Eddie the Doorman

Eddie the Doorman has become my pal over the last two years of me working at the big unnamed TV network. His fancy building is right next to the back door of work. So I see him regularly on my way in and out for the day and countless times in between when I go down to smoke cigarettes.

He’s a hardworking, middle aged guy that grew up in Peru. Now he lives in Queens and he’s no different than me in the sense that we both hate our jobs.

Our talks usually revolve around New York baseball, (unless one of the rich people in his building pissed him off…then he’ll bitch about them) he being a Mets fan and I a Yankees fan. All through the spring, it wasn’t such a good time being a fan of either one.

The Yankees have started to come around a little bit, but the Mets are still having some problems. This was more than evident last Monday night when I went down for a cigarette. Here’s what an unusually cranky Eddie had to say…

B: Hey Eddie…what’s up?

E: (shaking his head) Hello Beptsey (that’s how my name sounds with his accent). I know, I know…the Mets are losing.

B: Oh, they are? I was busy and hadn’t checked the score.

E: You know Santana. The pitcher. Johan.

B: Yeah…Johan Santana. He started tonight.

E: Yeah. He gave up home run.

B: Well, he’s good, but that happens every once in a while.

E: But it wasn’t just home run. It was grand slam home run.

B: Oh. That kind of sucks. It still happens though.

E: But it was a grand slam home run to an American League pitcher.

B: Wow. That really blows Eddie. I’m sorry.

E: (shaking his head again as he walks in his building without saying “goodbye.”) I don't know...these Mets.

For those of you who don’t understand this, American League pitchers rarely bat. Only when they’re playing interleague games in National League stadiums. And I found out after the fact that this was the first time in 37 years an AL pitcher has hit a grand slam.

Poor Eddie.

Bathroom Trashers Update!!

I just want everybody to know that I did NOT post any signs in the bathroom at work. There are obviously people who are as frustrated as I am with the situation. I swear. I went running in the bathroom today in a fury because there was a lot of traffic and after drinking a GIGANTIC Dunkin Iced Coffee and then, of course, my free Starbucks, I wasn't messing around. That sign stopped me in my tracks. I started cracking up. Which is never good when you gotta go as bad as I did. So I went in, peed IN the toilet, and came back out and laughed some more.

Heathens!

Bathroom Trashers

So I work in New York, at a big television network. I’m not allowed to say which one because they get all pissy if they think we’re spouting our opinions under their name.

Regardless of that, it’s in a huge corporate ass building. And there are hundreds, probably thousands of employees here.

And for some reason, all of the broads that work here can not seem to use the bathrooms like civilized fucking people. And it’s starting to piss me off.

Why do I have to be subjected to used feminine products lying on the floor in the stall when I walk in? Seriously, they can’t put it in the fucking trash can that’s right there? What is wrong with them?

And you know those fancy sensor toilets that flush themselves. I’m sure we all know that they’re a little temperamental. And they rarely flush. But, there’s a way to fix this. Because that button on top of the sensor…it’s actually a flusher. All they have to do is hit it when they’re done. Nobody needs to be subjected to walking in and seeing their mess…

They actually just redid the bathroom on my floor a couple of weeks ago. How have these bitches already managed to break the toilet seats? What are they doing in there?

I don’t care how fancy their outfits are or how important they think they are. I know their game. They’re all secret bathroom trashers.

Disgusting. I’ve seen cleaner bathrooms at dive bars. No girl should have to squat at work.

Boobs

To the guy I rode the elevator with this afternoon…

I caught you looking down my shirt. I don’t get checked out all that much, so when I do, I definitely notice. Don’t worry though. I’m flattered. Why do you think I wore that shirt!?

I love my boobs too.

Birthday Wishes from Beyond

Most of you probably know that my father passed away a couple of years ago. And of course, me being me, I haven’t said much about it. But those are my issues and I’ll deal with them when I’m ready.

