We've Got a Moaner...

Her name's Anna. Flo, who many know used to work with me and boast about her adventures in eating dog when she was a kid... Oh yes, Flo worked for a pet product company. But I digress. Flo has flown the coop, and in her place is quite possibly the most annoying, loud, clueless, (and unattractive) coworker to date. Just to give you an idea, Anna is a cross between an imbecile and a mental-defective. Imbeciles, in case you weren't aware, are just stupid and chose to live their lives blissfully unaware of their stupidity. Mental defectives are stupid because there's something physically to blame for their stupidity. Anna's both.

Today is Day 3 for Anna and there's one trait that stands out far above the rest. She moans. Not a quiet little "Oh this is such a tough job" moan. But a LOUD drawn out quivering moan that would make one think she just got fucked by a rhino. It's weird, and completely inappropriate for the workplace. Not to mention I could be in the middle of a very important project and/or phone call and all of a sudden you hear "Uhhhh-hu--huhhh-hhuh..." coming from the front of the office. Her last moan was at about noon today and rather than voice my concern for whatever was causing her little problem, I put on my headphones. "Mona", her name is no longer Anna, randomly inserts herself into conversations and loves to hover around my desk and inquire about what I'm designing or typing. All perfectly valid, and welcomed.... if I like you. Mona, guess what? You're fucking irritating and if my boss ever heard you moan like that, you'd probably end up fired, or actually in his case, under his desk and promoted to the new head of marketing.

Anyway, that's all I have to vent for the day. Let this be a lesson to all the attention-seeking office moaners. No one cares when you're annoying and unattractive. Put away the pocket rocket and get to work.

Over n out.

To Melba, Love Toast

Let's forget, for a second, that it was 30 something degrees out today and I ran out the house commando, completely unprepared for what was in store for me. Instead, take a gander ova' here:

http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/

My good friend Danielle, aka Melba, sent through a website that was probably intended to ward off those who can't help but eat anything and everything fried, greasy, and sure to clog every fucking artery in your body. NEWS FLASH: I'm one of those people. I love a good fried meal, and if bacon is anywhere on the ingredient list, you can be damn sure I'll be making sweet love to that plate.

Yeah, I'm guilty of cooking some pretty unhealthy stuff... and perhaps photographing it and sending it to those who can't have any, but does that make me a dick? According to some, it may make me a "Pretentious Gay Tool", but that's up to you. (My friend Dave Rubin has a weekly show in which this was brought up, and if memory serves, is guilty of doing the same damn thing... http://bendave.com ) Anyway, if you've removed your face from the pool of drool in front of you, check out both sites. I'm telling you...

Good times... noodle salad.

Office Wisdom: Part II

Alright, here is today's doozie. Not to mention, this office smells like a fucking nursing home because Dee is rubbing Icy Hot all over his right arm like it's body lotion... but I digress:

Flo: Did you know America dropped the bomb and saved China?
Dee: Yeah.
Flo: You know that?
Dee: Yes. You know japanese is much more advanced than China?
Flo: Of course.
Dee: Even more than America. They invented the airplane long before America. That's why America drop the bomb.
Flo: Because of the airplane?
Dee: Yes.
Flo: Oh.

That's right. Not only do they give expert sales advice, I even got a history lesson today... with these two imbeciles around, who the hell needs college??

Office Wisdom

Every once in a while, in this godforsaken office, I come across a few pearls. By pearls, I mean pearls of wisdom imparted by the stupid and uneducated. Bits of advice that leave you no choice but to look off in the distance and wonder... Hmmm, exactly what fucking planet DID they come from? Case-in-point:

I took the day off and received an email from my coworker informing me of a string of pearls that could ONLY be dispensed by such imbeciles. Here's the transcript:

Dee: "Is it ok to buy a used sofa?"
Flo: "No, people have Cancer, and Aids, and juice on their sofa... You also have to buy lots of food for the ghosts in your apartment to get rid of them."

I leave you with that kids... I think I should call MENSA. We've found our next candidate.

Addicts Get a Bad Rap...

I have to admit I don't know shit about shit when it comes to heroin. However, I do know that once you've been doing it, you're pretty much fucked until someone comes along and throws you in rehab (Sing it, Winehouse!). I'm sure it's a horrible day-to-day existence, and I don't condone the use of it in any way..... well.... unless of course you're doing it for the greater good. That would be to tell the NYC Traffic Violations Bureau to find something better to do with their time.

