Curious Mishaps

20 Minutes of Sunshine

2011-03-08T14:54:00.005-05:00

A few months ago I went to Seattle for the first time. It was miserable for a lot of reasons. Mainly because I had to go with L who had recently decided she wanted nothing to do with me and started dating a 20 year old. Yes, I know she's 32 and more importantly, I know she's fucked up. But, this isn't really about her. It's about how horrible the weather is...in Connecticut.

I've come to accept the fact that I'm a freak magnet. No matter where I am or who I'm with, if there is somebody "mentally impaired" (and by that I mean "fucking crazy") around, they will, inevitably strike up a conversation with me. It's just the way things go. So why would the last day, my travel day home be any different for me?

I had it all figured out. I was on the light rail back to the airport. One hour on the train, one to two hours through security and waiting around SEA-TAC, five hours on the plane, one and a half hours to get luggage, the car and get home and far, far away from L...forever. And maybe even see some sunshine when I woke up the next morning. Because after a week there, L had been in a nasty drunken stupor most of the time and I only saw the sun for 20 minutes. And, by the way, the space needle is stupid.

I was enjoying the welcome sense of relief when I got on the train. All I kept thinking was, "less than 12 hours and I'm free." I settled into a corner and got my book out. I didn't want to socialize with anyone else for the rest of the day. This was a great plan until the very next stop...when my new best friend/weather girl got on and sat across from me. I glanced up when she got on, but quickly looked back to my book to avoid anymore trivial conversation.

I was doing a great job ignoring her until I heard my phone go off with that familiar text message alert. I knew it was L. I just frigin knew it. So I pulled out my phone and see, of course from L, "Crazy pants is staring at you." And that's when I make the mistake of looking up. And then I made eye contact. Son of a...

CP: Where you headed?

B: New Jersey.

CP: Oh. Why are you going there?

B: Because I live there.

CP: Well the weather is horrible there.

B: Excuse me?

Now she's gone and pissed me off. She made a funny face when I said NJ, and now she's going to shit talk my favorite place in the world. And, most importantly, she has no room to talk because THE WEATHER IN SEATTLE IS ALWAYS HORRIBLE.

Of course I look over and L can barely control herself from busting out in hysterical laughter. If she didn't text me, I wouldn't have looked up and I most certainly wouldn't be engaged in conversation with this nut job. Everything is always L's fault and it always will be.

CP: I was in Connecticut a couple of weeks ago and the weather was horrible.

B: Well I don't live in Connecticut, I live in NJ and it's the greatest place on Earth. And it doesn't always rain there like it does here in this God forsaken place.

She started to say something else, but I was done. I stuck my face back in my book and ignored her and giggles sitting next to me. I had just spent five awkward days at L's brothers house where her and I were constantly bickering at each other. And if we weren't there I was dragging her drunk ass out of some bar because she got flagged for passing out in the bathroom. I also got punched on a city bus and I only saw 20 minutes of frigin sunshine the entire time I was there. I was done with Seattle and everything that had to do with it.

So...the moral of the story is...L is always wrong, I am always being accosted by crazy people and Seattle is awful. And...by the way, it rained for three days straight when I got home. I wouldn't have had it any other way...

Pictures

2011-03-08T14:40:00.002-05:00

So I'm over this daily picture thing. I'll try to keep posting them but it certainly won't be regularly.

11/21/10

2010-11-22T15:00:00.001-05:00

11/15/10

2010-11-15T22:46:00.000-05:00

11/14/10

2010-11-14T19:43:00.001-05:00

Project 365

2010-11-14T19:36:00.004-05:00

So I started this little photo blog thing because I need to do something creative. Or so I've heard.

http://365project.org/easyb/365

I'll try to post the pictures on here everyday too. If not just use the link to see them. Hopefully I'll be posting more stories soon too.

Oh Canada!

2009-09-22T16:38:00.003-04:00

So every Thursday night at The Ark is trivia night. A bunch of us used to go every week and play until it got too crazy and loud and stopped being fun. I actually hadn't been there on a Thursday night in a while, when K decided we should go there last Thursday for a drink.

Trivia was well under way and we weren't planning on playing, so we grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered our drinks. Well, it's kind of hard not to participate when you can hear all the questions being answered. Plus, the bartenders were playing and everybody around you winds up disucssing the questions that they're asking.

I'm really just trying to watch the Yankee game, when one question that seemed to stump a lot of people came up...What country starts with the letter O? J the bartender seemed to think it was Oman, a country in the Middle East. I wasn't sure, but it did sound familiar to me. K was not convinced though...

K: Is it Ottawa?

B: No...Ottawa is a city in Canada.

K: Oh. It must be Ontario then.

B: (Shaking my head) No, Ontario is a state in Canada.

(And before you all start commenting me to remind me that Ontario is not a state, but actually a province...I know. It was just easier to explain to K that it was a state. I would have f*cked her whole night up if I threw a new big word at her like province.)

K: Oh. I don't know what it is then.

I thought the whole Canadian problem was over with...but no, here comes H, one of the waitresses there.

H: I thought it was Ontario.

K just laughed...I explained that it was a state in Canada and went back to watching the Yankee game. I know K was serious, but I'm kind of hoping H knew better...

Jay Z Album

2009-09-21T16:56:00.002-04:00

So I'm definitely not big into rap/hip-hop at all, but I have to say the new Jay Z album is really great. Empire State of Mind with Alicia Keys is so good...and Run this Town with Rihanna...I love it.

Kanye West

2009-09-17T10:21:00.002-04:00

IS THE BIGGEST DOUCHE BAG ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH.

I'm done yelling now. I'm pretty sure the name "Kanye" means loudmouth asshole in some African tribal language.

Congratulations Derek!

2009-09-10T15:07:00.002-04:00

As most of you know, I am a die hard Yankee fan. And one of my favorite players is Derek Jeter. He is the epitome of class, on and off the field. Last night, he tied Lou Gehrig's record for most hits as a Yankee with 2,721. Just so you know, that's more hits than Don Mattingly had (2,153), than Yogi Berra had (2,148), than Joe DiMaggio had (2,214)and more than many other Yankee greats, like Mickey Mantle and Babe Ruth.

Last night's hits also landed him in a tie with Gehrig at #53 on the all time hits list. Yeah Jeter!

I've Got Legs, and Apparently, Don't Know How to Use Them

2009-09-04T18:23:00.002-04:00

So I've been shaving my legs regularly upwards of twenty f*cking years now. Yet, for some reason, almost every time I partake in this silly ritual, I slice the shit out of myself. What gives? I'm going to have to go back to using that stupid flicker razor thing that little girls use when they first start shaving their legs.

OOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

I'm only writing about this because I just shaved my legs and took a chunk out of the back of my leg. Happy Labor Day weekend...off to a great start. Thankfully my capri pants will cover the wound.

Yuck

2009-09-03T22:20:00.001-04:00

So I changed the colors around. I already don't like them. And not that I care if you do or not, but you probably don't either. It's settled then...I'll be changing them again soon.

You'll Always Be A Whore!

2009-09-03T11:28:00.003-04:00

People annoying me lately...the Spitzer hooker. He's a complete scumbag, yes...but you went public about your trysts with him to advance your career. Your singing career. Guess what...nobody's heard your songs so I'm sure you suck. And now your mom is mad that 'ol Spitz might be getting back into the political game.

Go back to whoring...I bet you could make way more than $4000 a lay now. Just sayin...

My 25 Things…

2009-01-29T13:12:00.004-05:00

Well, everybody's been harping on me to blog...so I figured I'd just post this on here, rather than Facebook. I'm not going to tag anybody anyway...I want to hear what you all have to say and I've procrastinated long enough that most of you have already done it. And I only did it today because I've noticed some of the same things on other peoples and I didn't want you to think I was unoriginal.

1. Some of the best advice I ever received was “Fuck ‘em.” Don’t take any shit from anybody. And if someone isn’t respecting you, well, “fuck’em.” It’s their loss.

2. I need to learn how to forgive. I rarely, if ever do it, and I probably should do it a little more. Not everybody, but some people, deserve second chances. Now, if I could just get a few of them second chances from people who should forgive me, I’d be set!

3. The only “religious” thing I do is play the mega-millions lottery. Every Tuesday and Friday baby.

4. I have only skied one time in my life, four years ago, and I’m freakishly good at it.

5. I am completely bugging out about not being 29 anymore. See…I won’t even say the age, I just refer to it as not being 29 anymore.

6. I was kidding about the lottery being the only religious thing I do. I also say a prayer every time an ambulance passes me with its lights on.

7. I have saved every ticket stub to the concerts, games, movies and so on that I have been to for the last ten years. I wish I had started doing it even earlier.

8. I think everyone should spend more time with their parents…regardless of their faults and your issues with them. Trust me on this one, you’ll miss them when they’re gone…more than you can possibly comprehend until it happens.

9. I really want to win an Academy Award. I have not, and will probably never, give up on this dream. (Most likely for screenwriting, directing or producing. But, I’d even take one for acting…and we’d all have to cross our fingers that it’s an off year for every other actress in Hollywood.)

10. If I wasn’t so worried about being stuck in some bullshit corporate job for the rest of my life where you’re judged on appearances and stupid crap like that, I’d probably have a ton of tattoos. I already have four and I love them.

11. I’m pretty sure I won’t have some bullshit corporate job for the rest of my life for a lot of reasons. A: I don’t do ass-kissing and that, apparently, is the key to success. B: I despise huge corporations. (Unfortunately, I sort of work for one of the biggest.) I’m pretty sure they’re ruining the world. Especially chain restaurants. Yuck. Except maybe Starbucks though, cause they’re trying to save babies in Africa and nice shit like that.

12. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I also haven’t accepted the fact that I am already a “grown-up.”

13. I want to spend at least one day in every one of the 50 states. Even Arkansas, Alabama and Mississippi. And West Virginia. And Oklahoma. You get the drift. 17 down, 33 to go.

14. Out of those 17, New Jersey is still my absolute favorite and probably always will be. California is a very close second.

15. Mustangs are my favorite car. I have loved them since I was a kid, but have never owned one. Yet. I love all years, shapes and sizes. Even the ugly ones from the ‘80’s.

16. I get bored with things very easily…this is why it’s taken me two weeks to finish this little project.

17. My biological clock seems to have kicked itself into HIGH gear lately. This is not good.

18. I also want to visit all seven continents. Especially Australia and Antarctica.

19. I think Australian people are the nicest, funniest people I have ever met. I only know a few, but they always make me laugh.

20. I don’t know anything about my paternal grandfather’s family and I have always wished I was the long lost heir to the English Muffin fortune. Sadly, I have googled this and found that it is not true. Damn it.

21. I would probably take my dog to the beach every day if weather and time permitted it. It’s one of the most relaxing things I do.

22. I have learned to embrace my ADD. I can “zone out” like a champion and I love it. Oh…by the way, sometimes when you’re talking to me, I’m not hearing a word you’re saying.

23. I love to do crossword puzzles, but, only Monday through Wednesday.

24. I really miss playing hockey.

25. This better not be a jinx…but I have never broken a bone. My mother credits this to the fact that she made me drink milk all the time as a child. I have had multiple concussions (explains a lot) and sprains, but never a break. I’d like to keep this record in tact. And I still love milk.

Settle Down...I Was Buying Underwear...

2009-01-14T18:58:00.002-05:00

Jeez...I was just taking a little rest. I'm practically unemployed and I quit smoking and I'm back being super good on my diet(sorta), so give a girl a break. I'm going to post one very, very soon. For instance...If I don't go out tonight, you might see it on here tomorrow. If I'm motivated.

I will leave you with this to think about...I have found that I buy underwear compulsively. Even though I'm a big ol' lesbo, I am still a girl and like most girls, I have compulsive shopping habits. I don't have a shoe problem considering it's not fun for me to buy shoes. I have big feet and if they get any bigger I'll have to buy fancy high heels and dress shoes at the shop where cross-dressers get them. I, apparently, am an underwear girl.

I know...I don't get it either. It's not like I look that cute with no clothes on...or have a long line of girls anxiously waiting to see me in said underwear. I just keep buying them though...all different styles too, from boy shorts to string bikinis. And a variety of colors and patterns. Fucking weird. I just bought some more today. And I have no money for random shopping. Whatever.

Well...you wanted another blog...so you got it. And now that I've just conjured up some dirty thoughts of me in my underwear for ya...the only other thing I can say is have a good night. And sweet dreams!

**And for those of you who decide to be funny and comment about images of me in my underwear causing nightmares rather than sweet dreams, you will not be posted. And I'm preemptively calling you an asshole right now!

Christmas...

2008-12-23T15:36:00.003-05:00

Yeah, yeah...I know, I haven't been blogging much. That's because I've been shopping and wrapping and drinking and eating cookies. I love Christmas!

I can tell you one thing though...next year, everybody's getting their present with nothing but a bow on it. I love the shopping and drinking and eating business...but wrapping...I'm f*cking over it.

Merry Christmas from your favorite blog!!

(Oh yeah...and Happy Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Ramadan or whatever other fucking holiday you celebrate this month!)

Costco Is Dangerous

2008-12-18T21:23:00.003-05:00

**It should be said before you read this blog that I despise going to Costco. I also don’t think their employees exist in reality. Think about it…they’re all so damn weird, I’m convinced a spaceship drops them off in the back everyday, and picks them up again later that night.**

Costco is completely fucking dangerous and I feel that it’s my civic duty to warn you all about it. I had the unfortunate experience of going there a couple of Saturdays ago…for one simple container of dip. S was having her birthday/housewarming party and I was on dip duty. How hard could that be…

So off to Costco I go and I just happened to be on the phone with C. I told her the place looked like a mob scene and to let me get off the phone so I could shop. I had surprisingly gotten a nice spot only one row over from the door and I had a good feeling about my impending shopping experience. I spoke to soon. As I get out of my car and go to cross the lane, I see a car coming towards me. But the woman appears to be slowing up...ahh, I think to myself, she's going to be nice and let me cross in front of her. Nope. The bitch was looking for a spot and just as I step out into traffic she floors it in an attempt to find a new one after she realizes the people aren’t leaving. Now she's only a few short feet from taking me out. Cool. I hustle across and jump out of the way as she slams on her breaks. That was fun...how much worse can it get? I’ve spoken too soon…again.

In I go and wave the membership card at the greeter. I pick up my pace, weaving in and out of old people, children and the browsers who take up entire aisles with their carts full of shit. Do you really need 300 cookies and the economy size bag of sausage…I don’t fucking think so. I’m now at the back of the store and it was pretty uneventful. I march right over to the dips…damn it. There’s no Baja Chipotle Lime dip…or whatever the hell it’s called. A friend of mine had it once and it’s delicious. A nice change from the usual Spinach Dip. Ok…maybe the Baja stuff is over by the cheese. It’s a cheese base…it could be. So I walk around the aisle and head to the cheese. Damn it. It’s not

As I’m heading back to the dip section, I feel a thud on my upper arm and I actually lost balance. What the fuck? I look up and some woman, around 60 or so, has full on shoved me out of the way with very little regard for my well being. Sweet Jesus. It was nearing riot like conditions. And in all honestly, I certainly couldn’t push an older woman in retaliation…no matter how badly I wanted to…so I retrieved my Spinach Dip and headed towards the front of the store to pay.

All the lines seemed crazy and I was searching for the shortest one. I spot one with a bunch of people, but very few items. Tada…I found my line. As I approach the register, I realize that they seem to be all in the same family. They’ve got Grandpa and Grandma with them and Mom and Dad and about a dozen kids. Ok…maybe a dozen is an exaggeration, but there was AT LEAST four of the little savages running circles around me. Fantastic! And on top of it, they’re only speaking Spanish. It was mind numbing.

In an attempt to avoid these children, I stand at the back of the register belt thing for where you put your groceries. I was right in the middle of it, one side is for carts and the other side is for members. I just wanted to wait for the giant family to finish up. But in doing so, other customers got in line behind me. One of these customers was a really old lady, definitely late 70’s who was obviously half blind and had her cane with her in the cart. And she lines up right next to me, but with her cart in the member section of the line. So now the register girl has her assistant (Seriously, a fucking assistant? You ring groceries at the Costco and you need an assistant? Whatever.) tell the old lady she has to bring the cart to the other side of the line. This is all well and good, but since she can’t see too well, she slams the cart into my hip in the process and pins me against the register belt. And repeatedly slams the cart into me until I so graciously help her move it…BEFORE I NEED A FUCKING CANE.

So now I have helped the old lady and she’s situated where she needs to be and the assistant (I’m really bothered by the checker outer people having an assistant.) is helping her unload her cart. Old lady was thanking me and thanking me…trust me, it was my pleasure. Unfortunately, with all the commotion, the assistant has already lined up the stuff for the old lady directly behind the giant Mexican family’s stuff. Shit. Now where am I supposed to put my Spinach Dip? I knew this was going to be a problem. I decided to place it down on the side of the conveyor belt thing, directly next to the divider separating the giant family and the old lady.

The (obviously overworked because she needs a fucking assistant) checker girl finally finishes the giant family and picks up the divider to start on the old lady’s stuff. So I quickly pick up the Spinach Dip and hand it to her.

CG: (pointing at the old lady’s stuff) Is that yours?

B: No.

