Sunday, March 21, 2010

No Right Answer

Have you ever been asked a question that you know cannot be answered? You know, questions like, "does this make me look fat?" If you say no, you're lying, if you say yes, you're an asshole.

Well, I had me a doozy yesterday.

I'm walking home, enjoying the end of an incredibly nice day. Of course, I didn't enjoy the day as I was working but the walk home was my only chance to take in the first truly gorgeous day this year. And I was loving it. Sound cancelling ear buds set firmly in my ears, music to walk to was all I heard. Sunglasses on, I'm bobbing and weaving through the overly crowded pedestrian section of Times Square and I come to a red light. I'm standing there, waiting for the light to change when I get tapped on my shoulder. I turn around and there's a dude standing there, staring at me. I slip a bud out of my ear and say "what can I do for you?"

"Yo, you checking out my woman?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me motherfucker, you checking out my girl?"

"Um, no."

"What? She ain't worth checking out?"

"Um, seriously man, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm just walking home."

"I asked you, she ain't worth checking out?"

"I don't even know who she is."

"She right here"

"Very nice, yes, sure, she's worth checking out."

"Motherfucker, you checking out my woman"

A small crowd is gathering. The light changes, I start to walk away, he follows.

"Hey, motherfucker, don't walk away from me."

"Sorry, I need to get going and I wasn't checking out your girlfriend but, yes, she's a real looker, you should be proud to have her on your arm"

"thank you"

"Don't you talk to him, bitch. Yo, don't be making fun asshole, I asked you if you checking out my girl. I don't need you eyeballing my lady."

walking and talking

"I wasn't, I didn't, I'm blind to my surroundings, I'm listening to music, heading home from work, I really don't pay much attention to other people when I'm walking."

"You paying attention to me now, asshole."

"You're talking to me."

"That's right motherfucker, I am talking to you."

"Well, like I said, I gotta run but, seriously, you should keep an arm around that girl, you spend too much time talking to me, she might start looking for someone else to keep her company."

"What the fuck you saying?"

"Nothing, just saying you don't need to worry about me, you should pay attention to her, she deserves it."

"Why that?"

"Look at her, she's very pretty."

"So you was checking her out."

"No, man, you pointed her out to me. I'm just saying, she were mine, I'd spend my time looking at her, not at other dudes to see if they were checking her out."

"You saying I'm checking you out?"

"shit. No. I'm saying you should spend less time worrying about other guys, more time devoted to looking at her."

"Don't you tell me how to treat my woman. she happy, I treat her just fine motherfucker."

"Then why are you still walking with me? She's back there somewhere, stopped at a light."

Turning, running the other way....

"Fuck you, motherfucker, we ain't done. I'm coming back after I get her lazy ass.

"Ok but I think you'll understand if I don't wait for you."

"I'll catch you motherfucker. You won't be happy when I do."

"Probably not."

And then, as soon as I saw him melt into the crowd, I turned off the street, heading east.

She was pretty damned hot. What she was doing with this half pint gangsta wannabe, this 10 cent (certainly no fitty cent), is beyond me.

Oh, and yes, I was totally checking her out.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Poor Sandra Bullock

I'm not such a huge fan of hers but, after seeing her accept her Oscar, displaying such raw emotion over winning and then, being almost incapable of speaking when gesturing towards her husband, you really have to feel bad for her now that news of her husband's homosexual affair is out. It's shock enough to find out your significant other is running around, screwing someone behind your back but to find out the other person is a dude? That's really gotta sting.

To make matters even worse, the guy's a washed up goth shock rocker. He's Jesse James. He of the cool, outlaw name. I figured, that kind of name, a tv show, an a-list oscar winning wife, he should be able to get all kinds of tail, male or female. Instead, he opts for Marilyn Manson?

