Latitudinarianism

Best weird question of the day: An elderly man whose wife is in the hospital for dental work asked for the definition of this word. He'd written it in all-capitals, red ballpoint pen, on the top wide line of an index card.

We consulted the OED--M-W.com says with greater brevity than those Brits that it means "a person who is broad and liberal in standards of religious belief and conduct"--and printed out a sheet of paper in 16-point type with the definitions. He said he couldn't work a computer.

It was, perhaps, sort of a "Harvey Pekar experience."

My Halloween weekend was uneventful. I may be one of the laziest asses in the world, but I managed to both bleach-mop the shitty basement and help clean Kevin's house. That was a blast. Oh, wait, no, it wasn't, but it is kind of nice to not step in shit when I venture downstairs to get something or have it smell awful everywhere. I mean, really, I shouldn't have had to do that--but the landlord is a useless prick. We'd be waiting forever for him to clean the fucking thing, so I cleaned it enough and we're fucking moving.

Speaking of which, pickings are slim. There are a few ads we should reply to for places that might be nice. This sucks immensely.

Halloween I went to see the matinee of Bubba Ho-Tep with Kevin. He said we should sneak in candy, a first for him. I had chocolate and he had jelly beans. The movie was amusing, definitely, and good Halloween fare. We had some kind of dinner I made up in a pinch and wasn't too excited about, then rented movies. I was exhausted and falling asleep by 10 p.m., watching Jerry Seinfeld's I'm Telling You For The Last Time.

Saturday was sort of our anniversary. I'm not one to count these things, but he moved here on Nov. 1 last year, so I'd say that's the definitive, official beginning of the relationship. Of course there were precursors, but the whole moving-from-California-to-Seattle thing made it stick. It ceased to be crush-from-afar territory. I could go sleep at his house and take the bus home. Anyway, we got together for a late Indian buffet lunch, and later went to see Beulah at Graceland.

I didn't care for the club. The tickets said 8 p.m.--a reasonable assumption is 8 is doors, show at 9. We weren't especially keen to see the first act, Jen Wood, so we made it there closer to 10. Which happened to be just when Jen Wood was starting. Beulah was scheduled to go on at 11:45. Now, I normally go to bed around 11. I woke up at 6:30 that morning, for no reason. 11:45? Is late. Anyway, we enjoyed the show up until probably halfway through Beulah's set, at which point I was so completely exhausted I couldn't stand anymore, so we left.

That night, I stayed at Kevin's so I could be a nag of action in the morning and try to help him clean. (His house is, seriously, so unkempt that I don't like to go there. Usually messiness does not deter me to such an extreme, and I feel bad for being naggy, but seriously, it's bad.) I woke up much earlier than him, however, and hung out at the coffee shop at the end of the block for a bit, then came back and spent 20 minutes convincing him to let me clean his bathroom. He was troubled because he should clean it, which he should, but he hasn't, and I'm offering, so let me. How fucked up is it that I had to argue with my boyfriend to clean his fucking bathroom? I'm guessing very. So I cleaned the bathroom a bunch, then started to go around and pick up obvious trash and sort recycling, which was found in piles all over the house.

I spent a good three solid hours cleaning before I was exhausted and it was clear there was little else I could effectively do. He was helping at this point, too. I walked to Taco del Mar and got us vegan burritos. After we ate, he took me home.

My housemates and I have been playing a fun game of Let's Buy Bags of Fun Size Halloween Candy Bars To Share. Josie first bought Three Musketeers, most of which found themselves in Chris's mouth. Chris then bought Almond Joys--split between himself and Lauren--and Nutrageous, which I consumed in mass quantities. Sunday I decided to share Peanut Butter Cups with the house, so I headed out to Safeway for some post-Halloween discounts.

At Safeway, my time for Encounter with a Dweeb had arrived.

I grabbed the PBCs, a half-gallon of Dreyer's Light that was on sale for $3 and has the additional benefit of being delicious, and a loaf of Essential Bakery Rosemary Diamante and got in the slowest line in the world. The guy in front of me commented, "Good thing we're in the Express Lane, huh?" I responded in the affirmative. After an awkward pause, the weird thing began.

The guy did that thing where you scope out the contents of the other person's basket. I mean, most people do this on a regular basis, but surreptitiously and without the intent of using information from said scopage to make conversation. This guy did it to make conversation. He did it to hit on me like a big dweeb.

"Chocolate fudge, huh?" he asked, referring to my ice cream.

Oh, shit. I did my best to avoid eye contact. "Uh, yeah, it's pretty good for being light."

"Oh, it's light, huh?" he replied.

I let the conversation fade into oblivion for a moment. Then I got stupid.

"I don't know why I even come here. It's always like this."

"Maybe it's for the people you meet," he said. Oh, like that wasn't fucking pointed or anything.

I tried to diffuse the situation by bringing up crazy people. "I don't know, a lot of crazy people are around here. My housemate always runs into them. He has the best crazy people stories."

"Maybe you should make some up," he suggested.

"Uh, no. One time a lady tried to hit him with a pay phone. Not at the pay phone, with the pay phone. I can't beat that."

"Oh, ha ha," he said.

The line moved forward. People used the space between us to move carts, for which I was grateful. Then it was his turn.

After he paid, he waited at the end of the checker stand and rifled through his bags. I hate it when people hover there. Even worse is when they hover in front of the card reader so you can't do your business, so at least he wasn't doing that. I punched in my number and slid my card, not looking to my right at all.

Then the man wants cigarettes.

I should point out that I'm a little paranoid he was in part attracted to me because I smelled like cigarettes at the time. I was wearing a jacket and scarf that had accompanied me to Graceland, where they soaked up all kinds of second-hand smoke. (Side rant: You can talk about smokers' rights all you want, and I think you have a point, but at the same time, I know a lot of nonsmokers who don't like going out to things like shows--so not like a bar where you can "choose" a non-smoky one or whatever--partially because their clothes will fucking reek afterwards.) So I'm afraid he wants to make conversation with me over his damn cigarettes.

And the checker goes to get him a pack while I'm waiting for him to press a fucking button to complete my transaction. I could have smacked the idiot.

Anyway, after that, I high-tailed it out of there.

Join us next time, for more tales of woe and bitchy Whole Foods sales clerks!