He was a good guy. A professional gambler at that. The last few years of his life he was going to Vegas for black jack tournaments once a month. And there’s actually a very funny story about one of the last times he was in Vegas and Kool and the Gang was playing the same week. It just so happens that one of the members of Kool and the Gang has the same name. And my father was getting random calls all hours of the day and night from obsessed fans, girls, whoever. Having had enough of the late night shenanigans, he tells his host at the casino that he needs an alias for staying at the hotel. And then of course calls home to tell my mom that she needs to ask for an Al Miller if she wants to talk to him…what the fuck? Only this shit could happen to my poor dad.

Anyway, flash forward to April of 2008. It’s my birthday and only a couple of days before, my dad would have turned 65. I wake up and expect it to be a great day. Lots of good emails and myspace messages. Who wouldn’t be happy? But, for some reason, as I’m getting ready to go out to dinner with my friends, I start to have anxiety. I don’t know what brought it on, I don’t know if I ever will. Is it because I’m worried the girl I was dating isn’t going to show up later, or did I somehow know I would see my arch enemy while at dinner? So, I decide to listen to the card my mom bought me. The stupid sound effects one. The irony is that it’s not the card I wanted…she knew I wanted the Scooby Doo one. You know, because I’m 29. But no, she grabs the sophisticated one with high heels on the cover. Because I’m a real lady. And it says something along the lines of that if I think everything is about me this evening, well, I’m right, because it’s Ladies Night. And that’s the song it plays when you open it.

So I open up the card and it plays its music. And in the middle of getting dressed I just stop dead. I can’t help but think who sings this song…is it KC and the Sunshine Band? Or is it Kool and the Gang? I’ve always gotten them confused. And without looking, while the song plays…I realize it’s Kool and the Gang. And that’s when I turn the card over. Not even knowing that the song credits are on the back. And I look down right at my father’s name. On my birthday card.

I know it’s not the same Dennis Thomas. That name is on the thousands of that card that were printed. But I can’t help but wonder, what made my mother pick that one? With high heels on it…so unlike me.

I just have to accept the fact that things sometimes just happen. And coincidences are exactly that. Coincidences. But there’s a part of me that believes he just wanted to say Happy Birthday. And to let me know he’s watching out for me and that everything will be ok.

I have to believe that. It’s the only thing I have to hold on to.

Take my job and shove it...

So I’m at work, and we’re ordering dinner, Burrito Box, my favorite. And I have no cash on me. So I have to run to the ATM. Wouldn’t you know that in the ten minute round trip walk I have, I manage to get accosted by a homeless woman. Fuck her and her attitude.

I’m walking along, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the nice evening away from my office (because it’s been an annoying week, and an even more annoying night there) and I’m one block away from the bank when I hear the homeless woman call out to me. The light changes and I have to stop on the corner.

HW: Hey, you got a cigarette for me?

B: Nah…sorry.

HW: Fuck you bitch. Be thankful you got a job. (I’m assuming she saw my employee ID card hanging around my neck)

Now, much to the delight of the other five or so people on the corner, who were seemingly all employed and equally as frustrated with their jobs as I am, I spin around, wave my ID at her and say with a crazed smirk on my face,

B: You want my job? You can fucking have it. You have to go live in thirty minutes. Don’t be late.

The others on the corner start laughing. She shut up.

Now, for all of you bleeding hearts who are reading this and think I’m so terribly mean because I wouldn’t give her a cigarette, you can just get over it too.

Firstly, cigarettes are $7 a pack. It’s not my job to support her. I’ll show her my pay stub and all the money the government took out that I’m sure is going to her in one way or another.

Secondly, she had a bad attitude. She didn’t ask nicely at all and it was like my homeless sense took over and I knew she was going to get confrontational. She had the crazy look.

Thirdly, if I went around giving out money and/or cigarettes to every homeless person I saw I wouldn’t just need the job I have already, but yet another one.

So like I said, get over it.

Scaffolding

While I’m walking down the street this afternoon on my way to work, I happen to be right in front of some guy walking his son in a stroller. The kid appears to be around two and a half or three. Here’s a little bit of their conversation:

Dad: When we get home we’ll see mommy.

Kid: Mommy

A guy walks by us with his dog.

Kid: Doggy

Dad: That’s right, a doggy.

Now the kid points toward one of the buildings and mutters something that I (not being fluent in baby garble) have no idea what he says.

Kid: skfkdig

Dad: That’s right, scaffolding.

