"I don't understand a word you're saying, bastard!"

A bizarro, bizarro weekend behind me. Well, technically there are thirteen more minutes left of it ahead of me, but as I don't intend to move a goddamn inch, I consider it a done deal. I attribute the whole atmosphere to the Being John Malkovich movie I watched with Talmadge on Friday. The secretary in the movie does not understand a single word of anything spoken at her and claims everybody has a serious speech impediment. It must be catchy, for that's how I felt from then on. Confusion all round all weekend, for no good reason
The first and most significant show of this fascinating phenomenon appeared at the Trader Joe's. Shopping merrily away with the very same Talmadge, someone snagged her full shopping cart while she wasn't looking. Not to be found again, we made rounds all over again. I had the strangest encounter at the checkout. Two plain American, accent-less shop assistants were scanning and bagging my produce, attempting a jovial conversation. I didn't catch the first sentence. Didn't hear the second sentence. Didn't understand the third sentence. It was all jibberish. "I don't understand a word you're saying, bastard!," I wanted to yell at them all frustrated. Finally I understood one sentence, as the cashier was scanning a cantaloupe. "You could sure use a cantaloupe, Miss!" said the bagger. Uh, well, did not quite get where he was going with it, but I was very grateful to hear meaningful words. I smiled the best I could, looking around furiously for Talmadge to come save me. Girl behind me suddenly drops her shopping basket and runs after some older gentleman. She returnes in a minute or two all flustered: "That was Jim Shearman!" OK, that's wonderful, should I know him? "I thought he was dead for over a year! I read an obituary and all that, there was a wake for him at work - I worked with him!" .... awkward silence.... "Must have been Jim Searman than that died. I have to call everyone again!" Well, I stumbled the hell out of there.
On the way home I get a call from my ex. Haven't spoken to him 'live' since July, when I packed my bags and moved out. He has bought new wheels for my bicycle as a token of gratitude for all my hard work I put into his house last year (nothing major, just painting, redoing kitchen and bathroom from scratch, and turning a dump uncared for for over ten years into a beautiful garden). He is coming over to install the wheels. Interesting stuff. He has this amusing habbit of surprising me with random items - either stuff I left behind, or a new CD, or tomatoes I planted in now his garden - left in front of my door, no note, no nothing. Doesn't surprise me as I know him like my old socks (and believe you me, we Eastern Europeans are very clingy to our old socks and know them far better that we should), but it surely puzzled my roommates a great deal. But anyway, I prepare mentally for the Grand Meeting. It goes way better than I expected. A bit of awkwardness and nervousness, but generally a lighthearted, even fun time working on the bike. There was one worthwhile, even precious moment to cherish forever and ever amen. As I was crouching down putting the tire on the wheel frame or whatnot I remembered he had a recent surgery in his nose. Deviated Septum. The cause of Constant Sniffling that, I admit, drove me absolutely beserk at times. They had to break the bones inside and all, sounded painful. So I ask about it, he tells me how it went. Next thing you know I am gazing up his nostrils to see the sawn-in plastic splints. I can't see anything, I have to get real close and stare inside with all my might. How beautifully bizarre. My heartiest recommendation for all reconciliation meetings: peer up each other's noses! Endless fun, a solid ice-breaker, guaranteed!
In any case we survived, bicycle survived, roommates survived. Some plants were harmed in the process, but they were rightfully restored to their owner. Himself planted two packs (herds? clumps? batches?) of red flowers in the front lawn of the ex-house recently. Sometime this morning he sees this red flash on the street. A woman walking with two clumps of red flowers down the road... He looks out the window and sure enough... his red flowers are gone! He puts on shoes hastily and chases the woman down, confronting her face to face about them. "Oh, I didn't realize they were yours! Francis from upstairs told me I can come pick them up if I want to." No Francis lives in the house. He contemplates for a second or two if he should make the thief lady plant the flowers back, but contends with snatching them away, which prompts the woman to flee the crime scene. Strange world out there today, I tell you.
In the evening I go outing with Kris. Shays, as usual. Our favorite dive bar. Music is not particularly loud, but I don't understand a word she's saying! At least she's not a bastard. Two men sitting outside suddenly engage in a lengthy sit-down fist fight, nearly pushing the window in. They stare at each other from an inch distance, hurling insults every which way. We all watch, astonished. They never stood up for even just a second. As such fights go, they ended up in a brotherly embrace sipping beer together.
Today we ventured with Jina to find a cafe where we could work for awhile, as neither of us is capable to work if left to ourselves at home. After much circling only to find each and every cafe full to the brim we settle on Dado Tea in Central Square. Freaks and nerds, but interesting tea and coffee. Though interesting is not always good. I promise to never be adventurous when it comes to coffee again, ginger coffee is just a bad idea. We worked close to one full hour before they shut down. Most of it we listened to a woman with a real speech impediment talk loudly about her mother, who is dirt poor, a Jehova's witness, Menonite, Moonist, and god knows what else. I feel very safe back at work where nothing odd or harmful can come my way in my little corner. Now that this weekend is officially over I hope the constellation of stars will change favorably so that the curse of writer's block, beyond wild procrastination, and utter confusion and weirdness are all beasts of the past. And speak clearly. For I don't understand a word you're saying, bastard!