CG: (points at the Spinach Dip and then to the Mexican family as they were leaving) Was that theirs?

B: No.

Checker girl huffs at me and yanks the Spinach Dip out of my hand. Now I’m pissed.

B: (extraordinarily sarcastic) I’m so sorry my dip wasn’t in between dividers like your Costco rules state, but I didn’t want to get adopted by the giant family, party of 27, and I certainly didn’t want to get run into by Helen Keller anymore so I helped her with the cart. Excuse me that I got a little sidetracked with the divider situation.

She just shoots me a look and thrusts out her hand…

CG: Member card

I hand her the card. And now I’m just expecting trouble, because it’s actually not my card. It’s my mom’s. I avoid that place as much as possible, why the hell would I need my own membership.

Thankfully she didn’t notice the picture and continued to cash me out without saying a word. Good. I grabbed my receipt and stormed towards the front door…barely stopping for the the guy to put that stupid Sharpie slash mark on it.

Fucking Costco. I hate it. And I found out after the fact that I could have gotten the same Spinach Dip at Foodtown. Son of a…

Tattoo Boy

2008-12-14T20:10:00.000-05:00

I’m pretty sure you’re all well aware that I’m a big ol’ lesbo. But according to all my gay friends, I’m not very good at it. They give me a list of different reasons, for example, I don’t like other gay people, I only like straight girls, I tell them they’re stupid for going to pride celebrations, and probably the most important reason why they say I’m a bad lesbian is that sometimes I try very hard not to be one.

What can I say? I’d rather just be straight. I think it’s easier and much more socially acceptable. And, I’ve got three aunts who are all stay at home moms, which I think is the greatest job in the world. I think I’m perfect for it actually…get the kids on the bus, clean up the house, grocery shopping, kids off the bus, make dinner. There’s nothing more I’d rather do than cook and decorate. And as for the kids…well, I figure they’ll grow on me. I like them, I’ve just yet to be exposed to them for multiple days in a row. How bad can it be?

Anyway, now that you understand this about me, that I’m always (sort of) looking for a husband, I can tell you about Tattoo Boy. Of course I don’t know his name, because that would involve talking to him. We just have this cute, smile and check each other out relationship at the gym. Oh yeah, I go to the gym a lot lately. I only go because I feel completely out of shape and I’m generally pretty bored in the afternoons, so why not use my time productively. So now back to TB. He’s got a very cute blue collar look about him. He’s a little chubby, which is just the way I like boys…when I do actually like them. TB does have a lot of tattoos though, hence the name. He’s got full sleeves, one on his lower back (which I’ve only seen when he was bent over stretching) and even one on his neck. This little crush I have is completely out of character for me and everyone who hears about it seems pretty confused. This is what C had to say about it when I told her the story the other night…

B: blah, blah, blah…cute tattooed guy at the gym…he’s cute and I like him.

C: He really has that many tattoos?

B: Yup. There not scary, ex con tattoos. They’re cute construction guy tattoos.

C: Are you going to talk to him?

B: Probably not.

C: What’s with you liking a boy anyway?

B: I don’t know, he seems like good husband material…and I’m really sick of working.

Yup. I probably am the worst lesbian I’ve ever met…

2009?

2008-12-11T22:37:00.001-05:00

As most of you know, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, was celebrated back in September. Well, a couple of weeks ago I was out for drinks with K and C, and K brings up the holiday…and her confusion about it.

K: You wanna hear something funny?

B and C: (looking at each other with much excitement, due to K’s stories usually being entertaining.) Sure.

K: Ok…I kept wondering why people kept saying Happy New Year back in September…

B and C: (confused) Yeah…

K: So I asked M (M is K’s girlfriend, and she also happens to be Jewish) and she told me that it was the Jewish New Year.

B and C: Ok…so…

K: But I was still really confused about it, so I asked M if that meant it was already 2009 for Jewish people…

B and C: (hysterically laughing) And what did she say?

K: (also laughing) She told me it didn’t mean that…different calendar or something…

That’s K for you. C and I were laughing our asses off because this is the same girl who didn’t know the difference between the atmosphere and a hemisphere. She’s also the same girl who asked if it was going to be dark in a cave. And she’s a teacher…thank God it’s only gym!

Sports Opinions

2008-12-09T16:20:00.001-05:00

I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that OJ is going to jail. I practically did a cartwheel. I hate that dirt bag and I think this is a perfect example of Karma. It’s gonna get you one way or another!

And while I’m on the subject of football players, let’s talk about the NFL and their (seemingly) lack of concern to have law abiding players in their league. For instance, Ray Lewis, who was indicted for murder and only convicted of obstruction of justice after various different witnesses changed their stories for the trial. Hmmm…that doesn’t smell like a payoff. And then there’s Pacman Jones, Plaxico Burress and Michael Vick (I especially hate this douche bag), to name a couple more fine upstanding citizens.

Now, to go 180 degrees, let’s talk about the NHL. Sean Avery, who plays for the Dallas Stars, just got suspended for six games last week. You want to know why…because he referred to his ex girlfriends as sloppy seconds. Seriously. Don’t get me wrong, Avery is an arrogant prick, but arrogance isn’t illegal. The NHL thought this was so terribly wrong. Sure, he did sort of have his own little press conference after a practice skate…and it seemed it was solely to announce that other NHL players “fall in love with my sloppy seconds.” What a jerk off, right? But, was a six game suspension really necessary? This is the same NHL that is contemplating banning fighting. You know, because hockey isn’t known for its fights. Pussies. Listen up NHL, this is why more people watch the WNBA…because those lesbos have more balls than you!

Anyway…the moral of this little rant is…The NFL needs to be a bit stricter, the NHL needs to stop being so prude and I’m SUPER EXCITED that OJ is going to jail. And I hope he drops the soap. A lot.

My First Guest Blog at Curious Mishaps

2008-12-03T15:10:00.002-05:00

First off my heartfelt thanx to B for allowing me to post this here. You see I can’t post this on any of my own pages as I would probably be fired from my fortune 500 company (or at least put in a time-out). I’ll preface this story with the fact that I work for the computer solutions division of my company but we also run a website that sells consumer electronics as well.

Also let me explain that I am a technical engineer, I have a string of alphabet certifications that looks like someone dumped a bunch of scrabble tiles after my name. Some of these certifications require me to do things like resolve DNS addresses by way of doing Boolean algebra in my head. Now I’m not trying to toot my own horn here I’m just trying to give you an idea of what someone with my job title is expected to be able to do. I normally spend my work days doing things like configuring cluster servers for large corporations, setting up massive terabyte storage systems and doing in-depth conference calls with customers about computer networking needs.

Starting this week the powers that be decided I would be placed on a pre-sales email queue and would assist sales people with finding technical solutions. Naturally I protested this move, alas to no avail. So today instead of putting together $100k plus quotes I am doing things like looking up specs on an apple iTouch and finding toner for the office printer when a request comes in from a sales rep . The request is from his customer who wants us to look up the parts on her husband’s Christmas wish list. The customer describes her husband as “having very expensive and exotic tastes”. Ok so right off the bat I am being asked to do someone else’s Christmas shopping! Next I open the attached “expensive and exotic” shopping list to find I am being asked to look up part numbers for...and I’m not kidding…Tony Hawk’s Xbox games and a set of gaming headphones. If this is what the customer believes are her husband’s exotic tastes I’d hate to see what their sex life is like.

Anyway I protest having to answer this request all the way up the chain of command. You might think my management would agree that this is a huge waste of my time and talents not to mention the tens of thousands of dollars they have spent on sending me all over the country for technical trainings, well you’d be wrong. I am told I need to be a “team player “and that in this economy no customer request is too small. While my management congratulates itself on making every customer feel special (not like the Olympics special) I am forced to stop working on a $300k blade server deal to look up part numbers of Xbox games so that this customer’s husband can relive the shredding days of his skateboarding 80’s past.

Well I did complete the request, however I added a few part numbers to the wish list I thought the customer might enjoy such as: The Women of Xbox Calendar, Leisure Suit Larry Hot Tub Fantasy Adventures game, and my personal favorite; The Mangroomer Private Body Shaver for those personal and hard to tame areas. Needless to say I will be looking for a new job soon. Perhaps BestBuy or the local Adult bookstore is hiring.

-X

Genetically Fucked

2008-12-02T01:12:00.003-05:00

I’m back from my holiday hiatus and I figured what could be better than to write about my Thanksgiving experiences. There’s nothing better than family bonding and binge drinking.

You’ve heard enough about Crazy Nanny…so I figured I’d let you in on a little secret, my other grandma is out of her fucking mind too! Yeah! She’s actually not really my grandmother…she's my father’s cousin, but he grew up in a big Italian family in North Jersey and they all took turns raising everybody else’s kid. Evelyn never had any children of her own and being over twenty years older than my dad, she’s always just seemed more like a grandmother than anybody else on his side of the family did.

Ev is eighty six now and when you get to a certain age you start slowing down. She can’t deal with this. The fact that she can’t walk too far makes her crazy. She was a city girl and never even had a driver’s license, so she spent every day of her young life walking all over Newark, whether it was to work or the store, post office…whatever. And even after she moved down to a retirement village with her husband (who has since passed away and God bless him being married to her) she still made a habit of walking herself the few blocks to the “mini-mall” in her community.

She’s never been the picture of stability…but lately it seems to be getting worse and worse by the day. And she was extra nuts the day after Thanksgiving…which is weird, because she was in good spirits the night before. She was hanging out at Crazy Nanny’s with us, had a good meal…shit, it’s better than being stuck in her house with nobody to talk to. You’d expect her to be happy. But her schizophrenia or whatever the fuck it is sure did kick in Friday morning. She woke up and instantly started crying about how bad her life is. What? I’m confused. Did she have some sort of nightmare or something? Who knows? After a couple of minutes of crying, she starts yelling and cursing Jesus. I’m not kidding. All I hear coming from the spare bedroom is “Fucking Jesus…he did this to me.” I had to help her down the stairs with her bag and the whole time, each single step, she’d say “Fucking Jesus.” Finally, I explained to her that if she shut up and stopped cursing poor Jesus that maybe she wouldn’t be so out of breathe and the steps wouldn’t seem so complicated. She actually got a chuckle out of that and held off cursing him until she hit the bottom step. All this anti-Jesus crap from the woman who has gone to church regularly for her entire life.

I can see it’s going to be a fun morning, so I go out and get coffee…all the while taking my time in hopes that my mom has left to take her home. No such luck. I go back in the house and Ev’s still at it…crying, cursing, crying, cursing. If my mother didn’t take her home soon, I might have wound up cursing Jesus.

They’re just about ready to go when Ev decides she doesn’t want to go to the grocery store. My mom explains to her that she won’t be down for a couple of weeks and that she should stock up on food.

Ev: (talking like a truck driver, which is obviously genetic if you know me at all) I don’t give a shit. I’ll eat crackers. I don’t want to go to the store.

My poor mother doesn’t know what to say to her anymore so I figured I’d try to help out…

B: What is wrong with you? Is this crazy shit genetic?

Ev: (smirking at me) Just wait ‘til you’re my age. Then you’ll say that crazy old bitch was right.

What can you say to that? My mom just shook her head and laughed. So did I for that matter. But I think we can safely say that I won’t be seeing eighty six years old and if I did, I can only imagine what kind of treat I’ll be…a combination of both Evelyn and Crazy Nanny…sipping Jack Daniel’s and hatin’ on everybody in my sight. I have just decided right now that I’m not going to quit smoking. I want to spare my children (if I have any) from dealing with me considering I’m not exactly a prize at twenty nine.

My mom and her finally leave. And of course my mother took her to the grocery store. And when she got home she told me that Evelyn kept up the crying/cursing routine the entire time. I didn’t expect any less from her.

Ahh…the holidays. There’s nothing like being stuck with your family all day and looking around thinking everybody is insane. And then you realize you’re genetically linked to 85% of them. Fantastic.

On a side note though, while I was out Saturday night drinking like it was my job, I was telling X and C the story. I told them that I’m worried about getting older and going crazy…to which X responds, laughing, “It’s a good thing you’re not showing any warning signs.”

Jerk. I think I’m doing pretty good considering my DNA.

Squirrel Proof?

2008-11-25T19:12:00.003-05:00

Last Sunday I was over at my grandmother’s house for family day. I’ve started calling it family day, because almost every Sunday for the last seven or eight years one of my uncles always seems to wind up at Crazy Nanny’s to hang out for the day.

I can see my ADD is kicked in pretty good tonight, because the point of the story is not about my family. It’s about Crazy Nanny’s new bird feeder. And this new feeder is supposed to be squirrel proof. Sure it is.

We were all hanging out watching football and/or playing with the baby. I was sitting on the couch still cursing the Eagles from the week before for costing me a strike in my elimination pool. Assholes. Anyway, out of the blue, my aunt starts laughing and she points to Nanny’s deck.

Squirrel proof my ass. You see the little bastard hanging upside down. He ate like a savage.

Nanny is quite possibly the hardest person to shop for, so I’ve been thinking there’s a Red Ryder BB gun in her future. Why not? She’s already voiced her annoyance at having to keep walking out onto the lawn when it’s cold out to get the bat she threw to get rid of the squirrels. Now all she'll have to do is crack a window and fire away.

I have to say though, I’m secretly rooting for the squirrels. Just don’t tell Nanny because she’s liable to shoot me with the BB gun. Really, I wouldn’t put it past her!

My Mechanic…

2008-11-20T19:16:00.001-05:00

…hates me. Well, he doesn’t really hate me, I just make him crazy. He seems to think that I should know everything about cars. Well, I don’t. And if I did, I would just fix the shit myself…leaving him unemployed. I think he should be thankful that I’m a little car retarded.

Anyway…this is what went down last week when I went in for an oil change. And I had noticed that a few days earlier, a light came on on my dashboard. It was an exclamation point. I have no idea what this means, but I do seem to remember it happening before and I thought it had something to do with tire pressure. I know, I know, I could have looked in my manual, but I figured it couldn’t be that important and it could wait a week until I took the car in. So I stop in one afternoon and ask him if I can drop it off the next morning. He happens to be on the phone, so he’s nodding his head yes to me. Then I tell him about the light, he shrugs but still nods his head yes. I tell him it’s an exclamation point and that I’m not sure if it’s happy or scared. He shrugs again. I’m guessing at this point that he seems to think it’s ok. I wave and leave.

I get there nice and early the next morning to drop it off and he’s asking me if I need my tires rotated. I actually have no idea, but I tell him no because I’m pretty sure he did it the last time. And I remind him about the light. He says he’ll check it and let me know. So I leave him my keys and he tells me he’ll call me that afternoon when it’s finished.

He calls me a few hours later and tells me it’s ready. And how much to bring, because he really likes cash and not giving receipts. Hmmm…anyway, I head on over and he tells me everything is fine. The light meant that I needed air in my tires. “Which one,” I ask him, “None of them looked low.” He looks at me like I’m crazy and told me all four of them needed air. Whoops. And then he reminds me that I was a little overdue for my oil change…

M: You waited too long this time to come in for the oil change.

B: Well, it’s highway miles. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

He doesn’t seem to like this response.

M: (shaking his head at me, but smiling) Get out. You make me crazy.

B: You know, just because I’m not some dainty little ballerina like thing, doesn’t mean I know shit about cars…

M: (still shaking his head and laughing at me) I can’t take you…go home.

So I left. I’ve noticed I invoke a lot of head shaking out of people. They’re usually laughing or smiling when they’re doing it, so I figure it can’t be that bad. I hope.

Puppies!!

2008-11-19T14:42:00.002-05:00

They're adorable and they make me happy...if you're having a bad day, click on the link below because they'll make you smile. Shit...just click on it anyway!

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/shiba-inu-puppy-cam

Taserama

2008-11-17T14:19:00.005-05:00

This is by far one of my favorite stories of all time. This is the final installment of the Tennessee stories. I’ve waited so long to post it because I’ve been working on it for a while…I want to really capture the moment for you because it was that fucking funny to live through. Chances are you have probably already heard me tell the story, considering I tell it to EVERYBODY.

It was our last night down there in the good old south and we had actually been behaving all day. We went into town in the early evening to do some last minute souvenir shopping, you know, all the essentials, T-shirts, shot glasses, cowboy hats and even dill pickle potato chips. We were also going to finally go on the sky lift, because every time we were anywhere near it K went on and on like a little kid about riding it. All these good intentions went right out the window with just a few words…”Let’s stop and have a drink.” I don’t know who said it, but we went to Puckers. Whoops. After the first drink, we decided we could have one more before the sky lift. And after the second, we decided we could have another one. And then we started doing Jell-O shots. Fuck the sky lift…that shit is not for drunk people. So we settled in…doing Jell-O shot after Jell-O shot and Soco and lime after Soco and lime.