Yesterday, 2 people were arrested and charged with stealing traffic cameras from just about every burough in NYC. They would steal the very expensive Nikon cameras that those little grey boxes are equipped with (Who knew?), and sell them to B&H Photo in manhattan. As it turns out, the 2 apprehended were a couple of heroin addicts who hocked the cameras and used the money to fuel their habit. These clowns have a nice lengthy prison sentence to look forward to, and perhaps a little methadone in their future. Eh.. so maybe it was worth it in the end.

Moral of the story, folks? If you're gonna do something as stupid as heroin, at least do something that benefits us all. Good work guys. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch 'Trainspotting'...

'If you beat them, they will come.'

So they opened up a Dunkin Donuts across the street from our apartment. (Cue the harps, please.) It's fucking fantastic timing and nothing makes me happier than showing up 20 minutes late for work because I had to stop and wait on line to get my iced toasted almond coffee. I'm not even being facetious - I'll wade through shark infested waters if it means there's a doughnut and coffee on the other end. But I digress...

So I'm leaving the Dunkin and step into the parking lot when this massive Tony Sopranoesque man is walking with his 4-5 year old son and the boy takes off across the lot. He shouts at the kid to stop, well it was more like "AY! GET OVA HERE!!!". The child paused for about 2 and a half seconds before taking off again towards their vehicle. The man shouts again and proceeds to sprint towards him and grabs the boy by the back of the shirt. Now, it was a relatively small parking lot. There were no cars driving through the lot at the time, and I completely understand where Tony was coming from. Had there been a car coming, little Tony could have been hit. With that said, If I were Tony Jr., I think I might have opted for the car to impail me than feel what was coming from good 'ol pop. The man grabs the kid by the shirt, raised him up off the ground and began wailing him in the ass with his hand. Everyone stopped and stared in shock as this guy was beating this little kid. An older woman went so far as to say "What are you doing to him? Stop that!", to which Tony replied "Why don't you mind your fuckin' business!" and threw the kid into the back of the mini-van. Ok look, I don't have children - nor do I care to, but if your gonna spank your kid, at least do it where the kid's not on public display. TRUST me, the kid will probably not remember the pain inflicted, but he WILL remember you humiliating him in front of the holiest of holy coffee-houses - Dunkin Donuts. Tony, Tony, Tony... maybe he's still pissed his show got cancelled. Hell, maybe he's pissed Carmela got her own show. (Nurse Jackie is so good: Showtime, Mondays 10:30pm)

On a more serious note, Dunkin Donuts has been giving away free coffee at 12 locations in NYC after being taken over by the Canadian chain "Tim Horton". I don't know this "Tim" person is, but his coffee better be worth the trip......

"Filth": The New Coworker...

Everyone has that one coworker. You know the one. The coworker you wish would just accidentally leap in front of the crosstown bus instead of pawning his work off on you, getting caught embezzling, or trying to indulge you in anecdotes about their lives.... of which you could give a shit about when you're quiet obviously in the middle of doing something important. Sadly, I've worked with several of these degenerates, and it was about that time to add a new one to the bunch.

Let's call him Filth.

Filth is a middle-aged, ponytail-toting hippie who not only hasn't washed his hair since 1972, but decides that everyone else in this company is somehow beneath him because we eat meat, we drive cars, we use shampoo. It's strange. The man also has quite the knack for coming up to me and launching into some meaningless story about his life just as I'm about to wrap up a project. At one point I had mentioned where I went to school, and he somehow brushed it off as "Oh. You're one of those." I'm not really sure how to have taken that. I'll probably be paying for my college education for the next 20 years, so he really shouldn't be making any judgments about my financial situation. He also made a comment to my asian coworker, asking her how she distinguishes one asian culture from another, because (and I quote) "they all look the same".

The man has about as much tact as a fucking Riker's inmate. Perhaps this is where he belongs. He does look like he's been shuffled around a cell quite a bit, and if his piss-poor social skills are any indication, I'm almost convinced Filth is out on parole.

