As I’m leaving work last week, I got caught in a downpour. A never ending downpour. I walked out the back door and figured it would only last a few minutes, so I lit a cigarette and sought cover under the tiny awning on 67th Street.
My cigarette was long gone and other smokers had come and gone, but the clouds kept on dumping. I decided I was going to make a run for it, but I knew it would be no easy task. I had no jacket, no umbrella and of course, I was wearing flip-flops. The best footwear for flooded Manhattan streets.
So I take off across 67th Street (because there's more cover on that side of the block) leaping over a puddle next to the curb. Success. I cleared it. Then I got to the other side of the street. Not so successful over there, as I caught the front of my foot in a puddle as I jumped onto the sidewalk. I paused under the awning of the building I was in front of and tried to shake some of the water off my foot. I “air-dried” it as best as I could and then started strategizing about my trip around the block to 68th Street. One block seems like an eternity in the rain.
Off I went, walking rapidly from awning to tree to awning, eventually making my way under a scaffolding at the end of the block. I took a minute to wipe the rain off my face and slick my hair back. I was the picture of hotness…just for the record.
I finally departed from the shelter of the scaffolding. I was apprehensive because I knew there was no other cover until I made it around to the next street. Fuck.
I was walking as fast as I could but, by the time I had rounded the corner and headed up Central Park West, my flip flops had already taken on more water then the Titanic. And soggy flip flops are not conducive to walking fast. So now I was some sight…soaking wet, hair frizzed out all over the place, disgruntled beyond belief and now, last but not fucking least, my feet were sliding out of my flip flops and touching the concrete. The very same concrete that homeless people and dogs had pissed all over. My OCD was now in fucking overdrive and I was fit to be tied.
I turned the corner, no longer concerned with awnings, trees and scaffoldings. I just walked/slid my way down the rest of the block until I got to my car. Once in my car, I had to dry my feet and flip flops off with an old section of newspaper in my backseat.
I hate New York. I hate rain. And I especially hate New York when it’s raining.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Scuffle With The Law
So last week I was driving to work and, go figure, the traffic was insane. I was already late to work when I heard a plethora of sirens whooping behind me. I turned the corner and proceeded to head up 10th Avenue. Apparently the sirens were headed in the same direction as me, because they were catching up. Fantastic.
As they pulled up behind me I realize that it’s not actually any sort of emergency, but a police and possibly Secret Service escort for someone of importance in a limo. There’s an NYPD car in the front of the pack and an unmarked car behind it. Behind them was the important person in the limo. There was an unmarked Suburban behind the limo and another unmarked car behind that.
So I did the right thing and moved over to the left and let them pass. Here’s where it gets a little sticky though. Not everybody in the middle lane on 10th avenue cared about the sirens. Don’t you just love New Yorkers? Anyway, as I continued to drive up the road, the cops and agents (I really don’t know what they were, but they were wearing suits and they weren’t in NYPD vehicles) started waving us in the lane over away from them. Fuck. I didn't want to kill whoever it was in your fucking limo, I just wanted to go to work. I actually didn't even want to go to work, but unfortunately I had to. And I couldn’t drive on the fucking sidewalk. Where did they expect us to go? As I’m getting berated by them, I happen to notice one of them in particular. Because she was smoking hot!
I decided at that point I would just ignore them and drive next to them. I’m hardly a threat. And I really wanted to checkout hot secret agent girl in the Suburban. Well, they weren’t so down with my plan. Especially hot secret agent girl, who at that point was hanging halfway out of the Suburban yelling and waving rather angrily at me. Now I’m completely amused and I continued to drive next to the motorcade. Hot secret agent girl was super pissed at this point and proceeds to put her hand up in a stop signal motion. She then thrusted it quickly towards my car mouthing the word STOP in between thrusts.
I finally gave in. Honestly, I’m no threat. I just wanted to check out agent girl. Who, by the way, got hotter as she got madder!
As they pulled up behind me I realize that it’s not actually any sort of emergency, but a police and possibly Secret Service escort for someone of importance in a limo. There’s an NYPD car in the front of the pack and an unmarked car behind it. Behind them was the important person in the limo. There was an unmarked Suburban behind the limo and another unmarked car behind that.
