10/20-- Uncle Sam Is A Mean Jerk Who Hates Me.

There are often people trying to press some kind of paper into your hands as you exit any DC-area Metro station -- slick brochures from people campaigning for office; cheap flyers from Metro officials wanting you to answer endless surveys; Moonie pamphlets decrying casual sex and extolling the holy fun and wonder of marriage to complete strangers.

I usually jam my hands as far into my pockets as they'll go (or, in the absence of an available pocket, ball them up tightly by my sides) and scowl at the ground as I pass these people. I don't want their junk mail. Whatever they're pushing, I'm not interested.

But tonight at East Falls Church, there was a guy dressed like Uncle Sam standing by the gate passing out what looked like business cards.

He didn't look like a particularly noble or reassuring Uncle Sam, I must say. He had a sallow smoker's complexion, stringy brown hair and a straggly moustache instead of the standard snowy hair and whiskers and rosy cheeks.

(Wait a minute ... I think I've got Uncle Sam and Santa Claus confused. Maybe.)

Perhaps because my brain had been reduced to a semi-solid mush thanks to the utter boredom and tedium that was this week at work, I actually had some interest in what Uncle Sam was passing out to people.

What did Uncle Sam do when I passed by and glanced at him? He bugged his big frog eyes out at me in a most unfriendly way. And he didn't give me a card -- he made a show of looking down and shuffling through his cards as if they needed to be put in order right that second, as if they weren't all the same anyhow. He gave cards to other passersby. But me? Nope. Some dork wearing an Uncle Sam costume in public had just judged me not cool enough to be given his message.

Great. The day started off with a subway train breaking down right at my station, and ended with me being snubbed by a fucking tool wearing a monumentally stupid costume at the Metro. My life, and welcome to it.

(On top of that, I actually had my camera with me at the time but didn't think to take a picture of the moron until it was too late.)

Oh well.

On Thursday night, someone had spilled a random pile of clothing on the curb near my bus stop. On Friday morning, I came prepared with my trusty camera. For some reason, I found this sight fascinating.

pile of clothes on the sidewalkThe pile consisted mostly of old shirts with a couple of old worn-out purses, one pair of battered red heels, and one very dirty white shoe adding variety. I had all kinds of stories bouncing around in my head about this one. Wronged man tossing unfaithful lover's belongings to the curb? But the presence of a little baby sandal threw a wrench into that. Half-assed eviction? A suitcase flying off someone's car?

This pile was pretty close to a dumpster so I'm guessing the real story was probably more along the lines of "Ignorant ass too goddamn lazy to bag up their junk and dispose of it like a civilized human being."

Oh well. Enough complaining. Today my friend Dan pointed me in the direction of the Habbo Hotel, a neat little chat application running with Shockwave. I had to download a Shockwave player and the "hotel rooms" take a long time to load when you first visit them. But once I'd gotten that taken care of, it entertained me. (Especially the Habbo Hotel profanity filter. You can't say badwords, not even in a private room, and the program substitutes "bobba" for any cuss word you spew out. After a beer or two, I found the many uses of "bobba" absolutely hilarious. "Oh bobba! I got bumped offline." "That's a bunch of bull bobba." I dunno. Had to be there, I guess.)

I'm Insomnicole, if you should stop by the hotel.

We're talking about AIM, why we suck (a popular topic this week), and how totally sick and nasty it is that Flick (the tongue-on-the-flagpole kid from "A Christmas Story") is now a porn star. Join us.

The next entry.

Previously, in Insomniaville ...

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