He came upstairs earlier today and brought some of his inedible vegan treats for the married receptionist up front. She politely said thank you, but knew better than to eat it. He spent a good 20 minutes talking to her and asking her questions about anything and everything, then it dawned on me. He's actually hitting on her. Jennie walked up to grab something from the fax machine and gave me a look like "He's kidding, right?". After Filth had left to go back under the bridge, I told the receptionist, "Hey, I wouldn't eat that if I were you." She responded genuinely surprised "Oh really?". I asked her if she ever heard of a roofie. She looked way for a second and said "Roof?" I told her to have a good weekend.

Clearly, helping her out would have taken a great deal of effort on my part, and I'm just too fucking tired. Ahhhh another friday tucked away... I'm late for happy hour.

Night, kids.

'Red Bull' in german? Cocainenhausen.

As of this weekend the popular, and quite disgusting drink, Red Bull was banned in Germany for reportedly containing traces of cocaine. Little-known fact (Or perhaps not, and I'm feeling decidedly superior on this brisk tuesday afternoon): When Coca-Cola was launched back in 1886, it contained 2 main ingredients: caffeine... and cocaine. Had I known, I may have accidentally asked our office manager to order some 'supplies' for the kitchen, but given the drug habits of a certain office worker, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's not the best idea.

Red Bull and vodka I know is a pretty popular combination, but while I love vodka, I just couldn't get past the ectoplasmic-like sludge that is Red Bull. I mean no disrespect to the Red Bull lovers out there. Really. Hey, if it did it for me, I'd have the cocaine-laced cans lining the bottom of my filing cabinet instead of the mini bottles of Captain Morgan and Absolute Mango. Anyway, it's an unusually busy tuesday afternoon here, so I need to get back to my duties. One of which is to reacquaint myself with Señor Bull.

If you'll excuse me....

TextsFromLastNight.com

Oh yes, we've all done it... and at some point, regretted it. Normally, I'm the one receiving the texts, but I've done my share of rum-induced texting. Hell, I've even woke up next to a phone that looked a lot like mine... only wasn't mine, and apparently "Rita's" husband was a little pissed that I had her phone. I don't know who Rita is, was, or even remember meeting any women at the bar that night. But I digress...

Check this site out, and be sure to submit your own as you send and/or receive them in the coming weeks:
textsfromlastnight.com

P.S. Sorry, Celia... I haven't deleted my text messages, so you're my first entry. Luv ya'!

"Fries?... Or some snake with that?"

I've been to my share of NYC restaurants and eaten my share of godawful food, but when it comes to a food chain I particularly enjoy eating from, I get a little concerned. I was at a restaurant (to hell with anonymity - it's called Café 82) with my coworker recently when she ordered a salad. I ordered a wrap and when our food came, I heard her gasp in horror just moments later. She was rummaging through her big leafy meal when she lifted her fork and showed me two live ladybugs that had apparently been hiking through her salad on the way back from the kitchen. I don't mind ladybugs. I hear they're supposed to bring good luck, though I haven't seen much of that in my 30th year of life, but I draw a fucking line when they're spotted backpacking through my food. She ended up getting a sandwich instead, and we haven't been back there since... or shall I say 'yet' - the BLT's are f*cking delicious.

Anyway, this past Sunday, one Jack Pendelton was frequenting a TGI Friday's upstate when he spotted a snake head (with the spine attached) resting alongside his broccoli. He snapped a photo of it with his cell phone and Friday's was nice enough to comp the meal. Apparently Jack has no plans to sue, and whether or not he should is something I really have no opinion on, but I will say this. If I ever walk into a Friday's and there's some sort of animal head in my meal, I'll be goddamned if all I get is a free chicken dinner. I want drinks. I want unlimited cocktails every time I walk into that establishment. I want scantily-clad wait staff fanning me with giant banana leaves and feeding me shrimp. Well... ok fine, I can compromise. I can do without the wait staff, but hell, If I'm brave enough to step foot inside that restaurant again, the least they can do is make sure I'm not paying them another dime post-incident. Luckily, I've learned how to make their Jack Daniel's sauce myself, so I don't have to worry about any turds floating in it or anything, but c'mon Friday's. Your food is to blame for ooooh about 10-15lbs of mine, so do us both a favor and make it worth my while.

