It's been a strange day here in Towson, which is a small northern Baltimore-area suburb where my office is located. Towson is... vanilla. Very vanilla. And, to make things more bland, I work in the legal/financial district of Towson, which means it's nothing but banks, lawyers, the county courthouse complex, and the publishing company I work for. (Yeah I just ended a sentence with a preposition - deal.) Nothing very exciting happens in this part of Towson except for the street in front of my office building being dug up, replaced, dug up and replaced again, which is currently happening (our ARRA funds fast at work). This morning before the ripe old hour of 8am, I'm walking by the perpetual roadway construction when I get cat called, but it's not what you might expect. The voice was dainty and pleasant but direct. I had been cat called by a petite thugged out lesbian with a facial tattoo, and the construction workers just couldn't stop giggling. "I still got it," I thought. I've been cat called a lot in my life, but never by a woman. I've been hit on by women before too, but this is the first time a woman has gone the route of a cat call with me, and I simply found it fascinating. I think the construction workers did too.
Then late this afternoon I took a walk down to The Health Concern to pick up some ingredients to make my own solid perfume this weekend, and I see this:
This decomposing rat with a grave marker was given more than a passing thought. I love little things like this. I like it when my expectations are challenged. Towson, today you added some Cap'n Crunch to my vanilla soft serve, and I thank you for it.