know what you're thinking, "How do you know he was homeless?", believe me...this guy was wearing like 6 coats and a backpack, he was homeless.
Talk about waking up hungover with regrets, and where would she wake up? (market street) Unless of course she invited the homeless guy back to her house, and if she still lives with daddy I bet that was an awkward morning.
I remember a time when I was with a friend of mine, we were talking about different fitness plans and ways to get that "beach body" for the occasions when we find ourselves placed on the "skins" team, invited to pool parties, or near a high school (just kidding).
A funny thing happened as we were talking about different exercise plans, suddenly a fat guy turns as if our conversation found it's way into his ear, and he starts giving us fitness tips.
"Man you gotta do some squats"
Ok guy.
I'm a polite guy so I just nodded along with a half smile on my face and took his advice, and I'm not downplaying the value of squats, but sometimes if you aren't in a position to be giving advice on something, don't do it. I'm not going to give somebody advice on navigating through the rain forest because I've never done it, nor will I give advice on the perfect baby shower gifts. I will, however, give advice on how to be a "Badass Mother F*cker" (step 1: wear tan socks).
I believe that a person can know a lot about something without necessarily doing it (that fancy book learnin'), but nobody wants to take fitness tips from a fat guy, even if he wrote the manual.
Now let me tell you what it's like to be Guatemalan...
Today I decided to drive to a delicious Mexican restaurant to have a nice meal by myself (independent woman: the man edition). As I left the restaurant I turned left and was walking a few feet behind an obviously crazy homeless old man (derelicte chic).
Suddenly this homeless man turns around looking in my general direction and yells "I DON'T HAVE TO FUCKIN' LISTEN TO YOU AND I'M NOT GONNA TAKE ANOTHER SHIT TWICE!!"
Instinct took over and I sidestepped to the right and kept walking at a slightly faster pace, as if I was passing and putting distance between myself and a drunk driver on the highway. As I was walking I could hear him still yelling at whoever else was walking behind him including little 8 year old tourists from Mexico (or maybe he was yelling at the voices).
This transaction of "crazy talk" made me think of all the other times I've seen the homeless sitting on the street talking crazy to themselves, are they homeless because they're so crazy or are they crazy because they're so homeless?
I remember one time a friend and I were driving downtown, we stopped at a light and spotted a homeless man sitting to the right of us without any shoes, so we decided to give him the old pair of shoes that were sitting in the back seat of my friend's car (philanthropists we are). My friend tell's me to open my window and give them to him, so I roll down my window and yell "hey!" while I wiggle the box of shoes outside of his window.
The homeless man stops picking his belly button and perks up and begins to try to get up (he was fat), suddenly a homeless female comes out of nowhere (doing the crackhead chest itch) with a big smile on her face nodding her head up and down as if to say "F*ck yeah I'll take those shoes".
Meanwhile my friend yells "dude throw 'em, don't attract all of them to the car, they'll be touchin' you and shit!" (Don't let 'um put the stank on ya)
The light turns green, I throw the box of shoes onto the sidewalk, and we speed off toward the highway entrance. I could see him out of the rear window of the car grabbing the box of shoes and looking inside, hopefully they made his quality of life significantly better. I just hope he didn't trade the shoes to the crackhead for a blowjob.
Last night, after dancing like I'd had years of training at a local club, I left and hung out in front of the pizza place next door with a few friends. 
