The One Where the Streetwalker Initiates Conversation at the Birdcage

Why is it that animals make women into crazy things with vaginas? Be it cats, or dogs, or more exotic pets like snakes, turtles and birds… they have this affect on women that renders them one of three things: 1. catatonic, 2. retarded or 3. both.

Today, while I was writing down the finer details of the Single Guy’s Guide to Kiev, I thought that it would be a nice change of scenery to go sit downstairs in the lobby. That way I could make inappropriate gestures to front desk girl while she’s actually doing work and not playing tilt-a-whirl with my Johnson.

Gay Lars was there too — and now that we are all witnesses, we have moved beyond the sophomoric jokes and awkward laughs. Team RCA (reverse cowgir…) is in full effect. And we have spent much of a last day being as covertly inappropriate about the act. Nobody has caught on just yet. Which has made it funnier.

But today, the lobby has an added flavor to it — something I didn’t notice upon arrival: birds. Three of them. Cool fucking birds. An orange one, lime green one and robin-looking thing. They kind of just chill and eat lettuce and poop and whatnot — but they are pretty cool nonetheless. They warble about a bit — but are genuinely mild-mannered. Just doing whatever it is captive birds do. Hanging out like a fucking bosses.

Well anyway, as I am down there I notice an old, disheveled woman come walking in. Remember back when nobody knew Susan Boyle could sing and she was just the Pigeon Lady from Home Alone 2? This lady looked like her. Looked like she owned herself a bag or two. She’s the bag lady, no doubt about it, because she’s carrying three with her as I watch her traverse the lobby. She goes to the birds and starts baby-talking with them.

She’s obviously a rendered-retard in the presence of animals. Now I don’t speak Latvian some I’m completely guessing but she stands in front of them, feeding them lettuce and seeds, all the while talking:

[rough translation]

Hello pretty birds… how are you today… oh don’t be too shy… shy, hush, i-u-i… kajagoogoo booboo doodoo… sing for me, pretty birds… yes, yes… such pretty birds… would you like the crazy food that is in my crazy bag that came out of my crazy pocket??? oh you don’t??? well I’m going to feed it to you anyway… such pretty birds… [harmonizing] sing with me, sing for the years, sing for the laughter, sing it for my tears… pretty birds… eating lettuce and seeds.

Then crazy she just crazy leaves out of the crazy door, onto the crazy sidewalk and crazy strolls away.

I’m beside myself with glee. I want to join her and follow her crazy movements around Riga. There is a cat house here, and I’m convinced she owns it.

So, naturally, I ask Gay Lars and Latvia about what I just saw.

“She is here every day, including the weekends. She just loves the birds so much that she comes in from 40 km away and feeds them. She’s harmless.”

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? That is seriously dedicated. And retarded too, but dedicated all the same.

So it takes me about 20 minutes to concentrate again after that outburst. Then I resume my entry for the day. Before the hour is up, crazy lady returns for the encore. No food this time, but she sings to the birds. And I’m dying with laughter both inside and out.

Soundtrack of the Moment: [Obviously]

I wanted so badly to have a video camera with me — because it would have been viral in about 2 hours. She not only sang but she was seriously belting out a song… to fucking birds. 40 km away from her abode. On a Wednesday. In Riga, Latvia. Bless her heart she must have been 80… but seriously, get a better hobby than that one.

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