After a few shots and getting told by a man from Texas that I’m too pretty to be a lesbian (I had been afraid of getting lynched for being gay, so you know I was drunk if I actually admitted to it…) I decided a little karaoke was in order. So I coerce X into dueting with me…not a good idea. First of all, we sing terribly together. And second of all, we had no business singing a Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers song (Islands in the Stream) in Dolly’s hometown. I figure if we had sung it any worse, it could have also been grounds for a lynching. But we sang it…or at least attempted. X had never heard the song and couldn’t follow along. We finished it much to the relief of everyone else in the bar, and as X is returning the mic’s to the karaoke guy, he seems to find himself in an altercation with a local. You know this isn’t going to end well…

I’m back at our table and turn and see this guy in X’s face so I run over. Apparently X had bumped into him and didn’t say excuse me. Now I know all you Jersey people are wondering what’s so bad about that…we do that here all the time. Well, down there, they don’t. Ever. And this drunken old cowboy wasn’t having it. So he’s explaining to X how to be polite. And rather than be defensive, X was actually standing there taking it. When it was all said and done, X went to give him a hug. Bad fucking move. Drunk cowboy shoves X off of him and X is trying to apologize for being rude. DC says, “Shit, I just want you to be polite, I don’t want no damn hug from you.” And then he turns and walks away. Well, now X is pissed and takes off after him, but I thankfully had grabbed him by his shirt and held him back.

So now we decide we want to order some food, so we got some wings and nachos to munch on. The perfect compliment to Jack and Diet’s and Soco shots. And as we’re waiting for our food, X takes out a book of matches that he got from the strip club. The matches are for a bail bonds company. Now this is some foreshadowing if I’ve ever seen it. We were all laughing and joking and we were now chatting up some nice couple at the table next to us. They were from Indiana and I’m pretty sure they thought we were all out of our minds, but they were entertained nonetheless. And it was a good thing they liked us, because the dude was big. And this came in handy when the drunken cowboy was getting thrown out of the bar. And in a drunken rage, made an attempt to attack X. Big Indiana dude jumped up and held him back while the bouncers threw him out. It was great, watching some sixty something year old hick go crazy, I highly recommend it.

Things had settled down for a little bit, we ate and of course kept on drinking. The Indiana people were great…we had a lot of fun with them. And then one of us (I’m thinking it was me, but it’s starting to get a little blurry) suggests that we will sing a song for them. Aren’t we sweet? Bon Jovi no less, in honor of their new favorite people from Jersey. So up we go and belt out what was probably the worst rendition of Livin' on a Prayer that’s ever been sung. Mrs. Indiana must have been almost as drunk as the rest of us, because the next thing I know, she’s up on stage with us dancing and singing along. Note to self: we are a terrible influence on good, innocent people from the Midwest. Allegedly, we sang another song. One of the fun ones from Grease that they usually play at weddings and proms. I refuse to accept this though, because I have absolutely no recollection of it. I don’t care how many times K threatens to show me the video of it, I still insist I did not sing any other karaoke but Dolly and Bon Jovi.

When we had arrived at Puckers, the sun was still up. It was now 1 am and we were WASTED. As we go up to get the tab and say good bye to Indiana, X decides he’s had enough and wanted some fresh air. We’re smokers, but we aren’t used to being able to smoke in a bar anymore and it was getting a little thick in there. So out he goes and me, A and K settle up the tab…which was ridiculously high, even for Tennessee prices. And it wasn’t even counting all the Jell-O shots we bought for cash. Disgusting. I remember at one point in paying, that I looked out the door and saw X sitting on a bench by the door waiting for us. But a few minutes later, when we got outside, he was gone. Poof. Just fucking disappeared. Uh oh.

Now we don’t know what to do. I figured that he was so wasted he wouldn’t wander off…he’s not like that. So we walked around the block to where we parked to see if he was there. Nope. Finally I see a bike cop so I figure I should go ask him. So I march my wasted ass across the street and tell him my friend is missing. He asks me to describe him and he starts laughing. “He’s in jail,” he says, about as twangy as you can get. Now I’m freaking…what? Why? Where? Is he ok? “Yeah, he’s fine. Public intoxication.” The same fucking public intoxication that I’m pulling right now, because the whole time I’m talking to the cop, I’m stumbling all over the place and had to hold onto his bike to keep steady. So Roscoe P. Coltrane himself gives me the number for the Gatlinburg Police Department. And I’m now yelling across the street to A and K… “He got locked up!” Because I think it’s fucking hysterical! Then I remember that he had my cigarettes on him, and now I’m pissed because my innocent cigarettes are now in jail. It’s funny what your priorities are when you’re drunk.

So we go back to the car and I’m about to call the police to see when I can go pick his ass up when I decide that first and foremost, I have to get cigarettes. So we go to a gas station convenience store and I took about twenty minutes, most of which was in the potato chip aisle and I was debating whether or not a certain somebody deserved more pickle chips. Then I got distracted by two local guys who were very loud. I figured they looked like they might know a thing or two about the local jail, so I inquired about the rules. Well, go figure…they were more than helpful. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I got arrested one time and I never even paid the fine. Then, the next time I got arrested, they forgot all about it.” Wasn’t he sweet? I felt better already. Upon exiting the gas station, these two serial killer looking weirdo’s ask me for a ride to the motel they live at. Sure I tell them, and make them sit in the back with K. And promptly make her give me my purse as I loudly announce I don’t want it in the back with them. How the three of us are not a dead hitchhiker pick up statistic is beyond me. I’ve heard God looks after drunk people…I’m beginning to think that’s true.

We drop the serial killers off and I finally call the jail. After a phonics lesson for the cops because they couldn’t pronounce X’s last name…they finally confirm that he is indeed in jail. And I’m not allowed to pick him up until morning. And even though I’m just as drunk as he is, he still can’t come home and sober up with me. These poor cops. Fine, I give up, but one more thing… “If I can’t come pick him up, can I at least come take pictures of him in jail,” I ask, so innocently. Laughing, the cop responds, “Nah, you can’t come take no pictures of him.” No fun. Hysterically though, when the cop gets off the phone with me, they tell X his mom called for him. Because moms are always as drunk as their kids and want to come take pictures of them in jail. What? Tennessee really is a whole ‘nother world.

So morning comes…and I’m definitely still a little wasted, but X is blowing up my phone because he’s sprung. So I go get him and find him waiting outside the police station. You know I made him pose in front of the sign…unfortunately, he won’t let me post that picture. No fun. Anyway, I see him waving to some local guy across the street. To which I promptly explain that I don’t care how friendly he got with this guy in the clink, I AM NOT driving him home. Thankfully I had survived the night before, and I wasn’t taking my chances. Before I even get a chance to explain the story, X informs me (knowing that I’m a smidge OCD) that he’ll hang his “bloody arm” out the window. Bloody? They told me you weren’t hurt, that you didn’t get in a fight. “What did they do to you?” I was secretly wondering if he dropped the soap or something, but I didn’t want to ask. He had had a bad enough night.

“I got arrested for being drunk. I didn’t do anything. I got hurt in jail,” he says, rather defensively. And he begins the story…in which he was sitting nice and quiet in the holding cell when an illegal immigrant approached him, yelling in Spanish. X nicely explained that he didn’t speak Spanish. Immigrant wasn’t having it. So he sucker punches X and starts trying to beat him up. The cops hear the ruckus and intervene. So now X is sitting there, and the guy next to him (the same guy he was waving to the next morning when I was there to pick him up) tells him that he “hates Mexicans” and if he comes back over, that he was going to help X kick the crap out of him. When in Rome…so X agrees. Well, here comes immigrant guy and he’s got one of his friends with him. So X and his new pal get up and a mini-brawl ensues. The cops come back after hearing all the noise and decide that they’re not getting in the middle of it…so they taser all of them. Bahahahaha….I’m still laughing about it and it was in August! X doesn’t find it very amusing.

I couldn’t even catch my breath because I was laughing so hard. That’s what friends are for…right? Hearing him tell me how one minute he’s standing over this guy, kicking him in the gut, and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on the floor and feeling a little numb, only makes the laughter worse. So I laugh all the way back to our cabin and go busting in the house to tell A and K about the taser. Now they’re hysterical. We of course texted everybody we knew the night before that he was in jail. Now we had to text everybody and tell them about the taser. X wants to kill us. Oh well. As soon as we got home, we told everybody. I mean everybody…strangers even. Everybody thinks it’s the funniest story ever. I told Crazy Nanny and she damn near peed her pants.

Who wants to come with us on our next vacation!? We’re thinking ski lodge in Utah…so we can combine large quantities of alcohol with big mountains and downhill skiing!

Public Urination Is Apparently Legal In Jersey City

2008-11-11T19:12:00.001-05:00

I was reading good old gawker.com the other day when I saw an article about a New Jersey Councilman who was arrested Friday night for drunkenly urinating on people at a concert in Washington, DC.

Apparently Steven Lipski, a Jersey City Councilman was in Washington to see a Grateful Dead tribute band and imbibed a bit too much, causing him to piss off a balcony onto a crowd of what I’m assuming was a bunch of drunken, tripping Deadheads. What an asshole.

What I really find amusing is that Lipski denies the incident. After getting locked up he told everyone he spilled a drink. Bullshit. I’m pretty sure I can tell the difference between a vodka tonic and piss. So can pretty much everybody else. Even if they’re just as drunk as the urinator(I think I made this word up.) in question. And of course, like celebrities who get busted for doing stupid shit when they’re drunk, he has announced he’s swearing off alcohol.

I get drunk all the time and I don’t piss on people. Although, I do swear off alcohol every few months after a bad night. I think the moral of this story is that all politicians are assholes. Even local councilmen.

I personally would like to thank him for helping to keep the nationwide reputation that Jersey is a shithole in check.

Below, the fun loving guy himself. I think the picture says it all.

Equal Opportunity Feeder

2008-11-10T19:47:00.003-05:00

Crazy Nanny is a real animal lover. She’s got birdhouses all over the yard, much to my displeasure, and she’s always outside putting seed down for the chipmunks and other animals. For some reason, unbeknownst to everyone else…she hates squirrels. And she sure as hell doesn’t want them eating her seed. That’s for the birds and chipmunks and ducks…whatever…anybody can eat the damn seed as long as it’s not a squirrel.

I’ve told her I think she should put a sign up for the squirrels…that maybe once they read it, they’ll stop eating her seed. She just thinks I’m a smartass when I tell her that…but I don’t think it’s any more absurd than her thinking she can actually prevent the local squirrels from eating it.

‘Ol Nanny has come up with a few creative ways to chase the squirrels from the yard…but her latest is pretty interesting. It’s not creative at all actually…it’s just good old brute force. I was coming home from a coffee run a couple of weeks ago when I discovered her new method for squirrel elimination.

I had just pulled into the driveway and walked around to the other side of my car to let the dog out. The same dog from Fucking Birds that likes to chase the animals in the yard. And as we were about to head into my house (My house is a mother/daughter and Nanny has a little house on the side of ours,) I hear banging and yelling coming from the side of the house.

Panic ensues because knowing that she’s 80, I’m afraid she’s fallen or dropped something…who knows. So I go running over with the dog and there she is…standing on her front porch with my little cousin’s plastic toy bat. And she’s banging it on the porch and yelling at the squirrels. Now the dog is going crazy, chasing the squirrels all over the place. And Nanny was satisfied. The squirrels were gone and I think it’s the first time in over two years since we got Madison that Nanny didn’t yell at her for running in her flowers.

She also informed me that if the squirrels aren’t listening when she bangs the bat on the porch, she will throw it at them if she has to. Honestly, you can drive by my house and you'll most likely see a little red bat in the front yard. It's not mine.

I wonder if this shit is genetic? Can’t you see me now, a crazy old lady sitting in my rocking chair, knocking back Jack Daniel’s like it’s my job…and throwing random shit at animals in my yard. Fuck.

Election Day

2008-11-05T13:45:00.001-05:00

Ugh. I already hate my job. Having to work on such a chaotic, insanity inducing day is just hell. Fucking hell. And everybody in my office is crazy. Really crazy. For example, on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the craziest…we average about a 7 on regular days. And it fluctuates something like this…we see on CNN that there’s breaking news so it shoots up to a 7.5. We get ONE email about some sort of possible emergency and/or disaster…it shoots up to an 8. We get a few more emails about said disaster…9. It’s been on CNN for more then three minutes…9.5. We get the orders to find satellite trucks, camera men, producers, correspondents…the office starts to look and sound more like a trauma center than our happy little fishbowl where we usually sit and watch TV. Once the crew is on the road to the problem, the crazy averages around a 9. This, of course, is all dependent about how fast the crew can get there. If they think we might miss going live, it averages about a 10…if it’s real tight…a 10.5. It stays around a 10.5 until all the initial tapings and crap are done. Anyway…the moral of the story is that everybody I work with has been buzzing around at a 9 for the past two weeks, and Election Day…shit…I know they’re gonna top out around 15. And I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. NOT AT ALL.

But, now that it’s over I can surprisingly say that it wasn’t that bad. It could have been worse. There was actually some time where we were a little bored. Or at least I was. In fact, at one point my boss wanted to know who interrupted one of our feeds to Asia…

Boss: (slightly frantic) Who switched the India feed?

A chorus of “Not me’s” was heard and I just stared at him blankly for a moment.

B: Unless there’s a link to it on my facebook page, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.

He just shot me a look and ignored me…and then a few minutes later said,

Boss: Facebook page? Can’t you even pretend like you’re being productive?

I just laughed. But, inside, what I was really thinking was that facebook and myspace are pretty productive. Seriously, I had just become friends with somebody from college who I hadn’t seen in a few years. I got more satisfaction out of that than anything at #B# News.

So that’s how work went yesterday. I did notice the crazy level starting to go up around 10:45pm last night…shortly before they were going to announce that Obama won. So what did I do…I packed up my stuff and headed out. I was only working until 11p, and God knows I didn’t want to get stuck there!

Toilet Paper

2008-11-03T14:51:00.000-05:00

Here’s another Puerto Rico story. One of the best considering we still keep telling it…much to C’s displeasure.

It was our first day in PR. We landed early that morning and we were all wiped out from the 6am flight. Mostly because we had never went to bed and got drunk and took a limo from The Ark to the airport at 3am. But that’s how we roll. We actually got to our rental house so early that the cleaning crew was still there. So as a group we decided we should head to the grocery store and stock up on booze. Oh…and food and toilet paper too.

After a couple of hours and two overflowing carts later, we get back to the house with all our crap. After careful inspection of our living quarters for the next week and a half, we determine that it’s not nearly as nice as the website made it out to be and that of the three bathrooms, one was outside and had bugs in it, the other was upstairs by the three bedrooms and the third seemed to be missing. Thankfully X was perceptive to notice the extra door in KB’s bedroom and wiggled the lock and low and behold the third bathroom appeared. Freshly cleaned and ready for action. But this wasn’t good enough for C.

C had already taken a mental inventory of the TP on hand in the house and decided we didn’t have enough and we should go back to the store. After the group trip grocery shopping this was the last thing we wanted to do. Plus, we had bought a big multi-pack, so we weren’t sure what the urgency was all about. C’s a little weird sometimes.

We had just settled in and gotten the groceries put away and we all wanted to take a nap and relax. A and G went upstairs to unpack and take showers and freshen up. Rightly so, after a long night and an even longer morning. It seemed like only seconds after they went up to use the bathroom that C started about how he had to take a dump. And he wouldn’t stop bitching about it.

X, KB, KH and I all kept telling him to go use the bathroom in KB’s room. He refused. He was adamant about the fact that he had to use the upstairs bathroom. Weirdo. We could all understand that he wouldn’t want to use the outside one, with all the bugs and stuff. But what was wrong with KB’s? Nobody had used it yet. Honestly, not one person had even peed in the damn thing since it was cleaned. But his excuse was he didn’t think we were allowed to use it. What? The website said three bathrooms…and it wasn’t locked, the door was just stuck. Nope…he wouldn’t use it. He wouldn’t even consider it. So he sat there in complete discomfort, moaning and bitching. And not so patiently waited for A and G to get done upstairs.

Finally, the moment arrived. He went upstairs and made sure they were done. He settled in for what was going to be the greatest dump of his life, or at least that’s what it seemed like to the rest of us. And just a few minutes later…

C: (Frantically yelling from upstairs like fucking Hannibal Lecter was in the damn bathroom) X. X.

We were all sitting in the living and were alarmed by the urgency in his voice. So I ran up the stairs and X was right behind me.

B: (Outside the bathroom door.) What’s wrong? Are you ok?

C: (Annoyed) I just need X.

X: I’m right here…what’s wrong?

C: (You could hear him swallowing his pride at this point. And he’s now talking at a near whisper.) Can you get me some of the toilet paper from downstairs?

I could have peed my pants. This idiot went on and on about the bathroom and the upstairs one being the best and kept a running fucking tally of the TP we had on hand…and this is what happens.

So we go back downstairs and X gets him some toilet paper from the “other” bathroom. We all think this is the funniest thing ever. And when X gets back down from the covert drop off, I tell him that C’s going to be mad at me because I went upstairs. Which I only did out of sheer concern. His voice cracked for Christ’s sake. I thought something was wrong.

And sure enough, here’s comes C downstairs and he points right at me…

C: You are so nosy. I wasn’t calling for you.

All I could do was laugh. I knew he was going to say that. But X had my back…

X: Nosy? The neighbors heard you screaming and thought something was wrong.

Ahh…C. I highly recommend bringing him on vacation with you. He’s a laugh a minute. Just wait until I tell you about how he wrecked the rental car.