As for Jack, if he doesn't show a little more initiative, I'm tempted to show up on his doorstep and smack him upside his enormous bald head. Have you seen that episode of Family Guy where Stewie finishes watching that horrible remake of "Bewitched" with Will Farrel? He then leaves the theather, hops on a plane to LA, stops at the hardware store to buy a ladder, gets to Will Farrel's house, rings the bell, positions the ladder at Will's eye-level, and when he opens the door, Stewie knocks him unconscious.

I'll free my schedule for this Sunday...

Click Here for the Daily News Article

Surprise, I'm a stripper!

Well... I'm not, but apparently one Andrea Wachner received a letter in the mail informing her of a 10-year high school reunion, and rather than attend herself, hired a stripper named Cricket to impersonate her and go in her place. Now, I remember getting my 10-year high school reunion email (not letter), and laughing out loud thinking, "Who the hell would I wanna' say hello to that I don't already know or have as a friend on some ridiculous internet site like Facebook?" I read about this comedy writer, Andrea, and thought "Wow... she's a fucking genius." If I could go back, I would do this in a heartbeat. Strippers are fun... they have issues... but they're fun! Like many other people out there, I despised high school. I hated it for about a hundred different reasons, but probably the biggest one was that I was in such a rush to get out of Port Jefferson, I would've done just about anything short of getting arrested to leave the godforsaken town.

Andrea had a film crew follow her impersonator, Cricket, throughout the reunion. As Cricket worked the room, she communicated with Andrea through an earpiece, allowing her not to miss a beat. Short of a blood sample, everyone was convinced it was Andrea. Cricket also went so far as to tell her fellow alumni that she had been in a horrible car crash after high school and since had reconstructive surgery, as well as a small bout of amnesia.

This woman is fucking brilliant. If I'd thought of this myself, I would have found the biggest beefiest black man I could find to go in my place, telling everyone that I was in porn. I don't even think half my classmates realized I was half puerto rican, so for all intents and purposes it would work. My stripper friend, we'll call him Mandingo, would try and recruit some of the more attractive men and women for my next film, maybe even give one of the older, now elderly, teachers a lapdance. Oh well - there's always the 20-year reunion...

The Golden Child

I feel like I've talked about this... man, my boss, for years and not everyone has had the opportunity to see the full picture in all its glory. Does he look a little familiar to you?

I'm just sayin'.....

Friendly Fire

John and I went to get a few drinks after work last friday night and I've encountered something I've never seen before. A grown-ass woman attempting to use a urinal because she was too drunk to realize she was in the wrong bathroom. It started like this...

We were enjoying our drinks and bullshitting about each other's day when this really obnoxious woman rolls in with her equally annoying posse. They're loud, and clearly stumbled in from some other bar and were about a drink away from being cut off. (Which is usually fun to watch - just not an entire group of them.) So as we always do at bars, we find the biggest, hottest mess in the place and continue to make fun of them till we've had our fill... then move on. It's not right, it's not 'nice', but when you're drunk, it sure as hell is fucking funny.

Anyway, I realize it's time for me to pay the bathroom a visit and don't realize I had lost track of Crazy and her crew. I walk into the men's bathroom, which is clearly on your left - door ajar and a line of urinals visible, and I see this woman with one leg hoisted up onto the tile and the other trying to place her crotch up and over the lip of the urinal... oh yes, coming as no surprise, it was her - 'Crazy'. Her male friend was with her laughing and telling her to get out, but she wasn't having it. They struggled for a bit and he managed to pull her out of the bathroom and shove her into the woman's, but not before she was cursing and shouting at all of the men in there for getting in her way and stumbled right into me. Luckily, I have good aim and this wasn't an issue for my Pumas.

Cut to a little while later, John and I have relocated to another side of the bar, when all of a sudden the wall of Crazy starts closing in. I can tell she's behind me at one point. Loud, obnoxious, a voice that could only belong to this hideous woman or some wild animal indigenous to a fucking rain forest. Then the smell hits. The long counter behind us is lit up by a series of votive candles and either someone had just let out the most godawful fart or there was hair burning. We turn around and sure enough two guys are smacking her back where apparently the candles had ignited the ends of her hair. We can only see her from the back until she tries to get someone's attention at the bar and turns around. As she turns, she reaches back and grabs a clump, though not quite a fistful, of hair from her back. Now THIS was fucking fantastic. The smell was terrible, but the pleasure I got in seeing the look on her face was priceless. FYI, she probably only lost 2-3 inches, tops, and there was no serious injury. Crazy immediately left the bar with her crew and my night had officially begun.