I really can't say more than that. I used to dig some of Manson's work and I always understood that he did what he did, dressed the way he dressed, as a means of self promotion but, seriously, messing around with Sandra Bullock's husband? That's a new low. I don't even think he has a new cd that needs to be promoted. The guy's just scum.

Hopefully, I'm not the only one who finds Jesse James and Marilyn Manson's tryst to be degrading and repulsive.

Sandy, if you're reading this, my sympathies go out to you. I can't even begin to imagine what's touched Manson's dick which, now, by proxy, has touched Jesse's. While I can't imagine you'd take him back but, if you do, I strongly recommend a complete battery of tests on the guy.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

St. Patrick's Puke

Today's St. Paddy's day. I don't really understand the holiday in the least. Here's what I know. Kids cut school from all around the city and the surrounding burbs, get drunk and make asses of themselves. Adults do it too but the kids are the most obvious. Today, being an incredibly gorgeous day, brought em out in droves. By 9:30 they were streaming out of Penn Station, beers in hand, wandering towards the parade route. The concept of underage drinkers getting hammered before I've had my second cup of coffee is frightening.

I went downstairs for an afternoon break of the tobacco kind and I'm standing on the corner, facing the entrance for the Long Island Railroad, watching the crowd of swaying, staggering kids, soaking in the glorious, warm sun when I see two girls across the street. One of them is holding a green yard glass (those long crazy ale glasses) in one hand and a tether of about 20 green and white balloons in the other. The other is holding a yard glass and waving. I casually look around me to see what she's waving at but there's nobody near me. The girl with the balloons, who's wearing a form fitting print dress that seems to stop just below the pubic hair line, assuming she has any (she looked like the full shave type), is now pointing at me with the yard glass. I take a closer look and realize that, sleazy outfit aside, she's hot. Real hot. Her friend, on the other hand, is real not. She, too, is wearing a too tight dress that barely covers her ass. Problem is, it reveals every roll and crease in her oversized body. Now they're both waving at me, pointing at me and the fat one motions for me to come over.

I laugh, smile and shake my head, indicating I'm not coming over. What the fuck do I need that for? The hot one throws her hands up in the air in disgust, the balloons smacking some guy in the head, and starts to cross the street. As curious as I am regarding what this young lady might say to me, I'm really not in the mood to have my short break co-opted by her. 34th Street is a wide street, two lanes in each direction and, as she gets to the middle she looks up, does a little jog of sorts, smiling at me, points and then pukes. That's right, pukes. Big foamy spray of puke. She stops, pukes again, looks up and smiles. She starts to walk towards me and now I'm in a panic. I look to my right, Starbucks. It's crowded. I might not get in and thru the store before she reaches me. I look to my left. Mass of people waiting to cross the street. Tons of St. Paddy's drunks milling about.

She's getting closer. Stagger stumbling towards me. No shame with this one. She must think I didn't notice the massive, technicolor, yawn she let loose on the street. People are edging away from her, fearing another explosion. A few look at me, pity in their eyes.

What to do? What to do?

Then it hits me.


Behind me.


I wheel around on my heels, grab the door, toss my smoke and enter the bank.

I move thru the second set of doors and head towards the other exit which is on the other side of the atm room. As I grab the door to leave I hear "wait, I want to ask you a question."

"Got gum?" would be appropriate about now but I don't even want to turn around and say it. I don't want to smell the vomit. I don't want to be around her when she pukes again. I don't want her to come near me.

I exit the door, make a left and head for my building.

Being too drunk to follow me, she opts, instead to walk along the windowed wall that leads in the same direction. She's saying something to me but I can't hear her.


Another exit.

She sees my eyes move towards the door and she picks up her pace, hoping to cut me off.

I pass the door as she is pushing on it and then she pukes again.

It sprays out from her mouth against the glass and back onto her.

It's fucking nasty and, normally, I'd probably puke myself but I start to laugh instead.

I hear her friend yelling to her from behind me as I enter my building and jog towards the elevators. The last thing I need is to have these crazy puking girls chasing me into my place of business.