Power Outage

2008-10-30T13:19:00.001-04:00

The other day as I was typing up Fucking Birds (part 2), there was a power outage in my neighborhood. The power outage in question managed to happen while the gas company was at my house in yet another attempt to fix my heat. And of course, I hadn’t managed to save the blog I was typing, almost finished with actually…

So I go storming downstairs, damn near ready to bash the gas man’s head in with a wrench, and when I get downstairs, he’s complaining about the power outage too. Apparently it’s not his fault. He’s lucky.

It’s too late though, because I’m already off on a tirade. Within another minute or two, the power came back on and I run back upstairs and turn the computer on. While it’s booting up, I immediately call X and leave him a very frantic voicemail because he knows shit about computers and I want my blog back. And I’m sick of the flashbacks I’m having of my teachers and professors constantly reminding us in class to back up our work.

B: IT’S ME. I NEED YOU TO CALL ME BACK ASAP. I’M HAVING A COMPUTER EMERGENCY.

As soon as I hang up I sent him a text message too. Just to drive the emergency point home.

The computer finally comes back on and I can’t find my blog. I decide to open up Word, just to check. Low and behold, there it is.

I was just starting to relax, and to finish writing the blog when my phone rings. It’s X and he’s a bit worried.

X: Hey…are you ok? What’s wrong?

B: Oh…nothing. The power went out and I thought I lost the blog I was writing and I knew you’d know how to get it back. But when the computer came back on, it was there. In Word.

X: (laughing, and presumably thinking I’m fucking crazy) Ok…I’ll talk to you later.

That X…he’s a good egg. I’m also fascinated with how I can go from normal, to an unhealthy state of insanity, and back to normal within minutes. Oh well…that’s what makes me so much fun!

Fucking Birds (part 2)

2008-10-27T18:05:00.004-04:00

If you haven't already read Fucking Birds (part 1) you should scroll down and do that. This story will make more sense when you do.

So now you know I hate birds. And rightly so. I haven’t had any problems with them lately, unless you count that rogue bat in Tennessee. That is until the other night.

I’ve sort of been on a clean living kick (well, as clean as I can get.) This involves not smoking any cigarettes during the day and not going out as much. So last week, on one of my “healthy nights” where I wasn’t going out, I was going to stay home and relax and watch TV, I decided I could splurge and smoke one cigarette…considering I wouldn’t be out drinking and smoking. One cigarette wasn’t so bad…right? It definitely was.

So I head out onto my front porch and light one up. I’m taking a few puffs off of it and everything is fine and dandy. Until I catch something fluttering around out of the corner of my eye. And when I turn and look, this fluttering thing makes a beeline for my fucking head. So after a very dramatic duck and cover I look up and realize that there isn’t just one flying creature, but two. And number two was coming straight for my head too. Fuckers. Now I’m yelling…for a lot of reasons. Firstly, it’s happening so fast that I can’t quite tell if they’re birds or bats. They appeared to have feathers, but I didn’t get a good look. Secondly, I’m yelling because now I think my hair is on fire, because that’s bound to happen when you huddle up into a ball with a cigarette in your mouth. And thirdly, I’m yelling because I don’t like things flying at my fucking head. Birds, bats…anything.

I finally come up for air…and to see if my hair is fully engulfed in flames (I have done that before…it can happen) or if it’s just singed. Thankfully, only a few pieces got stuck on the end of the cigarette, so all is good. Except that these stupid birds can’t seem to get away from my porch. So now they keep fluttering by me and slamming into the house. They appeared to be afraid to fly past the hanging flower baskets. I don’t know what they’re so fucking afraid of, considering they make nests in the damn things. I flick my cigarette out onto the lawn because I don’t want to burn anything else, and who knows when I’ll have to take cover again.

I go back into the house to a very excited dog. She’s a Lab and she thoroughly enjoys chasing wildlife. It’s her instincts. Between me yelling and the birds banging into the house she is now trying to break out the front door in a Lassie like attempt to save me or something. I don’t really think it had anything to do with me…I’m sure she just wanted to chase the birds. Whatever, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and continue to think of her as my savior.

I come to find out from Crazy Nanny that they were in fact birds and not bats. She (thinks she’s a wildlife expert) is sure that they were sparrows and they were making a nest in one of the baskets.

I’ll tell you one thing though. That’s enough with clean living. I marched right to my room that night and changed my clothes. And promptly headed to The Ark. Where I drank beers and smoked cigarettes and had no more interactions with crazed wildlife. Well…that is if you can consider all the regulars at The Ark to be human…and not crazy.

Below, my fearless hero:

Fucking Birds (part 1)

2008-10-23T22:03:00.000-04:00

I have bad luck with birds. I used to like them when I was a kid, that was until my parakeet went bonkers and killed my other one. I’ll have you know that it’s a bit traumatic to come home at seven years old and find poor Petey stiff as a board on the bottom of the cage with the top of his head pecked in. All because Petunia wanted to sit next to the mirror. She was a bitch and she lived for what seemed like forever. All the while flinging herself at your hand to bite it the second you tried to give her more water and food. My mother had finally had enough of her and pawned her off onto Crazy Nanny. Where she continued to live and prosper for even longer, and still viciously attacked everything in her sight.

The uneasy feeling I have towards birds isn’t just because of Petunia. It’s directly related to a few other experiences as well. One time, while vacationing in Florida as a kid, my parents took me to one of those gator farms. Obviously they had plenty of gators to see, but they also had other animals too. Some of which were parrots. And of course, my father, paying little or no attention at all to the “Don’t Touch The Birds” sign, sticks his hand in the cage in an attempt to pet the parrot. This fucker lunged at him so fast and clamped down on the metal bars like a vice grip. He had barely escaped a finger amputation…but he didn’t learn his lesson.

Years later, we happen to be in Vegas and the hotel we were staying at has a variety of exotic birds on display around one of their bars. Well, sure as shit, my father has to disregard the Don’t Touch signs and play with them. So there are these two medium size purple and green birds sitting on a perch together. And they let my father pet them. And the one was loving him, making cooing noises and rubbing it’s head into his hand. All was well until it had enough of being played with. Instead of pulling its head back or walking away, it bit into my father’s finger, ripping a chunk out of it between the knuckle and tip. It bled like a bitch…and of course all I could do is laugh. And the timing couldn’t have been more perfect, because here comes my mother, walking down the corridor back from a shopping trip. To find her husband bleeding profusely and her daughter hysterically laughing at him. She laughed too though…that’s what you get for not reading the signs.

I also had my own “miscommunication” with a bird. I was working at a movie studio in New York for a film I happened to be on. And the guy at the studio had a pet cockatiel (it might be a cockatoo, I have no idea, nor do I care enough to know what the difference between the two is.) Everybody loved the bird. It seemed like the whole damn production staff loved the bird. I, on the other hand, would not go near it. I had way too many close calls with the fuckers as I was growing up to know that they can’t be trusted. Finally after some coaxing by my coworkers, I relented and acknowledged the bird with something other than a cautious glare. And low and behold, he liked me. He liked me so much that he would do a little dance for me and make happy noises and act real cute (I should have know, I had seen this act before from the bastard in Vegas). Before long, the guy who owned the studio was telling me I should let him on my shoulder. Shoulder? I told him I wasn’t so sure about that.
B: That’s a little too close to my face. Too close to my ear. He could get pissed and bite my nose…peck at my eye.

Studio Owner: Nah, he’s sweet. He doesn’t bite. And he really likes you.

B: (Still very skeptical, but feeling guilty) Ok. Fine. But only for a minute.

The guy seems happy that I’ll let his stupid bird on my shoulder so I figured it would be fine. Besides, I hadn’t seen an aggressive act from this bird all damn day. I stick my arm out in an attempt to let him climb up to my shoulder. But he doesn’t get on it. He actually starts doing a little dance similar to the one he had been doing for me earlier. Apparently this time it wasn’t a dance. It was some sort of agitated bird ritual they do…RIGHT BEFORE THEY FUCKING BITE YOU. He snapped his beak down on my forearm so hard and so fast I couldn’t even react. The studio owner jumped up to help me and the bird finally let go. And in an instinctual moment I went to backhand him off of me, and the fucker knew it…because he immediately jumped back out of the way of my hand.

With my arm feeling like it’s on fire and already starting to bruise, I asked the guy what the fuck that was all about…

B: What the fuck? I thought he didn’t bite…and he liked me. I knew I shouldn’t have let him on my shoulder.

SO: (In between asking me about a hundred times if I was ok, obviously in an attempt to have me not sue him.) He normally doesn’t…you didn’t put your hand out.

B: (Now I’m getting madder, because somehow this has become my fault.) What? You didn’t tell me I had to put my hand out a certain way. What the fuck?

SO: Yeah, he can’t climb onto your arm. You have to put your finger out.

B: Why didn’t you tell me this when you saw him getting pissed off?

SO: I thought you knew.

BECAUSE I SPEAK BIRD? Now I want to backhand this asshole. I had just spent the better part of ten hours keeping a safe distance between me and that fucking pit viper with wings and when I’m finally going to let him up on my shoulder he just assumes I know what the fucking thing wants. I then had to spend the rest of my day convincing the producers of the film that I didn’t need to go to the emergency room. Beaks aren’t necessarily that sharp unless they actually pull when they bite…and thankfully this fucker didn’t really pull so it barely broke the skin. The only pain came from the pressure…they are much, much stronger then they appear.

Anyway…there was a point to this random babbling about why I hate birds, a funny incident involving me and birds from the other night…but I feel like I’ve been typing a lot, so I’m going to continue it tomorrow. I apologize, I had no idea my hatred for birds was as long as it is.

Dancing with The Devil

2008-10-21T20:39:00.002-04:00

I need to preface this blog with the simple fact that I don’t get star struck. Well, hardly ever. After quite a few years of working on films and television shows, and now being relegated to bumping into the network news anchor in the hallway (my certain networks big guy almost wore my Lean Cuisine dinner once…that would have been fabulous), I’ve learned that famous people are nothing more than really popular regular people. They’re all pretty cool and down to earth and of all of them I’ve ever worked with, there’s only one who was actually a bitch to the point of me despising her…but, I’ll never tell who she is. Anyway…there’s not too many people I can say that I would get overly excited about seeing. I could name a few, but they’d all be girls and it would be for purely sexual reasons…

Ok…so now you know, I don’t get star struck. But, back in the spring of 2006 I was working on the show Hope & Faith. And Hope & Faith just so happened to film at Silvercup Studios in Queens. And at the very same time I was working there, the film The Devil Wears Prada was shooting there as well. You know, the one with my idol…Meryl Streep.

TDWP was a gigantic production and I didn’t know their schedule, like when they’d actually be in the studio or out on location. And after weeks of not having seen Meryl, I’d given up all hope of seeing my hero. I absolutely love her. I think I can trace it back to when I was a kid and saw her in She-Devil. I loved that movie…and obviously, I know that’s not her best work and my taste in film has gotten significantly better since then as well. So having been a fan of hers for almost twenty years, I suppose it’s understandable that I’d love the chance to bump into her. And it would have to be by chance, because I would never go searching her out or asking for her autograph…I’m not like that.

Sometimes things happen when you least expect them. And that’s how it went with Meryl. It was the end of a very long Friday. We had been shooting H&F all day. The crew had just started wrapping and I brought a cart down to the set green room to get the leftover food and wine that was there for the actors and their guests. I loaded the cart like every other Friday night and wheeled it from the stage to the hall that lead to the elevator. And as I was doing this, I wasn’t even thinking about TDWP. In fact, I didn’t even think they were in studio.

So off I go, carting down the hallway, oblivious to everything. The hallway is pretty wide too, but it gets narrow in certain spots where staircases come down from the dressing rooms. And just as I was about to walk past a staircase, somebody comes down the steps and spins into the hallway. And they’re bearing down on me. That’s when I look up and see, of all people, Meryl Streep. In full Devil wardrobe. Apparently, she was in full Devil character too, because she wasn’t stopping. She just kept charging towards me, with an evil glare…and no words were necessary for her to say, “Get the fuck out of the way. Now.”

So now, of course, I’m scared. And star struck all at the same time. So I stop pushing the cart and start backing up, pulling the cart towards me until I clear the stairwell. I quick pull the cart over to the side and wait, way out of her way, under the stairs for her to pass. And as she passed me, she turned towards me and narrowed her eyes into an even more evil looking stare and shot me one of the nastiest looks I’ve ever received. Then she snapped her head back and marched to a stage door and stopped. And turned her head to the two people who were following behind her. She never said a word to them…but they knew what she wanted. They told her it was the wrong door, so she spun on her heel and went to the next door and entered onto their stage.

That was the last I saw of her. But I have to say, it was one of the coolest moments of my life. Bumping into her anywhere would have been great, but seeing her in full character like that, and being scrutinized by the Devil herself, even if it was for just a moment was amazing.

Ass Full of What?

2008-10-16T20:34:00.002-04:00

I figure everybody is in need of another Crazy Nanny story. I also figure it sheds some light onto why I’m so fucked up. Genetics are a bitch!

This story takes place back in July. My family was throwing a surprise 80th birthday party for Nanny in August, and along with that, we all decided to have a family picture taken. You know, one of those cute ones where we’re all in matching outfits and looking so happy and sweet. Yeah. We did it. Except instead of matching outfits, each one of Crazy Nanny’s children had to wear a different colored polo shirt and their significant other and children had to match them. So now we look like a fucking gay pride family. What’s also very funny about the pictures though is that Crazy Nanny was holding a bottle of water in almost everyone. Of course she was.

I should have known the whole event was going to be trouble while we were still on our way up to the beach. I drove up with Nanny and my mom, and I spent most of the ride trying not to spill the fruit punch I was drinking on my shirt. Because I would look extra cute with a big red stain on my shirt. Anyway, we turned off of Rt. 35 onto Osborne Avenue, as this leads to East Avenue and the beach entrances. Just as we were about to turn onto East Avenue, I notice a guy and a girl on bikes in the middle of the road (It’s a one way street and everybody rides down the middle and they move over for cars) and I’m sure my mom did too. Apparently so did Nanny, because before we had even made it all the way around the corner, she shouts from the back seat, scaring the crap out of both my mother and I…

CN: “HONK YOUR HORN BETTE ANNE. THESE TWO MUST WANT AN ASS FULL OF FENDER.”

What? Has she lost her fucking mind? I start cracking up and my poor mom can do nothing but shake her head. And when I turned around and looked at her, she just started laughing and told me I’m lucky that I have such a “hip” grandmother. Oh sure…if that’s what you want to call it. But, honestly, there’s nothing better than hearing your 58 year old mother get called by her first and middle name, like she just got caught cutting school or something.

Another bright moment at this little excursion was my dopey uncle. All of us adults spent the majority of the time keeping the four little kids away from the ocean. If I heard, “GET AWAY FROM THAT WATER!” once I heard it a thousand frigin’ times. But of course, 38 year old E. strolls down to the edge and gets smashed by a wave. So he now spends the remainder of the time getting his picture taken in soaking wet pants.

Ahhh. Family time is always so much fun!

Save the Boobies

2008-10-14T19:19:00.004-04:00

I figured the title would get your attention. I saw this sticker on the back of a car the other day and felt inspired to let you all know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.

I just think this is important and wanted to pass on the information. A simple donation can help a lot. And helping with breast cancer can possibly lead to prevention of other cancers and possibly a cure.

Below are a couple of websites with more information on prevention and detection...and also how to make a donation and other fundraising events.

http://nbcam.org/about_nbcam.cfm

http://www.nationalbreastcancer.org/

Wildlife Kingdom

2008-10-10T15:14:00.002-04:00

Well…I told you I’d tell you some of the Puerto Rico stories, so here’s the first one. It’s about the fucking tarantula that decided to stop by one night. As if the place wasn’t like a frigin animal amusement park. There were lizards EVERYWHERE, stray dogs, roosters, mice and a bull frog, that according to C, “was the size of a small dog,” as he dramatically held his hands out like somebody trying to describe the size of the fish they caught.

I should start out by telling you that I’m petrified of spiders. PETRIFIED. I am completely freaked out by them and have been for most of my life. The only other creatures that might bother me more are snakes. I’ll get my panties in a bunch over a regular old spider…so imagine my delight when I saw this fucking armor plated behemoth walking through our kitchen. You could almost hear its hooves clacking on the floor.

Thankfully, I wasn’t the one who saw it first. C spotted it and yelled, rather high pitched, to KB for a paper towel. I was standing only a few feet from C and as I turned and saw it I was literally paralyzed. KH and X were standing next to me and they turned when he yelled too. So KB hands C a wad of paper towels and C bends down to kill it. As he does this though, he realizes that he “would like a little more than a paper towel” between him and this arachnid tank. So he quickly thrusts his arm up and the tarantula runs toward him. FUCK. I’m still standing there and all I can manage to do is yell, at the top of my lungs, “KILL IT, KILL IT, KILL IT…” You get the point.

KB is now pissed because C jumps out of the way and now the thing is running into his room. So C yells back at KB that he should kill it. So KB picks up a frying pan off the counter and marches into his bedroom. C follows to supervise. X is now saying that we should catch it and let it go. KH is laughing at me, but also encouraging them to kill it. And I’m still standing in the same spot, yelling, “JUST KILL IT, DON’T CATCH IT. JUST KILL IT…JUST KILL IT.”