So I did the right thing and moved over to the left and let them pass. Here’s where it gets a little sticky though. Not everybody in the middle lane on 10th avenue cared about the sirens. Don’t you just love New Yorkers? Anyway, as I continued to drive up the road, the cops and agents (I really don’t know what they were, but they were wearing suits and they weren’t in NYPD vehicles) started waving us in the lane over away from them. Fuck. I didn't want to kill whoever it was in your fucking limo, I just wanted to go to work. I actually didn't even want to go to work, but unfortunately I had to. And I couldn’t drive on the fucking sidewalk. Where did they expect us to go? As I’m getting berated by them, I happen to notice one of them in particular. Because she was smoking hot!
I decided at that point I would just ignore them and drive next to them. I’m hardly a threat. And I really wanted to checkout hot secret agent girl in the Suburban. Well, they weren’t so down with my plan. Especially hot secret agent girl, who at that point was hanging halfway out of the Suburban yelling and waving rather angrily at me. Now I’m completely amused and I continued to drive next to the motorcade. Hot secret agent girl was super pissed at this point and proceeds to put her hand up in a stop signal motion. She then thrusted it quickly towards my car mouthing the word STOP in between thrusts.
I finally gave in. Honestly, I’m no threat. I just wanted to check out agent girl. Who, by the way, got hotter as she got madder!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Bachelorette Party(aka, how I shamed a bunch of straight girls)
I generally find that bachelorette parties are always a drunken overload of estrogen. But, nonetheless, I always go to them because drinking myself into oblivion always outweighs girly bullshit.
The last bachelorette party I was at took place last week. The bride-to-be isn’t a big drinker or clubgoer, so the Maid of Honor planned a more low-key get together with activities that could be done drunk or sober. I’m sure it goes without saying that I decided to drink during mini-golf. Why not?
It doesn’t really get exciting until after mini-golf and dinner…although we did get to see guidos ticketed on the boardwalk for what I’m sure was “disturbing the peace.” And then we got to see the guido’s girlfriend chest bumping him, trying to continue the altercation. But, like we said, you know you’re a guido (guidette??) when you wear high heels to the beach.
Dinner was relatively low-key too, except that we found it necessary to do shots of Red Bull and Stoly O (they’re called tic-tacs and it actually wasn’t Stoly O because I knew the bartender and he hooked us up with a bunch of free shots and better quality vodka). And there was a fight with the one random in-law about not paying enough for dinner. This bitch kept a running total of everybody’s drinks in her head and refused to pay more than $10. Bitch. Whatever, I was too drunk at this point to care.
The night really got interesting when we got back to the MOH’s house…for the sex toy party. Of course the “toy hostess” is late, so we have nothing better to do but continue drinking. So when she finally arrives we’re extra sauced. At least most of us…
It only takes her a few minutes to set up and she summons us into the living room. We’re instructed to grab a folder and a pen and to find a seat. Once were seated she passes out two sheets of aluminum foil to everyone. She then announces a little competition. We all have 30 seconds to shape a penis out of the foil.
Well, the thirty seconds came and went, and behold, we were left with a winner…me. What the fuck? Firstly, I’m wasted. Secondly, I’m not artistically inclined at all. And thirdly, I haven’t been up close and personal with a dick in quite some time now. And what was my prize…strawberry lickety lube (which I need like I need a hole in the head) and some nipple nibbler (which I don't necessarily need but can’t wait to use!)
The only thing I have to say about this is….SHAME ON YOU STRAIGHT GIRLS. SHAME ON YOU.
The last bachelorette party I was at took place last week. The bride-to-be isn’t a big drinker or clubgoer, so the Maid of Honor planned a more low-key get together with activities that could be done drunk or sober. I’m sure it goes without saying that I decided to drink during mini-golf. Why not?
It doesn’t really get exciting until after mini-golf and dinner…although we did get to see guidos ticketed on the boardwalk for what I’m sure was “disturbing the peace.” And then we got to see the guido’s girlfriend chest bumping him, trying to continue the altercation. But, like we said, you know you’re a guido (guidette??) when you wear high heels to the beach.