To be safe, I jump in the wrong elevator and jam the door close button like I'm in some crazy chase scene in some cheesy movie.

The doors close. The elevator rises and I'm safe.

Of course, when I go home tonight, there will be twenty times more of these drunkards wandering the streets.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Birthday Fun

So I went out for my birthday last night. Nothing special planned, just dinner at a new burger joint. Really, it's all I wanted. No family, no big gathering of friends and fringe friends. Just me, and my wife. The burger sucked. Shocking because this place was opened around, and the menu was based upon, the Five Napkin Burger from a restaurant called Nice Matin. I've had the original five napkin burger several times, always amazing. So, when last night's burger was dry and somewhat flavorless. My wife's burger, on the other hand, was everything she'd hoped it would be.

During the course of the meal, my wife explained to me how she fought with the theater manager over her attempt to get replacement seats for a show that we had tickets for back when we had the last big snow storm. She said they wouldn't let her use the tickets for a weekend so she decided to try other shows and, she told me, she couldn't find something that she thought I'd like. Then she says "then I found this, I think it might be fun" and she handed me a Ticketmaster envelope. Inside were two tickets to BB King's and the band was The Radiators or, as we called them back when I was in college, the Rads. Fucking awesome. I didn't even know they were playing. They are a fair band, at best but, back in college, they were one of three bands that you went to see whenever they played. They might play 2 or 3 nights in a row and, if they did, you were there. They'd play 3 sets (later it was only 2) and it was an endurance night, starting the partying around 8 and getting home some time after 4 am. Tons of booze and, more often than not, plenty of X to go around.

So I was kind of psyched about this. Then my wife told me how she found out about the show. My sister. Seems she's going to be there, with that piece of shit husband of hers. Oh well, maybe I'll see some of my friends, or some folks I haven't seen in a while. The band will still be fun. Not like I'll be hanging out with them.

So, off we go. We get to the show just as the band is tuning up. Run into a friend of my wife who I went to school with and then we hit the bar. Hanging around by the bar, scanning the crowd for familiar faces, I start seeing my sister and her friends. Ugh. They all come over. Hugs, kisses and well wishes abound. She's with a large group of friends. Some are cool, others, not so much. I deal. I'm nice, I laugh, reminisce. Then I see my college roommate's old girlfriend. This girl manages to get better looking every time I see her. She's one of the few people from school who I can honestly say is just very cool. Great sense of humor. Always a pleasure seeing her. She informs me that none of my friends are there. Bummer.

Then it happens.

I get grabbed in a massive bear hug. I turn around and I'm being accosted by a guy I haven't seen in close to 20 years. He grabs me again and hugs me one more time. Then the normal talk begins. What are you up to? Kids? Mistresses? The usual. He winds up calling one of his friends to tell him he's with Shaggy. I get on the phone and say hi to the friend. This guy was in another fraternity and my friends and I ran into a bunch of them in Mexico one year and spent the better part of our trip hanging out with them. At some point, one of them decided I was not me but, rather, I was the spitting image of Shaggy from the scooby doo cartoons. I was tall, very skinny and I did, at times, have that chin fuzz thing going. Didn't help that I can do a frighteningly accurate ZOINKS! when needed.

So, this friend brings his wife over and introduces me. I introduce them to my wife. Good times ensue. Numbers exchanged, cards swapped. Then he leans over and asks if I saw Jane (not her real name). I tell him I hadn't seen her in 15 years and that last time was in a restaurant, she was on the other end of the room, walking out and I didn't get a chance to say hello.