All I can hear from the bedroom is a lot of yelling and commotion. And that thing is still not fucking dead yet. I can hear the sound of furniture being shifted around and KB and C shuffling all over the place out of fear the thing was going to pop out from under something any second. And then it finally did. And thankfully I had regained movement and moved to the doorway just in time to watch C make a standing jump onto KB’s bed. Frankly, I didn’t know he had those kind of reflexes or athletic capability for that matter, but I suppose giant poison spiders are motivational.

Anyway, not knowing where the thing is, I retreat back into the kitchen. X is still mumbling something about catching it and I want to punch him in the face. There is no part of me at all that feels bad about this thing dying. The sooner the better…and I certainly don’t want it to have another chance to get back in the house and possibly wind up in my room the next time.

Finally, after more yelling, shuffling and furniture moving we hear a loud bang. And then another and then a third. Out walk KB and C, like victorious soldiers coming home from war. It was dead.

Thank God there were only two nights left though, because I couldn’t sleep for shit. Even after getting drunk. I know those things reproduce…who knows how many more could have been lurking.

Below is Pepe, the stray dog we adopted for a couple of days. We fed him and gave him a bath and in return he showed us lots of affection...by humping our couch incessantly.

Jersey Representin’

2008-10-08T13:42:00.002-04:00

Here’s another little Tennessee story for you. There’s more, I just needed to take a little break from them…

My friends and I like to take fun vacations. Which I’m sure you’ve already figured out from reading the previous Tennessee blogs. Prior to that trip, we had all spent a week together in Puerto Rico back in the spring. It was a great time and there are plenty of good stories I should write about for you. While there, we discovered that Rincon, PR is some sort of winter hideaway for Jersey slackers. There are hordes of young people that spend their winters in PR surfing and bartending, then, come spring time, they head home to do the same thing back in Jersey. Really not such a bad idea…

Anyway, I figured this trip to Tennessee wouldn’t involve bumping into people from Jersey. I was right…for the most part. We were Jersey free until the night we went to the strip club. We actually met up with them on the way home…in the car.

Yes, I said in the car. We were on our way home from The Mouse’s Ear (I know, I know…it’s ridiculous, but I didn’t name it.) when we discover that we’re a bit lost. But, I suppose that’s what you get when you ask a stripper for directions. Shame on us. So we’re tooling around downtown Knoxville, I think A might have been driving. Or was it G? Of course I have no idea, because I was drunk, in the back seat of my own car staring out the window and reliving the rafter humping in Technicolor.

We wind up stopped at a light in what seemed to be the middle of the U of Tennessee campus, and I’m snapped out of my drunken day dream by some guy frantically waving his hands at me from the car next to us. I roll down the window and with my head still in a fog, he starts rattling off questions about where someplace is. Everyone else in the car is now asking me what he wants. There’s something familiar about this guy, but I couldn't quite place it. I was a little too drunk to notice that he didn’t have a southern accent. In fact, he sounded a lot like me. And he was very animated, talking real fast and waving his hands.

I finally respond to him…

B: Sorry man, we’re from Jersey. And we’re lost. I have no frigin idea what you’re looking for.

Guy: Hey…we’re from Jersey too. Newark. We’re looking for blah blah blah (I can’t remember what he said.)

B: Oh well…good luck.

G: Yeah, well we can’t find it…so you guys wanna buy some ecstasy?

B: Nah man…we’re all wasted. We want to go home and go to bed.

G: Ok. Take it easy.

We all start laughing…of course the guy from Newark that we run into in Tennessee wants to sell us drugs…who wouldn’t this happen to!? And sure enough, as the light changes and we pull away, I look over and see his license plates. I love the Jersey camaraderie though. Just because we’re from the same state and he can’t find the “clients” he’s looking for, we’re automatically ok to offer drugs to. How the hell did he know we didn’t all work together in the DEA or something? I guess we looked delinquent enough…which is a definite possibility after our night.

Perhaps people like that are why the rest of the country hates our entire state. Oh well…fuck ‘em. It’s the greatest place in the world.

Abracadabra

2008-10-03T11:17:00.003-04:00

I’ve been taking a little break with the Tennessee stories (there’s a couple more, don’t worry) to tell you about my Sunday night a few weeks ago. I get myself into the damndest situations sometimes.

I was out for “date night” with C and A, we started at the Patio and then we headed to the Ark, of course. X met up with us there and we were all hanging out, having a good time. All was well until I went outside for a cigarette and X’s girlfriend made friends with the some chick bartender from another local bar.

X’s girl and the bartender are chatting about clubs and dancing and the bartender girl, who appeared to be straight, mentioned how she loves to dance at Paradise because the boys won’t bother her. So I say that of course none of the boys will bother her because it’s a gay bar. She starts laughing at me and says something like no shit, implying that of course she knows what kind of bar it is.

She then gets up and walks over to me…and X apparently, is a bit more intuitive than I am because he ushers his girl back into the bar, as if he knew what was going to happen. I’m so oblivious sometimes it’s not even funny. Anyway, bartender girl is now in my face, yanking my hat off and proceeding to make out with me. Ok. Great. Are we done yet, because this isn’t actually kissing, it’s more like she’s eating my face. She’s now telling me how cute I am and I told her that the last time I saw her was on Christmas night when we left the Ark for a little while and went to her bar. I remember because she was dressed like a slutty elf. She thinks it’s hysterical that I was there that night and that I remember her. And then I told her that she’s a lucky charm for me because I hooked up on Christmas too. More hysterics. I’m not really that funny…she’s just that wasted.

I get her to come back inside and as soon as we get in the back door she drags me back outside. Christ. I’ve had enough of her for the moment and I know word of my making out has spread like wildfire through the bar and I would like the chance to defend myself.

I finally got back inside and sure enough, I am the topic of conversation and there’s a lot of pointing and laughing going on. Fuckers. And X comes over to me and says,

X: Isn’t that the bartender from Christmas that you told me you wouldn’t fuck with my dick?

B: Yeah.

X: Ha.

B: Ha your ass. I didn’t fuck her yet. And I’m not planning on it.

And it only gets worse, because bartender girl is pretty relentless. She decides I need a massage. And I keep drinking and am not one to pass on a rub down, so I straddle the stool like she requests. So she slams my head down onto my arms that are folded on the bar and goes fucking crazy. She is kneading on my lower back so hard I can barely take it. And every time I pick my head up she slams it back down and whispers, “Oh baby, you need this. I’ll take care of you.” What the fuck. I finally glance over to my friends and they’re being as supportive as you’d expect. Still laughing and pointing, but now C is taking pictures of this mess on her phone. Thank God she had her camera out, because now bartender girl is taking my shirt off…and sticking her hands in some very inappropriate places. I’ve had enough, so I stand up. She asks me how I liked the massage and I tell her it was just fucking fabulous. She didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm.

As more time passes, I seem to be getting a bit drunker. I finally sneak away from the girl and beg my friends not to let me go home with her. They’re a great bunch. Really.

And after more conversation with her, I find out she has a nine year old kid and she is currently dating a magician. Although the relationship just recently ended. A magician? Are you serious? She’s very serious. And now she wants to know if I’ll give her a ride home. The moral dilemma kicks in. Do I really want to sleep with some drunk ass chick with a kid, who most recently dated a magician? Am I getting too mature for foolish one night stands, because I’d rather be in a relationship? And I’m still kicking myself for screwing up the last one. All of this is racing through my mind when I finally decide what I’m going to do.

And now, the only question that remains is, did I take her home, or did I let her take a cab?

Well, I don’t think that’s any of your damn business!

“What The Hell?”

2008-09-30T19:43:00.003-04:00

This morning, my aunt was on her way out early to go to the gym. She couldn’t resist telling this story when she got there…

As she was getting in her car, she noticed one little boy, about 7 or so, standing all by himself at the bus stop on the corner. She was a little confused because there’s usually a whole bunch of them waiting there.

At the same time my aunt saw the kid, so did her neighbor who went over to him. She asked him what he was doing and he told her that he was waiting for the bus. She felt bad and had the following exchange with him:

Neighbor: You know you don’t have school today…right? It’s Rosh Hashanah…the Jewish New Year.

Kid: (Keep in mind he’s only about 7.) What the hell? I was sick yesterday and didn’t know we were off today.

The neighbor laughed and told him he should head home. So off he went…with yet another day off from school.

I had to post this…it’s been cracking me up all day. My mother, being mildly obsessed with school having been a teacher for 33 years, was less than amused. She’s all worried that the kids parents might have been gone when he went back home…and why was he at the bus stop by himself anyway…and how did his mother not know the school schedule? Just get over it…I think it’s cute. What 7 year old says “What the hell?”

He reminds me of me!

You and Your GPS Suck

2008-09-28T18:08:00.000-04:00

I’m on my way to work the other day and as usual it was pleasant(you should be reading this and hearing a VERY sarcastic tone.) It’s never fun, trucking back and forth, up and down the turnpike and parkway…surrounded by idiots.

My favorite idiot this week had to be the guy from Maryland in the Dodge Avenger. He tied up people all along the Newark-Bay Extension, also known as the never ending exit 14 on the turnpike that leads you to the Holland Tunnel. There was a fair amount of traffic on the day in question, so it was hard to maneuver…and of course I wind up behind this asshole. Who spends most of his time hitting his breaks because he’s not paying attention to where he’s driving…he’s too busy watching his fucking GPS.

What is wrong with people? Seriously? How the fuck does anybody manage to get anywhere anymore. I understand he’s from Maryland and not familiar with Jersey roads. But, I’ve been to Maryland…AND I DIDN’T NEED A FUCKING COMPUTER TELLING ME WHERE TO TURN. I just don’t get it. He couldn’t just Google the damn directions before he left? Oh…I’m sure he didn’t want to have to keep looking down and reading them off the paper because that would be hazardous. As if him staring at the computer all the way across his windshield wasn’t. I know those stupid things talk…they even come with fancy accents you can switch to. Australian, southern…French fucking whore…why stare at it? You’re screwing everybody else’s day up.

And as far as GPS is concerned…I know they’re not 100% accurate. I’ve been in the car with one that gave me the wrong directions. So there. And from what I hear from my friend Kit, they will drive you off a cliff if you’re not paying attention. So there you go asshole, you keep staring at the stupid thing and it will drive you straight into the Hudson River. Whatever…you’ll be out of my way then.

Corporate Email

2008-09-25T19:48:00.006-04:00

As you all know, I work in news at a major television network. You probably have also come to realize that I HATE my job with a level of passion that is probably unhealthy. It reached an all new high last week when the corporate assholes sent out the following email. Some of it has been edited so that you can’t tell what network it is(for example: -B- is the network name, but all three of the major ones have a B in the middle...I'm so tricky!) I know, I know, most of you are already aware of where I work. But, I’m allegedly not allowed to voice my opinions as a representative of said company, so when I post stuff on the internet I’ve got to cover it up. And as much as I’d like to tell them to go fuck off, I do need money and therefore, need this job until I can find a suitable replacement.

Sent: Thursday, September 18, 2008 7:27 PM
Subject: -B- Premiere Week is Here!

-B- has declared Premiere Week to be National Stay at Home Week! So starting on Sunday, if you're not supposed to be working, stay home every night, save gas, and watch your favorite shows on –B-!

The new fall season starts this Sunday at 8pm with (I took the rest of this paragraph out because it was mostly lots of bullshit and a rundown of the weeks shows, which would give away the networks identity.)

This is just the start of the excitement. See below for the full list of premieres coming your way over the next few weeks. For more information or to catch up on your favorite shows before they premiere, go to www.we-are-a-bunch-of-narcissistic-freaks.com (I also changed their website!)

Are they serious with this shit? They sent this to all of their employees. Now I’m boycotting their shows on principle.

Stupid Boys

2008-09-22T18:23:00.002-04:00

I was having a bad day last week…nothing that bad, just work crap and some other stupid shit going on had me a little pissy. Or should I say pissier(According to my spell check, pissier is not a word. Fuck them.)than usual.

So I’m sitting at one of the bar tables at The Ark and I don’t really have a whole lot to say. K asks me what’s wrong so I told him I was in a bad mood. This is what he had to say…

K: Do you have your period?

B: No

I love it when boys seem to think that just because a girl is in a bad mood that we automatically must have our period. I’m speaking from experience when I say that ALL girls are genetically CRAZY. And we have bouts of bitchiness/craziness and bad moods all four weeks of the month. These moods are just enhanced during our “special week.” Don’t get me wrong…I wasn’t mad at him for asking me that. In fact, I was amused. But that wasn’t even the icing on the cake…

K: Do lesbians even get their period? (And then he starts giggling like a 15 year old boy.)

B: (shooting him my signature “you’re an asshole” look) Of course we do. Just because I like girls doesn’t make me not be a girl anymore. Idiot.

K: (still giggling) Ya never know!

At this point I shook my head and got up from the table. As I walked by him on my way to the bar to get another drink I slapped him upside his head. He continues to giggle…such an ass sometimes. But now I was laughing too...so much for that bad mood!

Helloooo Stutter

2008-09-19T13:32:00.002-04:00

So I’m at The Ark the other night, a nice quiet weekday night. There’s not a whole lot going on as X and D are on their way out the back door to smoke a cigarette. I told them I’d meet them out there after I went to the bathroom.

In the girls room I go and I’m just about done and I hear the door open. And somebody with noisy high heels had entered. I didn’t really think anything of it. That was, until I opened up the stall door and saw a SUPER-HOT model looking girl standing there. Trendy hair, trendy clothes. The whole nine yards. She smiled at me and I instantly kicked into retard mode…

Model: Hi

B: Uh..uh...uh...yeah..uh..uh..hey.

She just laughed and went into the stall. I exited the bathroom embarrassed at how uncool I am sometimes with girls. I don’t understand what happens to me. My normally charming, irresistible persona transforms into this blubbering idiot. Fuck. I’m cute, but I’m not that hot and I need my charm and wit at or very near 100% with the girls. It’s crucial.

I headed over to the bar to ask K who she was. He had no idea, but had also noticed just how hot she was. And then made some dirty comment about her and I in the bathroom. If he only knew what really went on. K said she came in the back door, so this is perfect. I was headed out there to smoke a cigarette with D and X anyway. Out I go and ask them if they saw the girl. X didn’t think she was that cute and she was too skinny for him. D said she didn’t think she was that cute either…but I’m thinking she might have been a little jealous. Sorry D!

Anyway, out comes hot girl. She opens the back door and walks out to a very awkward silence. She sashays over to the car that was waiting for her, turning The Ark parking lot into a catwalk (which is no easy feat). She knew she was getting checked out and just as she was about to get in the car she turned back to us, smiled and said,

M: Thanks for the silence.

All I managed to do was wave. D and X were cracking up.

The Muffin Man

2008-09-15T11:54:00.001-04:00

I had heard R talk about the so-called “Muffin Man” quite a few times. R, having been on the overnight shift for a while got to know the MM pretty well, considering MM had been banished to the overnight shift years ago. And I’m guessing the banishment was due to his social ineptness and thievery. Yeah…he likes to steal stuff. Nothing important like your wallet…usually just food, coffee, office supplies…things like that.

My first meeting with the MM didn’t go so good. Mostly because I didn’t know who he was until after the fact and I didn’t realize I was supposed to look busy and not make eye contact. Thanks everybody…for the warning.

He comes walking into my office and instantly eyes me up. Not knowing who he is, I just stare right back at him and stand my ground. This is when I should have noticed that my boss and one of my other coworkers were huddled in the corner of the room pretending to work…when in fact, they were really just laughing at me. So MM, after a few seconds, finally says:

MM: You must be on the softball team here.

B: (Is this some sort of lesbo call out? So I get my ghetto head shake on and say) What are you trying to say?

MM: (As he is rifling through our medicine cabinet to steal shit)You look like you’d be a good softball player. I think you should be on the company team.

B: (completely confused by the entire situation) I didn’t even know they had one.

Now MM gets into a full blown conversation about the art of being a good softball team and the privilege of playing for the company. Like I give a flying shit about doing anything extracurricular for this company. Even if there is a chance I might meet other “softball players” there.

He has now walked away from the front of my desk and after he has stolen enough of our band aids and generic Aspirin. He walks around to the side now and he is STILL babbling nonsense to me. He makes absolutely no sense and you actually start to think you might be crazy or drugged or something because you can’t understand him. I’m so freaked out by him at this point that I send an email to my coworkers for a little help getting him away from me. F*ckers…more giggling from the other side of the room.

MM finally stops talking because he’s now rooting through all our stuff on the table next to our desks where the coffee pot is. I assume he’s looking for food. There was none there so he waves to me and makes his way out of the office. Now my coworkers are cracking up. I thank them oh so graciously for all the help getting him away from me. And then they ask me what he stole. I told them I didn’t think he stole anything. My boss points to the table with the coffee pot and asks me what’s missing.

That prick stole our antibacterial hand sanitizer. What the F is wrong with him?

Now I know you’re all going to ask why he’s called the Muffin Man. Well…I have no idea. I’ll have to check with R. Or perhaps he’ll comment with the explanation…

Remember

2008-09-11T15:43:00.002-04:00

I’m sure he’s watching over you from Heaven.