Dinner was relatively low-key too, except that we found it necessary to do shots of Red Bull and Stoly O (they’re called tic-tacs and it actually wasn’t Stoly O because I knew the bartender and he hooked us up with a bunch of free shots and better quality vodka). And there was a fight with the one random in-law about not paying enough for dinner. This bitch kept a running total of everybody’s drinks in her head and refused to pay more than $10. Bitch. Whatever, I was too drunk at this point to care.
The night really got interesting when we got back to the MOH’s house…for the sex toy party. Of course the “toy hostess” is late, so we have nothing better to do but continue drinking. So when she finally arrives we’re extra sauced. At least most of us…
It only takes her a few minutes to set up and she summons us into the living room. We’re instructed to grab a folder and a pen and to find a seat. Once were seated she passes out two sheets of aluminum foil to everyone. She then announces a little competition. We all have 30 seconds to shape a penis out of the foil.
Well, the thirty seconds came and went, and behold, we were left with a winner…me. What the fuck? Firstly, I’m wasted. Secondly, I’m not artistically inclined at all. And thirdly, I haven’t been up close and personal with a dick in quite some time now. And what was my prize…strawberry lickety lube (which I need like I need a hole in the head) and some nipple nibbler (which I don't necessarily need but can’t wait to use!)
The only thing I have to say about this is….SHAME ON YOU STRAIGHT GIRLS. SHAME ON YOU.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Be Careful What You Wish For...
I’m pretty sure there was actually a time in my life when I was truly happy. And sadly, I didn’t realize it until it was too late. S. and I had the world by the balls when we were younger. Lately all we seem to want to do is go back to when we were in college.
We spent the end of high school and all four years of college working at a patio bar on the Jersey Shore. It was an amazing time. We worked four days a week and had an endless supply of cash. We also went as far as to have our boss put us on the same shifts, so we could have certain days off for going to the beach together.
I’ll never forget those Tuesday mornings. Rolling into work around 11am, hungover and tired...so not wanting to be there. And then we’d spend the rest of the day hustling tips and being silent partners.
We’d joke around. Have soda gun fights. We’d try to trick each other into not paying attention as we put hot sauce in their drink. The bar manager used to work that shift with us, and he’d always ask us to “watch the bar” while he was gone. We certainly did watch it. We'd watch it dwindle in Jack Daniels and Captain Morgan. We’d hang with Frank at the bar and he’d tell us how lucky we were to be young. And to have no responsibility. We always wrote him off as the drunk guy. He wasn’t just some drunk guy. He was a guy who lived his life. At least most of it, and he had already learned from his mistakes. We never listened though. I guess we all have to make them for ourselves before we can truly appreciate what we have.
S and I would spend our days at the beach. Smoking and laughing, even picking up the occasional cop. Then we’d go home, shower and nap. And spend endless nights at parties and bars. We didn’t have a care in the world.
I distinctly remember one of our conversations during our last summer there. It was 2001 and I had just graduated from college. S had convinced me not to get a “real job” until the fall. It was the best thing I ever did. But that summer, she had one more year of college left before law school. And we were talking about what we were going to do when we “grew up.” And S said, “I’m so sick of going to school. I have three more years after this. I just want a job where I can prove myself.”
And I responded, “Seriously, I’m sick of writing papers and doing projects. I really want to just work in TV and produce stuff. And show everybody I really can do it.”
And S said, “I know, I just want to be a lawyer and have trials and cases where I can show people what I can really do.”
Well, it’s been seven years. We both got exactly what we want. S is a lawyer and seems to have a trial starting “every Monday.” And I work for a television network. And I produce stuff. Neither one of us could get any more miserable.
Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.
We spent the end of high school and all four years of college working at a patio bar on the Jersey Shore. It was an amazing time. We worked four days a week and had an endless supply of cash. We also went as far as to have our boss put us on the same shifts, so we could have certain days off for going to the beach together.
I’ll never forget those Tuesday mornings. Rolling into work around 11am, hungover and tired...so not wanting to be there. And then we’d spend the rest of the day hustling tips and being silent partners.