I didn't even have a minute to look for her. She saw my sister, heard I was there, and came running. She gives me this huge hug, huge kiss, is holding me tight, telling me she can't believe its been this long, she always asks my friends for updates on me and she cannot believe we don't talk anymore. My wife is standing there, looking at us like we're reunited lovers and she's about to lose her man. I pull back from Jane and introduce her to my wife. Jane then tells my wife how we were the best of friends her senior year (she was a year older than me). She asks my wife if she knows Jim (not his real name) and my wife says yes, she does and she had met his brother as well (his brother died in the WTC). So, Jane says, "I was dating Jim my junior and senior year and he graduated a year before me and he asked Floogin to keep an eye on me." What she didn't say was "floogin was the guy I trusted enough to help me count pills when my shipments would arrive."

So, I wound up hanging out with two old friends. Had a fucking blast. Drank way too much. Barely recall the band actually playing, although I do know they played Da Nang and I vaguely recall a hearing a few other songs.

A total surprise. A total blast. My gift is in Jersey, my wife's license expired on her birthday and it's pouring outside so she won't be driving to her sister's to get my gift. No biggie. Last night was all I needed. Although, I could do without the spinning nausea I'm now suffering from.

Oh, and no, I'm not going to go into any detail about what went on when we got home. A gentleman never talks. Of course, I'm no gentleman.

Tuesday, March 02, 2010

Sign of the Apocalypse

ok, so I joined face book. I know, I've railed against the stupidity of the site and how I don't understand it and I don't have time for it and I think it's just for people to find old flames, see where they made mistakes, see if they can't cyber cheat on their significant others and see if their lives are better than their childhood friends.

I didn't do it for myself. I didn't do it to see where my ex girlfriends are. I didn't do it to see if I am married to a prettier woman than my childhood friend or if my kids are cooler looking than my ex's.

I did it for work. I did it to be a part of the business I am involved in and to help further the reach of said business.

And what have I managed to get for it? Well, lots of spam about farm critters and other people's activities at the moment so, here's my plan with all of this.

I am going to tweet that I got a facebook account. Then I'm going to write on my facebook wall that I tweeted about my facebook account. Then I'm going to tweet that I am going to update my facebook account and, after I update it, and everyone gets the update blasted out to them, I'll tweet that I did it for good measure.

I'll post on facebook that I'm taking a break from posting on facebook but I'm still going to tweet and then I'll tweet that I'm no longer going to tweet, opting to update my facebook page instead.

Then I'll have lunch. I'll tweet and update facebook with each bite so everyone will know what I'm doing at that exact moment.

then I'm going to call all of my friends, one at a time. I'll ask them what they're doing, at that exact moment, and then, when they tell me, I'll hang up and tweet and facebook it so everyone knows that I am up to date with my friends and my own tweets and facebook. Then I'll update my friends, via the phone, to tell them I'm going to tweet some updates but I'll only tweet that I'm updating my facebook and then I'll update facebook to say that I've had enough and I'm going to kill myself.

Then I'm going to tweet that I will update facebook right before I off myself. I'll post this on facebook and then I'll tweet that the facebook update was not my final update before offing myself.

Then I'll have a smoke.

I'll tweet about it because, well, everyone wants to know that I'm sucking on a small stick of dried plants and paper.

Then I'll post my final words on facebook and I'll tweet that I've posted the final words on facebook.

Then I'll update facebook so that facebook gets the last word, and not twitter.

Then I'll tweet that I am going to try and post a final comment on both, simultaneously.

Then I'll take a nap.

Then I'll come here and write about how fucking stupid facebook is and how fucking ridiculous it is to update every minute detail of your boring lives so that everyone else can wallow in your misery.

Seriously. We don't give a shit. You want to tweet or post something in real time on facebook? Here's what would be interesting.

tweet: I'm going down on a woman right now.
tweet: she's wrapping her legs around my head. think she's gonna cum
tweet: squirtz. damn, bb is wet. might break

or facebook update something like:
robbing a bank
holding gun in one hnd nd typgin wit otter. gettign cassh nd takig offf
cops heer i in trubl

We should all go back to writing letters. Using proper fucking english.

gotta run. facebook needs an update