This just goes to show you... Ladies? (And gentleman, for that matter) If you ever walk into a bar a hot mess, start berating the people in the bar for being annoyed when you fall on them, scream in their ear, then have your hair set fire for the entire bar to see, chances are I will be laughing my ass off and you should probably take yourself home. My favorite moment was when one of the bartenders came from across the bar, squinting and waving his arm in front of him holding a can of Febreeze. Oh, I loved it.

Hey Crazy, if you're reading this - Karma's a bitch. ;)

We've Been Gassed

I've overcome a LOT of shit in this job, but this will no doubt go down as one of this company's 'finer' moments. I walked in this morning to a very odd smell. No, not the usual scent of my boss' Icy-Hot, the accountant's horrific urine-scented aftershave, or even the new girl's rancid fish and noodles that she brings every morning, but something I couldn't quite place. I decide to ignore the odor and go about my morning of reading through emails from manufacturers, sales, marketing, and a slew of other people put on this earth for the sole purpose of irritating me. Then at about 11:35am today it hit me. GAS. It wasn't the smell from when I walked in, but it hit everyone up front like a ton of bricks. The smell lasted for about 15 mins but that was enough to make me think "Hmmm... yeah, I'd rather NOT die in the presence of this fucking dirty hippie and his minions (yes, I'm one of them), but if it were up to me, I'd like to leave this wonderful planet the way I was probably intended to - asleep with a bottle of rum at my bedside. Anyway, I digress... the smell dissipates and it throws our germ-phobic accountant into a panic. He grabs his jacket and bolts out the door muttering something in his native language that sounded a little like "Yabba Dabba Do" to me.

A little while later, our fearless leader, Joe (the aforementioned dirty hippie), comes in and tries to assure us that he had called Con Edison to have the area tested last night, and therefor there was no reason for concern. He leaves the office just as the accountant walks back in with a large bag from Lee's Hardware. I'm currently writing this as I leave for lunch, but made sure to snap this photo for all to enjoy:



In the event that I don't make it out alive today, I wish you all good luck and best dishes... SHIT, *wishes (Damnit, I've been watching too much Paula Dean)

The Great Escape

So, I've been sort of fascinated by this news article I read earlier this week. A 3-yr-old boy in Queens ended up on the #7 train by himself, when someone finally took notice and he was reunited with his mother a short time later. Now, here's what I find interesting...

According to police, the boy got separated from his mother at a McDonald's, walked out the doors and down the street to the subway entrance, took a very long escalator down into the station, bypassed the turnstile, awaited the #7 to arrive, boarded the train, and sat down - perhaps trying to blend as best he could. Yes, I'm sure this was a horrifying experience for the child's mother, but with that said I couldn't help but picture Stewie from "Family Guy". I'm guessing the boy (Let's call him... Louie) had just about enough of those vile McDonald's Kiddie Meals and thought, "You know what mom... fuck this, I'm leaving." Maybe it was that last McNugget that just pushed little Louie over the edge. I believe the actual account of the events went something like this:

Louie stares down that final greasy McNugget and he's had it. He leaves the restaurant and takes to the street.

Louie strolls down the street unnoticed, passing strangers at the fish markets, perhaps the occasional whiff of street urine, and boards the long narrow escalator into the subway station, flanked by businessmen not noticing the diminutive little toddler in between them. Louie approaches the subway turnstiles realizing he's... well, 3. He can't conceivably purchase a Metrocard, but "AHA!" He's the perfect height to bypass the turnstile without getting a giant steel bar painfully slammed into his crotch.

He waits to make his great escape and the 7 train rolls up. Louie runs under the turnstile, sprints through the train doors, takes a seat and hopes for the best. Poor kid. He was so close. Perhaps he could have found someone nice enough to at least make him a decent meal before returning him home to his family with the consistently poor food choices.