We’d joke around. Have soda gun fights. We’d try to trick each other into not paying attention as we put hot sauce in their drink. The bar manager used to work that shift with us, and he’d always ask us to “watch the bar” while he was gone. We certainly did watch it. We'd watch it dwindle in Jack Daniels and Captain Morgan. We’d hang with Frank at the bar and he’d tell us how lucky we were to be young. And to have no responsibility. We always wrote him off as the drunk guy. He wasn’t just some drunk guy. He was a guy who lived his life. At least most of it, and he had already learned from his mistakes. We never listened though. I guess we all have to make them for ourselves before we can truly appreciate what we have.
S and I would spend our days at the beach. Smoking and laughing, even picking up the occasional cop. Then we’d go home, shower and nap. And spend endless nights at parties and bars. We didn’t have a care in the world.
I distinctly remember one of our conversations during our last summer there. It was 2001 and I had just graduated from college. S had convinced me not to get a “real job” until the fall. It was the best thing I ever did. But that summer, she had one more year of college left before law school. And we were talking about what we were going to do when we “grew up.” And S said, “I’m so sick of going to school. I have three more years after this. I just want a job where I can prove myself.”
And I responded, “Seriously, I’m sick of writing papers and doing projects. I really want to just work in TV and produce stuff. And show everybody I really can do it.”
And S said, “I know, I just want to be a lawyer and have trials and cases where I can show people what I can really do.”
Well, it’s been seven years. We both got exactly what we want. S is a lawyer and seems to have a trial starting “every Monday.” And I work for a television network. And I produce stuff. Neither one of us could get any more miserable.
Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
No Pam, You're a Whore
Have you heard? Pam Anderson called Jessica Simpson a bitch and a whore last week. Is she kidding with this blatant hypocrisy?
It all started when Jessica Simpson wore a T-shirt that said “Real Girls Eat Meat.” Allegedly, Simpson wore it as a dig at her boyfriend, Tony Romo’s ex, Carrie Underwood. Underwood doesn’t eat meat and was named “World’s Sexiest Vegetarian” by PETA.
I’ll admit, it was childish and high school like of Simpson to wear the shirt. And I’m not necessarily defending Jessica Simpson. I do, however, have a difficult time with Pam (I had Tommy Lee’s babies) Anderson questioning anyone else's sexual conquests.
I’m going to assume that Pam is a vegetarian because she doesn’t want to kill animals. That’s got to be why, because she certainly isn’t picky about anything else she puts in her body. Orally or any other way for that matter. So to call anybody a whore was a little out of line.
It’s all good though. Pam Anderson just backed up my theory that all vegetarians are crazy. I’m pretty sure they all lose their minds due to a lack of protein. Why else would anybody keep going back to Tommy Lee?
It all started when Jessica Simpson wore a T-shirt that said “Real Girls Eat Meat.” Allegedly, Simpson wore it as a dig at her boyfriend, Tony Romo’s ex, Carrie Underwood. Underwood doesn’t eat meat and was named “World’s Sexiest Vegetarian” by PETA.
I’ll admit, it was childish and high school like of Simpson to wear the shirt. And I’m not necessarily defending Jessica Simpson. I do, however, have a difficult time with Pam (I had Tommy Lee’s babies) Anderson questioning anyone else's sexual conquests.
I’m going to assume that Pam is a vegetarian because she doesn’t want to kill animals. That’s got to be why, because she certainly isn’t picky about anything else she puts in her body. Orally or any other way for that matter. So to call anybody a whore was a little out of line.
It’s all good though. Pam Anderson just backed up my theory that all vegetarians are crazy. I’m pretty sure they all lose their minds due to a lack of protein. Why else would anybody keep going back to Tommy Lee?
Friday, July 11, 2008
Electrifying Times
Somebody forward this to The New York Times…I’ve figured out how to keep people from climbing up the side of their building…electrify it.
I should really start by telling you that I hate The Times. I’ve never been a fan, and personally I think they keep getting worse and worse. In fact, I usually only read it when MM sends me a link to an article she thinks I’ll find interesting.
But, as much as I dislike their paper, I find the people that keep climbing up their building to be a bit ridiculous. Especially the one who said he was doing it to fight the war on terror. Really? I’m pretty sure the only thing he was actually fighting was a war on gravity that he started himself. Idiot. I’ve had enough of these people. And you have to be pretty f*cking annoying for me to side with The Times over you.