What the fuck? Three years old and he knows what a fucking scaffolding is? Signs you need to get your kid out of the city more. He probably knows a grand total of 50 – 100 words. Scaffolding should NOT be one of them.

I can’t make this shit up.

Gay Pride in Asbury Park

Unbeknownst to my friend and her boyfriend last Sunday, they managed to stumble into the gay pride celebration in Asbury Park. They were just trying to have a nice dinner before their movie.

So I got a text from her boyfriend about all the cute lesbians he’s seeing in Asbury. I was cracking up, because he had no idea what he got himself in the middle of. So I let him know that it was pride day.

He texted me back about how he’s at a gay pride celebration and then he’s going to see Sex and the City. He seemed a little scared about his sexuality and was hoping he hadn’t been in denial all these years.

I was amused. Apparently they saw a guy dressed as Little Bo Peep. What didn’t tip them off!?

Starbucks

After charging people worldwide inflated prices for coffee drinks for years, they're giving back to us. Go by a newspaper people. Get your free iced coffee card.

Every Wednesday through July 23, you're entitled to a free 12 oz. iced coffee with said card.

Take advantage of it. They've been taking advantage of everyone for years. I know this for a fact, considering I'm a sucker for their $4 lattes.

Jerky Neighbor

He’s not really that bad. Just a pain in the ass. He has this inability to sit still and he’s always doing something. Lately it’s been playing with his custom built motorcycles. They’re very, very loud. They’re all fancy too, like the ones they make on that show with the father and son who fight all the time.

His hyperactivity should be regulated…like megadoses of Ritalin regulated. He always seems bored...so he’s taken to cleaning up the woods across the street from my house. Which is great. Good for you. It looks lovely.

There is one problem I have with this…the location of his mulch delivery. Like I said, I love what he's doing with the woods…looks great. But the one thing I do not need is a late night obstacle course in the middle of the fucking street. Why must I come around the corner at 2am and barely miss driving through a heaping pile of this shit. I safely managed to navigate home from my previous whereabouts (which may or may not have been a bar and I may or may not have partaken in some drinking) and I’m two houses away from my fucking driveway and…SURPRISE. A giant pile of mulch.

I didn’t hit it, thankfully my reflexes were still sharp…but come on. He couldn’t have had it dumped in the woods. It’s going in there anyway.

Not fucking cool.

Me and Lesbians...

I went to a lesbian BBQ over Memorial Day Weekend. One of the 15 events I had to make an appearance at. I also went to a bridal shower.

I am not a girly girl by any stretch of the imagination. You’d think I’d fit in with the softball playing lesbo’s much better than I would with all the girls at the shower.

That is not the case.

I’ve very chameleon like, socially changing my colors to fit in wherever I must. I can talk weddings, babies, cars, softball, current events, music…you name it.

For some reason though, lesbians always get the best of me. I never know how to approach them. I suddenly feel as if I’m transparent. That I have nothing interesting to say to them. And they rarely seem all that intrigued by me.

Maybe it’s just low self esteem? Maybe lesbians are all assholes? I like to think it’s actually because I’m so fucking cool, they have no idea what to say to me.

I think I better just stick to showers.

Memorial Day at the Jersey Shore

Memorial Day weekend came and went last week…and you know what that means. An influx of Staten Island assholes to our beautiful Jersey Shore.

The shenanigans has started. There was already a late night fight between two tables of Benny's at the diner on Friday evening, before the weekend "officially" started. Here’s a sampling of quotes from the altercation…

“Fuck you, I am from Staten Island…is that a fuckin’ problem?”

“I can’t help it your girl looks like a whore.”

“You’re gonna wind up with this Ranch dressing on your fuckin’ head.”

“Fuck him and his bitch girlfriend. I’ll say whatever the fuck I want.”

“You’re a trouble makin’ bitch.”

“I’m not startin’ any trouble. You’re a fuckin’ asshole.”

“Baby, you are kind of instigating a little bit.”

“I am not fuckin’ instigatin’ shit, he said I look like a whore. I am NOT a whore. And I’m not a bitch.”

All that and a plate of disco fries. Who doesn't love drunk Benny's!?

14 weeks ‘til Labor Day!