I had the opportunity to work on the televised memorial for 9/11 in 2004 and it was the saddest experience of my life. The above statement is for a little boy I saw there. He was walking into the ceremony with his mom, clutching a flag and wearing his dad’s fireman’s hat. The image of him entering and being patted on the head by all the police will be burned in my mind forever.

My blogs are usually lighthearted and entertaining. Sometimes even a little crazy. But today I ask you to take a moment and say a prayer for that little boy…and for all of the victims and their families. Also, if you could take another moment and say a prayer for the men and women in the military who are serving our country.

Conspiracy theories and political and religious views aside, they all deserve it.

Thank you.

Outblasted

2008-09-10T16:13:00.001-04:00

I was going to post a blog today involving road rage and Crazy Nanny because I don’t have a crystal ball and didn’t know I would have any driving altercations today. But, alas, I did. It wasn’t so much an altercation as it was me being completely annoyed by a little man and his rap music…

So anyway, I had just come out of the Lincoln Tunnel and pulled up to 42nd Street. I was at the red light at the corner of 10th Avenue, trying to make the right to head up to the Hell like office that I call work. I was relaxed, smoking a cigarette and listening to my music. I’m cringing as I’m about to write this, but yes, it was country. In fact it was Brad Paisley. I heart him. It was “Waitin’ on a Woman.” It’s no “Mud on the Tires” but it’ll do.

All is well until this diminutive little man pulls up next to me in his little car. And he is blasting the shit out of his TERRIBLE rap music. Honestly, the song was shit. The worst part about this was that I could no longer hear my music. So I turn it up a little bit, but I still can’t hear it that good due to Rap Master Dickhead.

Now I’m pissed. I wanna hear this song and I wanna hear it now. Uninterrupted. I’ve reached the last straw. Game on little man, game on. And I proceed to turn my radio up. Way up. And I outplayed his ass. So there. If any of you guys reading this happened to be in the vicinity of 42nd Street and 10th Avenue around 3pm today…and heard the dueling radios…it was me. And I won.

The lesson to be learned here, little man, is:

1. Nobody thinks your cool because you play your music that obscenely loud.
2. Nobody wanted to hear that TERRIBLE song you were playing.

And most importantly…

3. When you mess with me, and apparently Brad Paisley, you will lose.

Stop F*cking Beeping

2008-09-09T15:53:00.000-04:00

To the guy who was beeping at me incessantly on 69th street…

You are an asshole. I saw the green light. And I also saw the two people who were walking in front of my car. They seemed nice so I decided I wouldn’t run them over today. By the way, the light had only been green for a millisecond, there was no need to frantically beep like that…

In fact, you were one more honk away from getting one of my golf clubs through the windshield of your ugly ass blue Ford Taurus. I swear…I was gonna go all Jack Nicholson on you. My golf bag is in the back of my truck.

Also, to the guy who parks his motorcycle lengthwise on 70th street and takes up an entire spot…you are also an asshole. It’s crap that you do this and I know other people who are annoyed by you too.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Baby Got Back

2008-09-07T20:32:00.004-04:00

Here’s another little anecdote from our time at The Mouse’s Ear. You had to know the strip club was good for at least two stories!

Anyway…we had just settled in at our table, just before the trashy girl came over and X bought a table dance from her. I happened to look across the room to see at one of the dancers that was up on one of the single stages. And I noticed a bit of a resemblance. She kind of looked like me. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Aww…B, you have a cute face but shit…who’s gonna pay you to take off your clothes. And I’m sure you think that the stripper was a skinny version of me…but she wasn’t. She was the same size. I know…I was just as shocked as you are.

As soon as I saw her and was able to absorb the fact that somebody with the same build as me (I guess you could call me chubby, considering my ex-girlfriend was, what she liked to call, a “chubby chaser.”) I leaned over to K to point the girl out. K was surprised too. Then we talked about how we felt bad for her, because nobody seemed to be overly generous when it came to tipping her. We decided that when she came by our table we would buy a dance from her, because as a chubby girl, I have to help other chubby girls out. When she was done with her stage dance, she started going from table to table on the other side of the room. And again, nobody bought a dance from her…she got maybe a dollar, here and there. Nothing substantial. I kept wondering why this poor girl works here. Seriously, at what point do you not just quit and go get a job at Sonic?

Well, of course we managed to get sidetracked with the rafter humping dance and chubby girl had went past our table and we missed her. Trust me, if you saw the table dance we were getting, you would have missed her too. Once things had settled down from that dance and Amethyst put her clothes back on, I turned to see where chubby had danced off to…and that’s when I spotted her…giving a dance to a bunch of people.

And that’s when I realized why it is that Chubby continues to strip. Now I don’t want anybody saying I’m a bigot and a racist and all that crap, but it is fairly common for black men to enjoy girls with a little meat on their bones. I speak from experience here, because if I got hit on by as many girls as I did black guys, I’d be the happiest lesbian around. That being said, I think it’s a safe bet that Chubby, my stripper twin, must also get hit on by a lot of black men. And she probably makes some decent cash from the black guys that frequent The Mouse’s ear. Actually, you can bet your ass she does.

So there’s Chubby, in all her glory, shaking it like a champ for this table…that just so happened to be mostly black guys. The only other people at the table were the guys girlfriends, who happened to be white and, of course, a little thick. And when Chubby finished that dance, they gave her more money and she started dancing again. And then they had her sit down with them and they gave her more money. I turned around a little later and she was dancing for them again. These guys were throwing money at her hand over fist. I’m willing to bet she made more money than Amethyst. And Amethyst can hump rafters. I swear...if this was in a movie, you would definitely hear, "I like big butts and I can not lie."

So I stopped feeling so bad for Chubby after that. In fact, I didn’t see her for the rest of the night because she was a little tied up in the back of the club. Not tied up literally, like with ropes or anything. It was just that the table of black guys was so enamored with her she didn’t have to go selling herself anywhere else like the rest of the girls.

The whole experience got me thinking…I do really HATE my job and I’m really into country music lately…perhaps I could move to Tennessee and become a stripper?

Abso-fucking-lutely NOT.

Is that a…

2008-09-03T22:34:00.006-04:00

X is big into caves. I know, how exciting. To be honest, he likes all things that are dark and creepy so this shouldn’t come as any big surprise. So when he found out there were caverns under the Smoky Mountains, he was all about it. And since I still feel bad about never going to the underwater caves with him when we were in Puerto Rico, I insisted on going with him this time. And everyone else came too.

Off we go on our hour long excursion to the Forbidden Caverns. We finally get there and A and G head inside to check out pricing and get the low down on the tour. Me and X are waiting in the parking lot for K, who had knee surgery and takes a little bit longer to walk everywhere then the rest of us. And as K is heading across the parking lot to us she says,

K: Hey X

X: Yes K

K: Is it gonna be dark in there?

I’m about ready to unleash on her with a million and one nasty comments on what a stupid fucking question that is when X puts his hand up in a rare parental like moment.

X: Yes K, it’s a cave.

At this point I can’t even deal with it and walk away and meet up with A and G…our pseudo parents on the trip. X and K eventually catch up to us and off we go on our cavern tour. And within the first thirty seconds, I realize that flip flops were not the best idea for hiking through a damp and dark cave with rough terrain.

And after another thirty seconds, I’m aware that strange creatures hide in dark, damp places. Creatures such as snakes, spiders and bats. I’m ok with bats. I figure I’ll just duck if I see one coming and the problem will be averted. It’s the snakes and spiders that are an issue for me. I am petrified of both of them. One of these days I’ll post about the tarantula in our house in Puerto Rico. Horrible. But that’s another story.

Apparently somebody read my mind about the creatures, because another lady in the tour asks the guide about it. And she says there are bats, but you don’t see that much of them. And there are spiders, but it’s an even rarer occasion when you see them. Ok…that’s fine. But this occasion of me being in the cave better be one of those rare ones where they stay in hiding.

So we continue on our tour, hearing about moonshiners from prohibition and even seeing some of their old equipment that was left down there after the government raided them. We learned all about stalactites and stalagmites. Stalactites are the ones that grow down and stalagmites are the ones that grow up. I’m sure you’ll sleep good tonight now that you know that. And we continue through the tour to the largest Onyx wall in America. Maybe even the world, I can’t really remember. It was actually pretty cool though. And the guide asked us very nicely if we would take our pictures of the wall and move out of the tiny space when we were done so everyone could see it. Which of course we did…and formed a single file line in the narrow corridor we were about to venture down next.

X just happened to be first in line in this corridor. And K was behind him with me behind her. A was directly behind me and G was bringing up the rear of this misfit train. We were all waiting patiently while the other group members snapped pictures of the wall, when I thought I saw something flutter out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t think anything of it until I hear X say, “Is that a…”

All I’m thinking at this point is “a what?” And that’s when I turn and see it. A bat…flying right at his face. Well, as I turned to look, so did everyone else. And K starts yelling and ducks down behind X, grabbing a hold of my leg. And behind me I’ve got A shrieking her head off and ducking down grabbing my other leg. So now I can’t move and there’s a fucking bat just a couple of feet away from my head. My only choice is to throw my arms up over my head and hope to God that this bitch doesn’t get stuck in my hair or something. Because you know I’m 85% disaster and it wouldn’t be a big surprise. The bat swooped down and went to the right of X’s face and started heading up when it was parallel to me.

Thankfully X, G and I made it through the bat attack unscathed. And of course A and K made it through just fine…they were using the rest of us to block for them. Bitches. They’re going down next time.

Below, a stalagmite...

Gretchen Who?

2008-09-03T17:00:00.000-04:00

My fondness for country music is starting to scare me. I was just sitting in my office and somebody asked what the name of the Gretchen Wilson song is…about country girls or something like that. No one has any idea what the name of the song is…and I shouldn’t either.

But, I shout from the very back corner of my office(I love sitting here…I turn my monitors so no one can see me…and then I write blogs or play on myspace.)

“Red Neck Woman.”

Damn you Tennessee. Damn you. I didn't know that three weeks ago.

Rafter Humping

2008-08-31T17:08:00.004-04:00

NOTE: I don’t want everybody to think I’m some kind of perv who loves strip clubs. I only go about once or twice a year and I can honestly say it’s mostly for blog research than enjoyment. I said mostly. And I feel like I’m doing some sort of odd civic duty by supporting these girls. It’s not their fault life took a bad turn.

We had already determined that an hour drive to Knoxville was way too long to drive to go line dancing, (this useful information came to us from the friendly lady at the square dance) we decided we wanted to go to a strip club. And, go figure, it was in Knoxville. So we quickly reconsidered that hour drive, and came to a new conclusion. Pack up the cooler kids, we’re going to a BYOB strip club!

The Mouse’s Ear is quite an establishment. It took us a good ten minutes to find a table…not because it was that busy, but because when we walked in there were about twenty five girls dancing naked together on stage. They were rubbing up and down all over each other. And there was another ten girls wandering around the club giving table dances. I’m sure we were quite a sight, standing there with our mouths wide open and our arms full of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans. This does not go on in Jersey.

Of course the girls all give us the eye at first, and finally one comes over. X doesn’t hesitate to get a dance from her. Not on top of the table, just a $10 one, in front of the table. And she proceeds to shake her ass. Right in my face. She wasn’t very cute. Whatever, perhaps I just didn’t drink enough PBR’s. X then tipped her a little extra and word spread fast because these girls were on us like white on rice. Apparently I scared the first girl off though, because when I went to get change at the juice bar she asked me if she could sit with us. What? Sit? I’m a moron when it comes to talking to girls. I can’t stress this enough. And if you don’t believe me you can ask any of the girls I’ve dated. I thought she was a dancer…what does she need to sit for. So I finally say, “I guess so.” Yup, didn’t see her again for the rest of the night. But that’s ok…because Amethyst came over.

Amethyst (sure that’s her real name) is quite a girl. About 5’2, maybe a hundred pounds. She’s a smidge on the sassy side. My kinda girl. After chatting us up for thirty seconds, she hustled us into buying a table dance. Up she hops onto our table, which is a bit wobbly, so she instructs us where to place our feet on the legs of it so she doesn’t fall. At which point I told her if she did, she could fall right on me. I’m all class sometimes, but thankfully she was amused by my charm. Who isn’t really!? Anyway, she starts dancing and informs us that for a table dance, she stays up for two songs, not just one. What a bargain. She’s actually a pretty good dancer and she’s WAY into it, taking off her clothes (by clothes I mean thong and bikini top). All five of us were pretty mesmerized. But then…it gets better…

Right in the middle of her dance, she reaches up and grabs the rafter above her head. She had been rubbing her hands along it occasionally so I didn’t think anything of it. But now, she stops and grabs onto it and pulls herself up. And proceeds to swing herself around. And then she pulls herself all the way and squeezes her legs into the rafter. And humps the shit out of it. All the while she’s upside down and she flings her head back and stared at us very seductively. It’s been two weeks and my neck still hurts from all the twisting and maneuvering I was doing to view the show at the best angle.

I’m patriotic, go USA...win gold medals. But fuck Michael Phelps and Shawn Johnson. I have never seen athleticism like this before.

And if all of this wasn’t enough, Amethyst was kind enough to have her SUPER HOT bisexual friend come and sit with us two. Who had a Zelda tattoo and X fell in love with her. And Zelda girl (too many PBR’s at this point, I can’t remember her “name”) also gave us a table dance. But she was new, so Amethyst had to coach her through it. I have to tell you…watching somebody learn how to give a table dance is rather entertaining. And Zelda girl was asking me about lesbians from Jersey, because the ones in Tennessee didn’t like her (I told you Tennessee is fucked up) so she started dating a guy.

It was a bizarre evening to say the very least. And they were discussing their plans for after work partying. Amethyst kept hinting that they were going to a friend’s house down the street. I’m pretty sure that if we pursued it we could have been at that after party. But, did I really want to be the girl who goes to the stripper’s house? Nah. Maybe. What the fuck is wrong with us?

Dear Oldies 101.1

2008-08-30T19:45:00.000-04:00

Despite my recent spat of non-aggressive driving (well, it’s probably mildly aggressive) driving, I felt compelled to share my thoughts about the oldies radio station. Madonna is not old. She’s still stealing 30-something baseball players away from their wives.

Dear Oldies 101.1 in New York,

I’ve recently noticed a problem with some of your programming. For a station that goes after a relatively older audience and claims to be playing the greatest oldies, I have a problem with you including pop hits from the 80’s in your lineup.

Granted I’m only 29 and not that close to the average age of your regular listeners, but, I do tune in fairly regularly. I enjoy the oldies…and I think sometimes that kind of music helps my road rage. The first concert I ever went to was Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. I shit you not.

This works out great until I’m driving up the parkway, jamming out to some Diana Ross or Beach Boys…and the next song that gets cued up is Cyndi Lauper. I’m sorry, but “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” is not right for your station. Also, Madonna…”Get into the Groove”…not so right for your station.

I know it’s been 20 or so years since these songs came out…but I’m having a real hard time thinking that the pop stars of my generation are now fit for the oldies station. You’ve got some nerve playing “Like a Virgin” right after “Brown-Eyed Girl.”

You’re starting to make me feel old. I loved those songs when I was a kid and I refuse to swallow the fact that they’re old…or worse yet, that I might be. I don’t care that Madonna turned 50 this summer. She’ll always be the teenager afraid to tell her Dad she’s pregnant to me.

You need to do something about this before I boycott you. And that could be hazardous to drivers all over New Jersey and New York. Do it for them. And don’t make me keep listening to country music.

Sincerely,

B (I still get carded for cigarettes sometimes)

What Has Happened to Me?

2008-08-27T16:18:00.004-04:00

I've been really busy with this convention bullshit, but I promise there are more good Tennessee stories coming. I'm probably going to finish one tonight.

But, I'm confused. I've been different since I've come home. My driving has been very passive and I keep switching to the country radio stations. Somebody better send out a search party for the old B. This is completely out of character for me.

I haven't cursed out any other drivers and I think Brad Paisley is great. I even have a favorite country song.

What the F?

Parking Lot Square Dance

2008-08-22T21:23:00.001-04:00

It’s really true when I say that everyone in Tennessee is oddly nice. They are NOTHING like New Jerseyians (I might be making this word up), or worse yet, New Yorkers. I only came across two people down there who had a problem with us, well, besides the cops. One was a local red neck who had a bit too much too drink, and thought about beating X into a bloody pulp on our last night there. But, that’s a story for a whole ‘nother blog. The disgruntled guy this story is about is the old school truck driver from Pigeon Forge…that we met at the parking lot square dance. Yes, I said parking lot square dance, you heard correctly.

We weren’t trying to go to a square dance, we just wound up there because X wanted to see if any of the gift shops there had black cowboy hats. And, surprisingly enough, neither the Jesus store or their neighbor, the confederate rebel store, had one. The name of the shopping center was Settlers Village, so I suppose a rebel store, a blue grass bland and a square dance is what we should have expected.

After not finding the hat anywhere we headed over by the square dancers and ask one of the spectators where there was a good bar we could go line dancing at…when in Rome. Anyway, the woman tells us about a place on the outskirts of Knoxville, which is about an hour away from us. But then she eyes all of us up, mainly me, and tells us we better get some red neck clothes before we go. That was a bit unnerving, but I assured her I had a cowboy hat back at our cabin, which was true.