So let’s electrify the building. Run a few thousand volts through those fancy bars you got there and you’ll solve your problem. This way, when one of these people who claims to be climbing for some cause or another, starts heading up the façade, they’ll be jolted back to reality. And if they really want to spice things up…they could electrify halfway up. Ha. That way, these monkeys will think they’re well on their way to completing their world saving climb and then…ZAP!
I know…I’m sure most of you think this is a mean idea. Whatever. I bet people will stop climbing.
I should really start by telling you that I hate The Times. I’ve never been a fan, and personally I think they keep getting worse and worse. In fact, I usually only read it when MM sends me a link to an article she thinks I’ll find interesting.
But, as much as I dislike their paper, I find the people that keep climbing up their building to be a bit ridiculous. Especially the one who said he was doing it to fight the war on terror. Really? I’m pretty sure the only thing he was actually fighting was a war on gravity that he started himself. Idiot. I’ve had enough of these people. And you have to be pretty f*cking annoying for me to side with The Times over you.
So let’s electrify the building. Run a few thousand volts through those fancy bars you got there and you’ll solve your problem. This way, when one of these people who claims to be climbing for some cause or another, starts heading up the façade, they’ll be jolted back to reality. And if they really want to spice things up…they could electrify halfway up. Ha. That way, these monkeys will think they’re well on their way to completing their world saving climb and then…ZAP!
I know…I’m sure most of you think this is a mean idea. Whatever. I bet people will stop climbing.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Give me my food and shut it...
I swear…crazy people find me. They fucking seek me out. This was more than evident on Saturday night when I went to dinner with my mother.
We were having a perfectly nice time, laughing, conversing…the usual. Everything was fine until the waitress brought over our dinner. As my mom was finishing her salad, I glanced out the windows and zoned out for a second. And as I’m staring out the window, the waitress showed up behind me with the food. My mom didn’t say anything because her mouth was full, so she tapped me on the arm. I turned to see the waitress standing there with the food, so I apologized and moved my arm out of the way.
As she puts down the food she says:
W: You were really spacing out there. My four year old calls it going to space.
B: Yeah. I was zoning out for a second. My fantasy world is a lot nicer than my real world…so I try to spend as much time there as possible. (I’m laughing as I say this to her.)
W: I know. It’s terrible when you have nothing to live for.
What? I never said I had nothing to live for. I was just making a joke about zoning out. I’m not suicidal. What is wrong with this woman. And to make matters worse, she won’t leave the table. So I’m sitting there staring at my dinner, that I really want to eat, and she breaks into this lecture about how I need to work somewhere with an employer that really motivates their employees to be happy. I never said anything to her about my job. Aside from being nuts, she’s apparently a mind reader. I just nod and tell her this is an excellent idea. Meanwhile, my mom wants to eat her scallops, but this broad forgot the cocktail sauce. So she leaves to go get it.
It gets even more interesting when she comes back…
W: Now, this normally isn’t my thing, because I’m a Buddhist, but there’s this church in town that is really great.
B: What? (Just for the record, my mother isn’t even trying to help me out. She is doing her best to ignore the whole situation and enjoy her dinner.)
W: Seriously, you should check it out. They’re so wonderful and they encourage people to be happy and follow their dreams. They have a great youth group…
This is when she pauses and gives me a knowing look…
W: And the minister is completely ok with same sex marriages.
Is this bitch kidding me right now? I just want to eat my fucking dinner. I don’t care what this minister is ok with. GET AWAY FROM ME NOW, YOU FREAK SHOW.
B: I’m sure he’s lovely, but I don’t do church.
W: But this is different, it’s not as preachy. They just want everybody happy.
She is obviously relentless…I guess I’m going to have to give in.
B: Well, maybe I’ll swing by there tomorrow for a sermon. (I’m not even sure if sermon is what you call it when you go to church. I’m grasping at straws so she’ll leave me alone.)
W: I think it will make you happy.
B: Ok…
She finally leaves. My mother finally looks up and all she has to say is…
M: Can you do me a favor and not look out the window anymore. I can’t take much more of her.
B: Do I look suicidal or something? What the fuck is wrong with her?
M: I don’t know. She’s weird. Stop talking to her.
B: I’ve been trying to stop talking to her for a while now. You know, I bet she’s one of the ones who would’ve drank the kool-aid.
M: Oh yeah.
