Friends, Pictures and Hobos, Oh My (UPDATED: The People Have Spoken; Bring On The Hobo Picture!)

Last night, I had dinner with my dear friend, Collette.* Collette and I have been friends since our senior year of college, and she is absolutely one of the funniest people I know, in addition to being an amazing friend. She is also one of the only people in the world who actually appreciates the brilliance of this. Oh, and she's beautiful.) Therefore, please indulge my backstory: Collette was friends with my roommate, and upon coming to visit said roommate one night early in the year, the two of them launched into the most heart-wrenching duet of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” that I’d ever heard, before or since. For that, I immediately loved her, but it was not until we wound up in the same literature thesis class that we became friends. You know how people have war buddies? Well, Collette and I went through a war, of sorts. You see, our professor…huh. Hmm. How do I put this? At the risk of sounding indelicate, I’ll express our problem with our professor through my world-reknowned acrostic poetry, as I am wont to do: She was…not young, and had A very large problem, and Given that I am nothing if not a refined lady, God forbid I actually specify to You what, exactly, it was! Basically, it was established in our class that One would do well to look the Other way when she Beckoned for you to See her, on Account of the…view. Nobody escaped the wrath of her chestal region Death Star-like, it pulled us in.** Need I mention that Our collective minds were forever scarred? Her Blouses were always Really low cut, too. And loose. Ew. ~Fin~ And so it was that Collette and I bonded over our mutual desire to barf every time our professor leaned forward. That led to actually discussing our coursework (NERDS!), which subsequently evolved into a real friendship, and a standing date with a few of our other friends at this bar almost every Tuesday night throughout senior year. We've kept in close contact since then, and used to get together at least once a month, but lately, it’s been more difficult to find the time. Determined to remedy that, we made plans to get together last night. I arrived a few minutes early at the restaurant, and waited for Collette outside. This proved to be a most fortuitous decision on my part. You know how I have a tendency to attract hobos? And yet, I can never back up my stories with any sort of photographic evidence? Well, that changes today, people. (Maybe. Read on:) As I waited for Collette, a hobo in a wheelchair rolled by me with a sign reading “Homeless and disabled! Please! HELP!!!!!" (In the interest of full disclosure, I couldn’t count the actual number of exclamation points, but suffice it to say that they were plentiful.) He glared at me, and in a wholly unexpected turn of events, did not hand me a Jesus card, ask me if he could pet my coat, or tell me that I am “the sexy”. No, he simply staked out a spot on the street corner. As each woman passed, he would shout either “Ho!” or “Mary!” I don't know upon what criteria he based his determinations, but watching it was like seeing a really insulting grown-up version of “Duck, Duck, Goose” (entitled, of couse, “Ho, Ho, Mary”). Tiring of this activity, the hobo looked around, and got up from his wheelchair. (Faker!) And proceeded to whip out his hobo man junk. And pee. Publicly. In broad daylight. He was very (pardon the expression) ballsy about it, too, purposely choosing to get up and go when there was a red light, and the stopped cars would have to see him. Don’t believe me? Well, I did take a picture of him in action (don't worry; it's from behind. and you can't see anything objectionable), but I hesitate to post it, lest you all think it mean of me to do so. Let me know what you think, and that will determine whether or not I post this most classy of pictures. The power is in your hands! UPDATE: The vast majority of you have expressed your wish to see the peein' hobo. Per your request: Collette arrived shortly thereafter, and we had a lovely time, which only served to remind me how much I adore hanging out with her. The one thing we neglected to discuss, Collette, was our unending debate as to which Manning brother reigns supreme. (Suck it, Eli!) Put it on our dinner agenda for next time! (Oh, yes. We have agendas. We’re relaxed and laid-back like that. It started out as a joke, but now? Not so much.) ********** Finally, you guys rocked with your shorts-suit advice. I love you. I think I will buy the suit, and if nothing else, just wear the pieces separately. Also? Thank you for your sweet comments on Toopweets. He really does smile most of the time. The following picture, however, represents those rare occasions when he does not: Because I can’t leave you with that, here he is, dressed up at Turtle from Entourage. I have no excuse or explanation, other than that it was raining, and I was bored. * Not her real name. It is the name she supplies when she’s out, and annoying men (who I imagine look like this) approach her, and will not go away: ** Is that an accurate analogy? I’ve never seen Star Wars, so I’m just guessing here.