As we were about to head back to the car, I notice the old truck driver guy looking at me and whispering and pointing in my direction. He apparently noticed my “New Jersey: Only the Strong Survive” T-shirt. He seems me eyeballing him back and he laughs at me and says, in a L-O-N-G drawn out southern drawl,

HBTD: Is New Jersey even part of the United States? (He’s laughing still, but at me, not with me.)

B: Last time I checked it was.

HBTD: (Still laughing) Well, welcome to America.

Now I’m pissed. Mr. two packs a day of Camel unfiltereds is going to fuck with me…oh no.

B: (smugly) Welcome to 2008.

Now he seems just as pissed as me and starts rattling off some story about driving trucks and how he wound up in “one of those Brunswick’s,” and how he couldn’t care to ever go back. So I told him we were completely ok with that. Well, that went over like a lead balloon, but thankfully, he seems to be out of clever things to say to me so he just stood there staring me down, looking all pissed off.

We were attempting to leave again when he stops us and asks us who is paired up with who. There was one married couple and then that left me, K and X…and he seemed to think one of us was the odd man out. There was no way this discussion was going to go well. And I wasn’t, by any means, going to explain to him that two of us were lesbians. Not where we were. X announced he was single and waved his hand at K and me. Thanks. I just told him we were all single and started walking away. Then X said,

X: I gave you the opening to tell him you were dating K.

B: Whatever…I’m not telling any of these old school red necks I’m gay. Not f*cking happening. He already doesn’t like me because I’m from Jersey. God knows what he would have done if he knew I was a lesbo.

Everybody laughs. But then they all made fun of me on the way home, how they were going to capture me and make me the new attraction in Pigeon Forge, “The Lesbian with a Smart Mouth.” And that if they really wanted to make me an attraction they would probably just lynch me.

Thanks guys!

Internet Thang

2008-08-20T20:31:00.004-04:00

Well, I’m back from Tennessee and boy do I have some stories for you. Everything about the south is fascinating, from the people to the cuisine to the endless amount of Jesus loving stores there are. Truly amazing. My first story takes place at the Elvis Museum.

My buddy X is a huge Elvis fan, so the second we decided to go to Tennessee he started about Graceland and going to Memphis. Well, I told him that after driving ten hours to get to the Knoxville area, I sure as shit wasn’t going to drive another seven hours across the state to see some of the gaudiest decorating from the 70’s…and then drive another seven back. Needless to say he got over going to Memphis after about ten minutes in the car on the endless ride down there. But, one day we were driving through the lovely little town of Pigeon Forge, and low and behold, X spots an Elvis museum. And reminded us that it was there every five minutes or so until we stopped.

The place looked about as cheesy as you can get and some of the locals sitting outside of it only added to the cheese. X confirmed my suspicions when he exited the walk through, telling us that he has more Elvis memorabilia in his living room than this place had. Go figure. But, he did want to get a TCB (Taking Care of Business (I like Elvis, but by no means am I a historian, so X tells me this was one of his catchphrases)) ring. So we peruse the gift shop and, to no avail, can not find a TCB ring.

As our group gathers under the museum sign, debating about what fast food restaurant we’d like to get indigestion from that evening, the locals that were sitting at the front door are heading out. It was a hillbilly husband (It is no exaggeration when I say he only had six teeth in his mouth) and wife and another couple they were friends with. Hillbilly wife hears X complaining about not getting the ring, and she starts chatting him up (because everybody in the south is freakishly friendly).

HBWife: What you lookin for? (You have to envision the HB parts with the thickest, trashiest southern accent you’ve ever heard)

X: Uh…

HBHusband: Shit, what he tryin to find?

HBW: You say you want a TCB ring?

X: (He’s looking towards the rest of us to get him out of the conversation. I’m not saying a word…none of the locals were very fond of me.) Um, yeah.

HBW: I tell you what, you got that internet thang? You can find anything on there.

X: (Poor guy doesn’t know what to say at this point, I’m just repeating “don’t laugh” over and over again in my head in an attempt to not get beat up and/or shot.) Yeah, I have it…

HBH: You don’t wanna buy that ring around here…

HBW: Yeah, he tried to find a pair of Elvis sunglasses and he bought ‘em for $24.99…next day he found him on that eBay for a dollar (She’s extraordinarily amused by this)

X: (Just smiling) Ok…thanks.

HBW: Ya know what, you like Elvis so much, you really gotta go see Matt Cordell. He’s amazin. He used to play here, but the owner screwed ‘em, was only givin him like ten dollars…but now, he plays down the street at The Smith Theatre. You should check it out…if you stay afterwards, he’ll come out and talk to you for like two hours…’bout anything you want.

X: Wow, two hours. That’s really nice. (I hear a smidge of smartass coming out, but the locals didn’t pick up on it. And everybody else is laughing along together)

HBH: Remember though, he’s a tribute artist, not an impersonator. There’s a difference.

HBW: He’s got a website and everything, look him up when you can. It’s Mattcordell.com

When I can? I don’t even want to tell this broad I can get “that internet thang” on my phone. She’ll probably think I’m an alien. Finally, though, out of the blue, I decide to speak…and it was apparently revolutionary, because everybody just stared at me for a second before they responded…

B: Is Cordell with a C or a K?

Staring…

HBW: Oh, honey, it’s with a C.

B: Thanks.

We said our goodbyes…and that’s when it dawned on me…the locals were so stunned, not by my talking, but probably because they weren't really that sure how to spell their favorite “tribute artist’s” name…and my friends were stunned, because they figured I should have know they didn’t know how to spell. And I was yet again reminded that I shouldn’t talk to the locals.

Here's a picture of our new friends below:

Vacation

2008-08-15T15:02:00.002-04:00

If you're wondering why I haven't been posting, it's because I'm on vacation. In Tennessee. The birthplace of Jack Daniels. Needless to say there will hopefully be some good blogs when I come home. Especially one about the bar I was at last night and the sorority that came in. And they were getting drunk. I, unfortunately had a migraine, which meant, I was in no way, shape or form ready to chat up any girls. No matter how southern and naive and drunk they were. FUCK ME.

You mark my words. I will hit on college girls by the end of this week. It's a promise.

Gay Stereotypes

2008-08-11T20:09:00.000-04:00

I’ve probably already mentioned that my job is loaded with gay men. They’re all over the place, sashaying and being bitchy. They’re a bit like cockroaches. Haha…settle down boys, I’m only kidding. There are a lot of them though, but I love them all to death.

I was recently reminded of a story involving Joe (one of the fags) and I. It was shortly after I started at this wonderful television network I call home. It was a chilly fall Sunday afternoon. The perfect day for watching football and drinking beers. Unfortunately, I was working, so I had to abstain from the beers.

There’s never a whole lot going on in my office on the weekend, so the only people working were Joe and I. When I got there, we chatted for a bit and then we quickly settled into watching TV. I parked myself at one of the desks facing the door. Joe moved around the corner from me, behind the filing cabinets. I, of course, chose to watch a football game. I can’t remember which one, but I had a bet on it. Joe found The Wizard of Oz on, what I’m assuming, was the Oxygen network or something like that.

Things were all nice and quiet…until Dorothy breaks out into “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” Right as she starts singing, one of the overpaid morons in the football game fumbled, or maybe got intercepted…I don’t even know what it was, but I knew it was going to cost me money. I started pounding on the desk, shouting obscenities just as Joe floats on over doing his best Judy Garland impersonation.

The game settled down and “Judy’s” movie went to a commercial break. And he just stood there with his hand on his hip as we stared each other down, obviously disappointed in the others blatant outburst of masculinity/femininity. And then he says, “Aren’t we the picture of gay stereotypes right now.” Why yes, we were.

TV Flashback

2008-08-07T22:25:00.000-04:00

There’s this guy that hangs out at my favorite bar, The Ark, who looks a lot like Tom Selleck. I told him this to his face one night and he was thoroughly amused. I was(drunk of course)calling him the ultimate Halloween costume…all he needs is a Tigers hat and a Hawaiian shirt and he’s Magnum PI.

Well, Magnum (I actually can’t remember his real name) had taken a liking to one of my friends, C. C thought he was nice and they hit it off one night, and when he asked for her number she gave it to him. And then she never heard from him. She didn’t really care and one night, about a month ago, we were at The Ark and Magnum walked in. He was drunk, and possibly feeling guilty about not calling her, so he sat down with us.

After about twenty minutes or so of his babbling, C had had enough. She excused herself and the two of us went to smoke a cigarette. After we go back in and sit down, Magnum proceeds to keep asking C if she hates him. She just laughed and told him no.

Well, Magnum never called C and she couldn’t be happier about it. And about a week after the “Do you hate me” night, I went to The Ark, without C, and there’s Magnum, looking drunkenly intimate with another woman. Hey…who am I to judge…good for him.

For some reason though, Magnum seemed nervous by me being there. Why? I don’t know. It’s not like I was going to cockblock him. C thinks he’s a drunken moron. So after a couple of hours of avoidance(on his part)and a couple of hours of me drinking Jack and Diets, we all wind up outside the back door for a cigarette break.

The cigarette break is going well, except for the fact that it was raining and we were all huddled under the overhang outside the door. And there are two bikes parked there making space limited. And I wind up standing right on top of Magnum’s girl, giving me my first real chance to get a look at her. She seems quiet, but it was hard to tell. She has an empty look on her face, which after chatting, I concluded she’s not too bright. And after more careful inspection, I find that she has a good body, but she is WAY over tanned. The one thing that was really driving me nuts was her hair. It’s bleach blonde and spiky. Ridiculous.

Magnum decides that things are Kosher and he goes back inside. Leaving her outside with my friends and I. This was my cue. I looked at her and said, “You know, you look like Brigitte Nielsen.” She didn’t seem to know what to say and paused for a moment, before replying, “I guess that’s a compliment?”

I assured her that it was. “Oh yeah, not like cracked out Brigitte Nielsen that was fucking Flavor Flav. More like the ‘80’s Brigitte Nielsen that was fucking Sylvester Stallone.” My friend X adamantly agreed, yet she still didn’t seem pleased with my comparison. At this point I stumbled a little and took a step back, right into one of the bikes that was parked there. I laughed and announced that I had a handlebar up my ass. “Brigitte” just shook her head at me and went back inside.

All of my smoking buddies agreed with me on the resemblance and that it was definitely a compliment. Apparently she hasn’t gotten over it yet…I haven’t seen her in there since then.

Oh well. I suppose when you look like an 80’s icon, you should date other people that look like 80’s icons.

Unholy Encounter

2008-08-04T15:56:00.003-04:00

On Saturday my mother made me go to Costco with her. I fucking hate Costco, especially on a weekend. I was forced into this because she needed help stocking up on crap for the week long festivities known as Crazy Nanny’s 80th birthday extravaganza.

So I’m strolling through the store, dodging peoples misbehaved children, throwing cheese, water, fruit, veggies, chips…all the usual crap…in the cart. I’m pausing for a minute, checking out a tequila lime marinated turkey breast, when I look up and see what’s coming down the aisle towards me. A nun. I’m afraid of nuns.

Here she comes, dressed to the nines in holy wear. And it wasn’t the usual black and white attire; it was that Mother Theresa looking outfit…the white clothes with the blue trim. With a 4-inch metal cross on her lapel. (Does she think there’s a fucking vampire infestation in Jersey?) Now I’m nervous. I always get nervous around people of the cloth. I just assume they’re going to see right through me and be able to tell I’m gay (as if the long shorts, ringer t-shirt and hat didn’t give it away), or worse yet, that I think the church is full of shit.

I do some internal debating, like, should I turn back to my turkey breast and ignore her, do I say hi, do I stare her down, throw the turkey at her (just kidding)…I choose the mature adult option and smile nicely at her and give her my “I don’t know what to say, so I’ll nod” head nod. Well…apparently mature was not the way to go. She shot me the dirtiest look and turned her head away from me. What the fuck? I thought the church was supposed to teach kindness and understanding and most importantly, acceptance. (Although they still won’t really accept gay people…unless they are a priest and well, you know…)

Apparently she could tell I’m not catholic and that I believe in god mostly out of a fear of being wrong and destined for an eternity in hell(given my current place of employment I’ve been wondering how bad it could be, if it’s really that different at all?). I’ve been a worried mess since Saturday though. Why didn’t she like me? Am I going to hell? I'm usually a good person...what the fuck?

I think I might start going to church. I might as well, I've apparently already developed that Catholic guilt problem.

A Rainy New York Evening

2008-07-31T21:30:00.001-04:00

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.

Scuffle With The Law

2008-07-25T18:40:00.002-04:00

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!

The Bachelorette Party(aka, how I shamed a bunch of straight girls)

2008-07-24T19:59:00.001-04:00

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.

Be Careful What You Wish For...

2008-07-17T20:18:00.001-04:00

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.

No Pam, You're a Whore

2008-07-15T21:31:00.004-04:00

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?

Electrifying Times

2008-07-11T14:53:00.000-04:00

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.

Give me my food and shut it...

2008-07-08T21:11:00.002-04:00

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.

Crazy Nanny at a BBQ...

2008-07-04T10:09:00.002-04:00

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.

Starbucks Closing???

2008-07-02T18:23:00.002-04:00

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.

Eddie the Doorman

2008-06-30T19:12:00.001-04:00

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!!

2008-06-25T21:15:00.007-04:00

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

2008-06-23T16:27:00.000-04:00

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

2008-06-18T21:03:00.000-04:00

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

2008-06-15T20:16:00.004-04:00

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...

2008-06-13T20:03:00.001-04:00

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

2008-06-11T19:57:00.000-04:00

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

2008-06-09T17:29:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-04T16:56:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-04T12:22:00.002-04:00

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...

2008-06-02T18:00:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-02T17:54:00.002-04:00

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!

Why I'm drunk and $90 poorer...

2008-05-23T20:46:00.001-04:00

From December, 2007

One word people...Strippers.

Just for the record, I started this evening in a very innocent manner. I headed to the Ark for a couple (as usual) and wound up being completely annoyed because apparently it was white trash night. P arrives and after two beers says we should head to Marina Grille because some of his friends were there. Ok...I'm down.

Marina Grille...hmm...crazy tits girl is there from the Ark. She gets wasted and loves to flash people. Whatever, do what you want...but stop fucking cornering me in the bathroom and chatting me up. I don't really like you. It's becoming increasingly more difficult to pretend that I do. Anyway...hanging with P and K and D. Wives go home. We should go play guitar hero at P's house. AKA...I found out tonight guitar hero is code for strip club. After already paying a cover at Marina (are they serious with that shit by the way) and overpriced tiny drinks and shots...I've already spent a fair amount of money. Now for the ride to Delilah's Den. Ewww...

Of course we have to stop at a bar on the way...because obviously we're not drunk enough to look at slutty girls intimate parts. Another beer and shot. Then...$15 just to get in the door. Then there's a one drink minimum. $4 for water. Are you fucking serious? This also doesn't include the random slutty girls who expect a dollar for throwing their leg up on the bar. I have to say though, they were very eager to make change. i.e...19 singles back for a 20. How generous.

Now you know there's nothing that attractive about these girls....and of course my OCD kicks into high gear and I assume they all have various diseases I can catch just by sitting across the bar from them.

And for the high point of the evening...you know this involves me doing something really stupid...is when crazy blonde stripper pushes K out of the way to talk to D. As if he really wanted to spend an extra 20 to have this broad grind around on his lap. But...as she's chatting him up, K says, "I'm sure that's a real intellectual discussion their having..." and I find this to be the funniest thing I've heard all night. Unfortunately, as I'm finding this so amusing...I'm also trying to swallow some of my expensive water. Which I then proceed to spit and choke up all over the bar...

Things I've learned this evening:

-You can't be a stripper unless you have at least 4 tattoos.
-Strippers in Lakewood don't even bother to get implants.
-I should be more careful about laughing when I drink expensive water
-Strippers are not hot...except for that one brunette who didn't have a stripper face.
-And...last but certainly not least...I should pay more attention to which way the stall door opens in dirty strip club bathroom because my face and head kind of hurt where I slammed the door into myself.

Happy Freaking New Year!

NJ Transit and me, NOT so perfect together...

2008-05-23T20:41:00.000-04:00

From February, 2007

I hate trains. I really do. And usually when I find myself on one, there's a problem. Especially NJ Transit. Always a problem…and they are never on time. It makes me crazy. So needless to say, I wasn't very happy when this snow and ice storm hit. Because for two days I had to take NJ Transit and then, even worse, I had to take the subway. Let me give you a rundown of my travels…

Tuesday Night:
8:45pm – I board my train to Manhattan in Point Pleasant. It arrived on time. A near miracle.

8:46pm – Some ghetto ass bitch sits down behind me on her cell phone. She's yelling at her friend about "…fuck those hoes. I'm gonna kick that bitch's ass when I see her. Who does she think she is…" so on and so forth. I immediately pull out the iPod and put it on extraordinarily loud. I probably have hearing damage cause of this bitch.

8:47pm – Mean looking Harley chick conductor approaches for my ticket. I have to buy it from her and she informs me that it's $19.50. "Did you say $19.50," I say. "Yeah," she replies. So friendly. She forgets that this overpriced ticket I'm buying from her pays her salary and keeps her in fresh tattoos…so an attitude adjustment might be in order bitch. Besides…you think she'd be happy to talk to somebody who speaks English and isn't screaming on her cell phone about what hoes she's gonna beat up when she gets home. $19.50…and that's not even a rush hour ticket. You've got to be kidding me. I found out these conductors make about $70,000 to $80,000 a year. All they do is open the doors when the train comes to a complete stop and punch holes in tickets to cancel them out. What a fucking joke.