Dinner is finally over and she comes back with my zucchini appetizer wrapped up for me…winking and telling me that she gave me extra horseradish sauce. Well that’s certainly something worth living for.
We were having a perfectly nice time, laughing, conversing…the usual. Everything was fine until the waitress brought over our dinner. As my mom was finishing her salad, I glanced out the windows and zoned out for a second. And as I’m staring out the window, the waitress showed up behind me with the food. My mom didn’t say anything because her mouth was full, so she tapped me on the arm. I turned to see the waitress standing there with the food, so I apologized and moved my arm out of the way.
As she puts down the food she says:
W: You were really spacing out there. My four year old calls it going to space.
B: Yeah. I was zoning out for a second. My fantasy world is a lot nicer than my real world…so I try to spend as much time there as possible. (I’m laughing as I say this to her.)
W: I know. It’s terrible when you have nothing to live for.
What? I never said I had nothing to live for. I was just making a joke about zoning out. I’m not suicidal. What is wrong with this woman. And to make matters worse, she won’t leave the table. So I’m sitting there staring at my dinner, that I really want to eat, and she breaks into this lecture about how I need to work somewhere with an employer that really motivates their employees to be happy. I never said anything to her about my job. Aside from being nuts, she’s apparently a mind reader. I just nod and tell her this is an excellent idea. Meanwhile, my mom wants to eat her scallops, but this broad forgot the cocktail sauce. So she leaves to go get it.
It gets even more interesting when she comes back…
W: Now, this normally isn’t my thing, because I’m a Buddhist, but there’s this church in town that is really great.
B: What? (Just for the record, my mother isn’t even trying to help me out. She is doing her best to ignore the whole situation and enjoy her dinner.)
W: Seriously, you should check it out. They’re so wonderful and they encourage people to be happy and follow their dreams. They have a great youth group…
This is when she pauses and gives me a knowing look…
W: And the minister is completely ok with same sex marriages.
Is this bitch kidding me right now? I just want to eat my fucking dinner. I don’t care what this minister is ok with. GET AWAY FROM ME NOW, YOU FREAK SHOW.
B: I’m sure he’s lovely, but I don’t do church.
W: But this is different, it’s not as preachy. They just want everybody happy.
She is obviously relentless…I guess I’m going to have to give in.
B: Well, maybe I’ll swing by there tomorrow for a sermon. (I’m not even sure if sermon is what you call it when you go to church. I’m grasping at straws so she’ll leave me alone.)
W: I think it will make you happy.
B: Ok…
She finally leaves. My mother finally looks up and all she has to say is…
M: Can you do me a favor and not look out the window anymore. I can’t take much more of her.
B: Do I look suicidal or something? What the fuck is wrong with her?
M: I don’t know. She’s weird. Stop talking to her.
B: I’ve been trying to stop talking to her for a while now. You know, I bet she’s one of the ones who would’ve drank the kool-aid.
M: Oh yeah.
Dinner is finally over and she comes back with my zucchini appetizer wrapped up for me…winking and telling me that she gave me extra horseradish sauce. Well that’s certainly something worth living for.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Crazy Nanny at a BBQ...
Crazy Nanny is my 79 year old grandmother. I refer to her as Crazy Nanny or Crazy Grandma to my friends due to the countless stories they’ve heard about her. I call her Nanny to her face. Never grandma…because when I was born, she was only 50 and she deemed the term “Grandma” to be for old ladies. And she wasn’t an old lady and even when she got older, she wouldn’t act like one. So far she’s been true to her word. At 79, she still works, taking care of old people no less, and she also goes to the gym three to four days a week.
I don’t call her crazy to be mean. And she doesn’t actually have any (diagnosed) mental problems. It’s the only way I could think of to describe her lack of regard for other people’s feelings. Here’s how she behaved this past weekend at my aunt and uncles BBQ.
She was actually pretty sociable and well behaved until her altercation with an eight year old boy. It all started when Nanny was walking my one and a half year old cousin around the backyard. And the son of one of my aunt and uncles friends went running by with a water gun and accidentally shot the baby with it. Firstly, as said, it was an accident. Secondly, he barely even got him at all. It was really just a stray splash.