8:50pm – We come to our first stop. Manasquan, NJ. It is now quite obvious why my ticket is so expensive. It's to pay for the Spanish lessons the conductors need to be able to communicate with the assload of Hispanic restaurant workers that get on the train. I suddenly feel like I've gotten on the wrong train. I didn't know NJ Transit went to Mexico. And it now smells like stale food and garbage. And for those of you who are now offended because you think I'm saying Hispanic people smell like garbage…don't be so quick to call the ACLU on me. I'm saying it smells like garbage because they just got done taking it out at the restaurant they work at. By the way…I really don't care if I offended you anyway. You weren't on the train. You don't know what it smelled like.

8:57pm – Belmar stop. The majority of the restaurant workers get off here. Ghetto girl is still yelling…but it smells a little better.

9:05pm – Asbury Park stop. Here's where it gets interesting. Asbury Park is where most of the derelicts of the Jersey Shore live. Crack heads, Ex-cons, pimps, hoes…you name it. And sometimes, these scumbags take the train. A wide variety of weirdo's boards the train and some of them sit in my car. My favorite is the guy who gets on and is on his cell phone…him and ghetto girl are now in some odd competition to see who can yell obscenities the loudest. Asbury guy wins. It's so entertaining that I actually take my headphones out very discreetly so I can listen. He's on the phone with his girlfriend. At least, that's the impression I get because he keeps calling her "baby." And he's pissed off at his parole officer because he wants him to get a job. How terrible. Seriously, I don't mind supporting you…no problem. The rest of it isn't really worth repeating. He was just so fucking loud and not even the slightest bit embarrassed about discussing his parole officer so loudly in public. I guess I'm just a prude.

9:20 - We arrive in Long Branch. This is where we have to switch to get on the train that goes into the city. This was oddly uneventful. Long Branch is very similar to Asbury Park and there's usually something entertaining going on here. The only thing worth mentioning was this random guy who had his bike with him and a bag full of clothes…and an I Love You heart balloon tied to his handlebars. How frigin cute. We finally leave Long Branch and I pass out and wake up in Penn Station.

11:00pm – This is when I'm due at work. Officially late. I exit the train and walk upstairs to the subway. The subway trains are now delayed. The express trains are running on the local track. Three different trains are all running on the same track and it still takes 15 fucking minutes for one to get there. Good job MTA…good job.

11:30pm – Starbucks on 67th Street. I order a Grande Fat Free, Sugar Free Cinnamon Latte. It's not the easiest order, but it certainly wasn't the most complicated either. I didn't need anything organic or soy or light foam or stirred gently like some of these other coffee snobs want. The broad working asked me 4 fucking times what I wanted. I WANT A GRANDE FAT FREE, SUGAR FREE CINNAMON LATTE…SOMETIME BEFORE MY SHIFT ENDS PLEASE. What happens to you in life when you can't even make a cup of coffee. Oh, wait, I know. You quit your job and they take 40% of my paycheck to support you and all of your children. I don't mind. As long as they replace you with someone who can handle making a fucking latte.

11:40 – I make it to work and apologize profusely to Travis about being late. And warn him that the subway is fucked up.

Thankfully my ride home was a little better. Oddly enough, my ride in the next night wasn't bad either. Until I go to get on the subway in Penn Station.

Wednesday Night:
9:45pm – Penn Station subway stop. Metro-card machine will not accept my ATM card. I tell the girl in the booth. "So let me guess, you ain't got no money, right," she says to me…giving me that ghetto head shake. I do have some cash…but fuck you sweetheart, now you're not getting it. "No," I respond. She nods at the gate and tells me to go through. A free ride on the subway. I look at it as payback from the cluster fuck I dealt with the day before. I get to work.

Thursday Morning:
6:30am – I put some money on my metrocard and get on the 1 train going downtown. I had to maneuver to another car at first because of some crazy homeless man dancing in the doorway where I try to enter. I finally get situated. We stop at 50th street. We just start moving again when the train slams on the brakes. They hold us in the train for a few minutes and announce there's a problem…they don't elaborate. It's just a "problem." We have to exit the train. Now I'm freaking. This is karma…for me screwing the MTA girl out of money the day before. It's getting late and my NJ Transit train is scheduled to leave at 7:01am. You know it's gonna leave on time the day I get there late. I run back above ground…jump on a bus. The M20. I don't know anything about buses, I check with the driver to make sure we're going to Penn Station. We are. We finally arrive outside Penn Station at 6:59. I shit you not. I run down the sidewalk to the entrance. I jump on the escalator…pushing my way past people standing. I have to run through the station…really running. With my bag slung over my shoulder, iPod on. I am actually bumping into people. I don't care about these people at all. I run to the track where my train is. 7:01…I see the conductor as I approach the nearest open door. She's just about to get on the train. Overpaid bitch. I jump on. I'm breathing heavy. Very heavy. I can barely catch my breath…"Bay Head train?" I ask…"Yeah." She responds. What fucking attitudes. Anyway…all of a sudden, instead of shutting the doors, she steps off the train. There's some sort of problem. We don't leave until almost 7:10. I didn't have to run like a maniac like I did. Hindsight is always 20/20. Slowly I make my way back home. 9:30…I arrive back in Point Pleasant. And I vow that even if we get a fucking blizzard…I am not taking any trains to work. I drive, or I don't go.

I'm really not as angry as I sound.

Overeaters Anonymous

2008-05-23T20:39:00.000-04:00

From February, 2007

Yesterday was Friday…which means I got home from work at 4am and woke up again promptly at 9:45am. Why, do you ask…would I do such a thing? Because it's time for my Overeater's Anonymous meeting. Every Friday morning Nanny (my 78-year-old grandmother…I know, she made it this far and she's gonna go on a diet, I don't get it either, but the company is nice. Especially considering crazy Nanny doesn't even make an attempt at keeping her comments to herself.) and I hit up the local fat girl meeting.

And what, may you ask is Overeater's Anonymous? Well, that's just Betsey Talk for Weight Watchers. I hate calling it Weight Watchers though. Sure, we're watching our weight…but the real reason most (and I say most for a reason) of us are there is because we eat like savages. We don't understand the concept of a handful of chips…we eat the whole fucking bag. And ice cream…why buy a scooper...we just dig a spoon right into the old quart. Let's not beat around the bush…it's AA for fat people.

Now don't get me wrong…I don't want anyone to think I'm bashing good 'ol OA. If you stick to the plan it really works. I've lost 20 or so pounds already. I do have my bad days…for instance, last night when I had some nachos, buffalo chicken tenders and numerous alcoholic beverages, but overall I stick to my points. And I am a bit predatory…in the sense that maybe one of these low self esteem chubby chicks will be so miserable with dating and men in general that I'll be able to swing her over to the dark side. It's certainly not my main goal, but hey, a little ass is a little ass! And no, I have no problem throwing a little flirtation out there in front of Nanny. She'd have no idea what I was doing. She's convinced that "those queers" don't live in her town. Oh Nanny, if you only knew…

I will however discuss some of the people that attend OA. It's quite an interesting character study. For instance…

Our team leader…or whatever the hell the meeting MC is called. They are always bubbly. Obnoxiously chipper. She's always got some little poem at the end of the meetings about not giving up. Overall she's not that bad…it all depends on whether or not you lost weight that week. If you lost some weight…you're all about it. If you didn't…well, you want to shove her poem down her throat. Mine in particular is always to the point. I like that…I don't want to turn this shit into a career. A little motivation, a recipe tip or two and I'm outta there.

Sunglass Lady…I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks, but when she comes, she always keeps her sunglasses on throughout the entire meeting. Of course I assume she has some sort of eye sensitivity problem or something and she needs the glasses on. Oh no. She happens to blurt out one day in the middle of the meeting that she leaves the glasses on because she cries. Because she doesn't lose any weight. And she thinks maybe, just maybe it's because of how medicated she is. Because she can't handle life anymore. What the fuck? Maybe, now I'm going out on a limb here considering I'm not a fucking doctor, just maybe, you need to get your emotional issues better under wraps before you try OA. We all got big asses sweetheart…aka, we have our own fucking problems. We're not here to talk you off the ledge.

Miss Motivation…I'm sure every OA meeting across the country has one of these broads. She's not the meeting host…she's just a regular member like the rest of us…yet she doesn't shut the fuck up. Everything the host says you see her sitting there nodding her head…it's like being at a gospel church…give me a hallelujah sister. She never forgets to tell everyone how great she's doing and she's always raising her hand with some sort of advice for everybody. She's like that annoying kid in school who would practically squirm out of their desk to tell the teacher the answer. You know, the one you wanted to fucking smack. I'm telling you…I'm just waiting for this bitch to show up in a cheerleader outfit with a WW across the front of it. And she'll definitely have matching pom-poms. She's just too much.

The Lazy Housewives…I hate these bitches with a passion. They make me crazy. I would love nothing more than to be a housewife. And these broads always think they have the toughest life. So let me get this straight…you have a husband who goes to work everyday and gives you free reign over HIS paycheck and you have a couple of kids, who, after a few years go to school all day. All you have to do is clean the house and make dinner. Occasionally you have to drop the little fuckers off at little league. You have plenty of time to go to the gym. So needless to say, I go borderline crazy when I hear these bimbos complain about not having any time to make healthy food and it's just easier to swing through the Mickey D's drive-thru. I work 40 hours a week or more and I have a 3-4 hour commute every day. Guess what, I find the time to eat healthy. Stop complaining or I'm calling your husband and insisting that he make your lazy ass go back to work. I feel so bad for that poor bastard.

The I Don't Understand Girls…These are the chicks that habitually gain weight or it stays the same. And they just can't figure it out. Crazy Nanny falls into this category. She seems to be under the impression that she can eat macaroni and cheese and pasta and sausage the majority of the week, and then spend one day eating a little salad and a tiny piece of fish and all the crap she ate is just cancelled out. It's one of two things ladies…You're either not attributing the correct amount of points to what you're eating or you're hiding in the closet with a large pizza and a bag of Doritos and pretending like it didn't happen.

And now, last but certainly not least…And this is why I said "most of us" above…

Old Trophy Wife/Skinny Woman (not to be mistaken with the other skinny women who are there because they've actually lost upwards of 60lbs and continue the meetings and the plan to maintain their weight.)…I love this chick. She's about 55 or so and she's not fat at all. Not even a little. She's definitely that woman who was gorgeous when she was younger and whose weight never went above 125 lbs. her entire life. But now, with a few decades under her tiny little belt, age is starting to affect her and she has ballooned up to a whopping 135 lbs. Jesus, Oprah should do a show. It's an atrocity how out of control she's gotten with food…it's become like an addiction. Shut the fuck up and go have a sandwich at the country club. At the end of the day her problem is that she's a.) never worked a day in her life and b.) she doesn't look as good as the new addition of trophy wives that her husband's young law partners are bringing around. Another one that really just needs to talk it out with a therapist. I have to admit though…I do like Old Trophy Wife…she cracks me up. She better watch out though. If she keeps complaining about how hard it is to stay thin in front of the other fatties, they're gonna jump her and stuff a Snickers down her throat.

Well…I feel like I've been mean enough for now. Tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel for my theory on gym bunnies. Seriously…who the fuck is supposed to look that good when they're running on a treadmill.

Lesbians need to do a little more manhunting.

2008-05-23T20:36:00.000-04:00

From January, 2007

So I started this new job in September and there are quite a few gay boys that work there. Considering I normally can't stand gay boys it's a near miracle that I actually like all of them. (It's not that I don't like gay men, but I'm a lesbo...so what do we have in common. Straight girls and me...we're both girls. Straight men and me...we both love girls. Gay men and me...nada.)

Anyway...these boys have introduced me to a website that I had never heard of before. It's manhunt.net. I am completely and utterly fascinated. And more importantly, I don't know why there isn't a girlhunt.

This website is great. Guys can go on there and do a little search and have some ass on its way over in less than an hour. Oh sure, they can go on and look for a real relationship...but who cares about that when you can have a hot looking lay come right over with no strings attached. Strings are a pain in the ass...all they ever do is get tangled. All of these guys I work with have been on it. Even some of the "straight" ones. I even asked one co-worker if he's ever used it, for a one nighter...his response, "Everybody does a little manhunting every now and then."

I really want there to be a girl version becasuse I don't like strings. So...I did a little research. The closest thing I could find was on craigslist.org. You can find some, but most of them don't have pictures up and God only knows what you'll wind up with. And the ones that have pictures are gross.

This manhunt website and the lack thereof one for girls drives me crazy. Lesbians, and most girls in general make it so complicated to have carefree sex. Unless you hook up with drunken slobs like I usually do, it's hard to get a girl to put out. The old joke about what a lesbian brings on a second date...a U-haul...is kind of true. We have to start out as friends and then you have to get along with their cats. And then your couch has to match their living room motif. You have to have the same political views and like the same food. And you both have to want the same number of children and you have to decide right away whose last name they're going to have. All these freaking promises just to get a little action.

And now Jersey has made civil unions legal. People ask me if I'm happy about this. Fuck no...It's just one more damn thing I have to promise I'll do so I can get laid.

Things that make me crazy...

2008-05-23T20:32:00.001-04:00

From October, 2006

I make no apologies...I don't care if I offend you. Don't read it if you don't like it.

1. PEOPLE WHO STOP AT EZ-PASS

It's not called EZ-Pass for nothing. Why, why do you people do it? The whole point of it is to pass through the toll easily. Stopping isn't passing through. Get it together.

2. NYC CAB DRIVERS

Why do you find it necessary to NOT drive in the lane. I guess in India, or Pakistan or wherever the fuck you're from, they failed to teach you that we stay in the lines here. We DON'T drive down the middle of them. And then you get pissy with me when I drive up next to you and swerve at you. I'm just trying to teach you how to drive.

3. PEOPLE WHO DO 70 IN THE LEFT LANE.

I know, I know...you're a real bad ass for going five miles over the speed limit. But, in reality, I'm behind you TRYING to do 20 miles over the speed limit. Who's the bad ass now. Get the fuck out of the way. I don't get in your way...why do you insist on getting in mine? Besides, I have to get past you before the toll both...cause I'm sure you're one of the assholes who is going to stop in the EZ-Pass lane.

4. JOE BUCK

Why does FOX have to have the baseball playoffs. I can't fucking stand him. Every time he opens his mouth, nothing but inane bullshit comes out. I miss Michael Kay.

5. PEOPLE MINDING MY BUSINESS

I know I do a lot of stupid shit. That's part of my charm. And I don't mind when people get a laugh out of it. That's fine. No problem. But, I am starting to have a problem with people talking shit behind my back. If I do something stupid and I want you to know about it, I'll tell you. And once you know what said stupid thing was that does not give you free license to broadcast it to everyone else. Especially when certain stupid things that I do need not be repeated.

Tourists on Scooters

2008-05-23T20:24:00.000-04:00

From August, 2006

So I had to go to the city yesterday for a job interview. Which meant I had to get my tired ass up early in the morning and get dressed up appropriately and spend a lot of time in my car driving through New Jersey into Manhattan. I know, it sounds like a ton of fun.

Not to mention that I had a fairly annoying night before this and at 4am, shortly before I had to wake up I was drunk dialed by a bunch of people, who amazingly enough, knew I had the interview and obviously didn't care. And out of the whole group, there is only one person I can really tolerate and I'm sure she's reading this...so she needs to know that paybacks are a bitch. And unless it's a booty call, I don't care to hear from anyone at 4am. I can wait until morning to find out that "you're really wasted and you love me."

Plus, when I get into the city, of course I can't find any legal parking down town (is down town one word or two?), so I now have to pay to park. And, of course it's only $12 for a half hour, but more than is $20. I don't even need to tell you that of course I wasn't done in under a half hour. Why would anything go right?

Anyway, I digress...the interview goes well and I leave. I get my car out of the garage that just stuck it completely up my ass and I head down Varick Street to the Holland Tunnel. I have to go home immediately because the bank messed up my checking account and none of my bills were going to get paid and I certainly didn't want to wake up next week to a tow truck repossessing my truck.

Now, as I'm going down the street I see something that strikes me hysterical. A group of tourists (they were all wearing matching T-Shirts with their tour group name on the back) and they were all about to go for a ride on little Vespa type scooters that they just rented. There was about 15 of them. And I thought it was so funny because I knew at least two of them would wind up in the ER. Is this mean of me? Seriously though, Manhattan is hard enough to drive a car in sometimes and I've been doing it for years now. And I drive like a lunatic. So how was this poor bunch of people, probably good churchgoers from Montana or something supposed to navigate in between crazed cabbies, buses and trucks? I wasn't hoping for it. I swear. I was just amused by the inevitable. For as funny as I thought it was I've been worried that I'm really just a bitch. Am I?

Oh well, it couldn't have been that bad of me cause my karma's ok. I found out I got the job tonight. And I'd still bet there were a couple of decent injuries. Some stitches needed, maybe a cast or two.