Well, this of course sent Crazy Nanny on the defensive. And as the kid ran by again, she stole the water gun from him. Yanked it right out of his hands. I told you she goes to the gym…she isn’t some frail little old lady.
Now, the kid is pissed and he wants his gun back. So he tries to grab it back from her. And Nanny keeps responding by pulling it away from him. Finally the kid has had enough and he gets a good grip on it. And gives it one hell of a tug. So Nanny tugs back even harder and sends the kid stumbling back a few feet. So what do you think Nanny feels compelled to do at this point…no, she didn’t give him the gun back. She shot him in the face with it. Much to the delight of the baby.
She finally relented and gave the kid back the gun. And promptly told him to take a hike. My aunt and I watched the whole thing go down. And neither one of us could believe it.
That’s my Nanny. Always the picture of maturity.
I don’t call her crazy to be mean. And she doesn’t actually have any (diagnosed) mental problems. It’s the only way I could think of to describe her lack of regard for other people’s feelings. Here’s how she behaved this past weekend at my aunt and uncles BBQ.
She was actually pretty sociable and well behaved until her altercation with an eight year old boy. It all started when Nanny was walking my one and a half year old cousin around the backyard. And the son of one of my aunt and uncles friends went running by with a water gun and accidentally shot the baby with it. Firstly, as said, it was an accident. Secondly, he barely even got him at all. It was really just a stray splash.
Well, this of course sent Crazy Nanny on the defensive. And as the kid ran by again, she stole the water gun from him. Yanked it right out of his hands. I told you she goes to the gym…she isn’t some frail little old lady.
Now, the kid is pissed and he wants his gun back. So he tries to grab it back from her. And Nanny keeps responding by pulling it away from him. Finally the kid has had enough and he gets a good grip on it. And gives it one hell of a tug. So Nanny tugs back even harder and sends the kid stumbling back a few feet. So what do you think Nanny feels compelled to do at this point…no, she didn’t give him the gun back. She shot him in the face with it. Much to the delight of the baby.
She finally relented and gave the kid back the gun. And promptly told him to take a hike. My aunt and I watched the whole thing go down. And neither one of us could believe it.
That’s my Nanny. Always the picture of maturity.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Starbucks Closing???
Starbucks announced yesterday that they’re closing 600 of their underperforming stores. Hmmm…do you think some of the closings might take place in New York City….where, for some reason, they’ve decided to open one on what seems like every f*cking block. For research purposes, I went to their website and searched for stores in my zip code. I already know where some of them are, but I wanted the official list from the company itself.
First on the list was the store right across the street from my office, which, of course, I frequent fairly regularly. Now, here’s where it gets fun…this is what the rest of the list looks like…
#2: 6 blocks north of store #1
#3: 3 blocks north and a half an avenue west of store #1
#4: 4 blocks south of store #1
#5: 9 blocks north of store #1
#6: 6 blocks south and a half an avenue east of store #1
I can keep going, but I won’t bore you with the logistics. My point is that there is absolutely no f*cking reason why there has to be this many Starbucks locations in a 15 block x 2 avenue radius. There is just no need. Maybe, just maybe, this is why they have underperforming stores…just sayin’….and also maybe it’s all that free coffee they’re giving away.
I have such a love/hate relationship with the ‘Bucks. I go there almost everyday (and not just because of the cute girl that works there) but for some reason, I love bashing them and their $4 lattes. Idiots.
First on the list was the store right across the street from my office, which, of course, I frequent fairly regularly. Now, here’s where it gets fun…this is what the rest of the list looks like…
#2: 6 blocks north of store #1
#3: 3 blocks north and a half an avenue west of store #1
#4: 4 blocks south of store #1
#5: 9 blocks north of store #1
#6: 6 blocks south and a half an avenue east of store #1
I can keep going, but I won’t bore you with the logistics. My point is that there is absolutely no f*cking reason why there has to be this many Starbucks locations in a 15 block x 2 avenue radius. There is just no need. Maybe, just maybe, this is why they have underperforming stores…just sayin’….and also maybe it’s all that free coffee they’re giving away.
I have such a love/hate relationship with the ‘Bucks. I go there almost everyday (and not just because of the cute girl that works there) but for some reason, I love bashing them and their $4 lattes. Idiots.
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