Ahh well, Louie.. if you're reading this, (which is entirely plausible of course, considering you were smart enough to bypass security and board mass transit headed for the big city), you got a few years left with the woman. Stick it out. Hell, there may even be some Taco Bell in it for ya!

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/18/nyregion/18child.html?_r=1

The Booze Whisperer

So I'm at home yesterday, off from work, watching tv and sitting on my ass (margarita in-hand) when I come across that diminutive little man Caesar Milan, The Dog Whisperer. Now, I've never seen the show, wouldn't even know what channel I was watching, but remembered that one of my new projects at work is to design packaging concepts for a new line of products that The Dog Whisperer himself has decided to endorse and market as his own. Big fun, right? No. Now I've seen crazy. I've looked crazy in the face. Hell, I grew up in a family full of crazy, but this woman was a piece of work. Her name? One Jennifer Pryor - Richard Pryor's widow. She was on the show because she runs a dog rescue program out of her enormous house, and can't control ANY of the friggin' animals that inhabit it. Here's a little excerpt:

"I love animals. Richard loved animals. These dogs gave me something I could never get from ALL the men I've had, from shopping on Rodeo Drive, from Cocaine..."

Let's stop there. As if it's not bad enough that your on television telling the world you live in a multi-million dollar home, have about 10 dogs, and let them basically beat the shit out of you and run your household, your dredging up all of this crap? She even stated to Caesar Milan that she was "grateful that the universe sent him to her."

I immediately poured myself another drink to be able to endure the rest of this episode, and Jennifer's crazy ethereal fucked up hippie-talk that had me extremely close to doing Patrón shots in my underwear... alone. For those of you who haven't seen the show, Milan has a series of techniques he uses to get these animals to submit and realize that at 5'1", this little mexican man was about to put these bitches in their place! (Heh, heh, they're dogs... bitches.) Anyway, by the end of the episode, Milan had these dogs on tread mills, playing with dogs they would have normally mauled, and had the pitbull waiting at the foot of the bed to be granted permission to lay on the bed next to Jennifer. Giving credit where credit's due, Caesar Milan is amazing. The problem? These dog owners that insist on keeping an animal who has no problem tearing their fucking hands off when they go to show any kind of affection or come anywhere near them at feeding time. It's very strange to me, but I suppose it keeps little Caesar's pockets quite full.

By the end of the show, I was exhausted, quite buzzed, updated my resumé on Monster.com, and applied for two jobs. Wish me luck! I am..... the Booze Whisperer.

Obama

Simply put, it's pretty damn amazing. Here's hoping....

(Illustrator Greg Halbert created this illustration - I love it.)

US Airways V. Big Bird

I don't know about you, but I was much more fascinated by yesterday's US Airways crash into the Hudson, than I was about Bush's farewell speech. ABC News' Liz Cho (whose hair frighteningly stayed intact as she bobbed her head in disbelief) reported the incident last night being sure to inform the masses of exactly how horrific this crash could have been. Experts say a bird flying into an engine could potentially cause catastrophic damage, let alone several of them. Luckily, everyone got out safely and all survived, some with very minor injuries... with that said:

What a set of BALLS on these birds, no? Last time I checked, the sound of a passing car, a fire engine, the quiet clap of an infant was enough to send a bird running for cover... let alone a fucking jet engine! I guess the flock was too busy trying to make the perfect "V" to notice the giant jet behind them when 2 of them bit it. Interestingly, one Ms. Converse out of Yardville, NJ alerted authorities (me), via email earlier today, of exactly who is now the prime suspect in the case, one "Big... Bird". Witnesses were reported to have said "It was big. It was loud... It was awful." Fascinating, right?! Given this dramatic chain of events, I've decided to conduct my own investigation.

Upon extensive phone calls, googling, and visits to the U.N., it turns out that said "Bird" had an accomplice. ABC News' Liz Cho reports: "If you see this man....."




I think I froze a nipple...

So it's no big surprise that this week is supposed to be cold as fuck. Note to selves: Friday's high is supposed to be 14 degrees. Anyway, I was on my way to work today when, walking from Rockefeller Center (where the express bus leaves me in the am) to the 50th street 1 train station, I was in physical pain. Of course I was walking against the direction the wind was blowing... hence the quasi-frozen nipplage. However, I thought of the perfect remedy to this week of bitter, brutal cold....

Alcohol.

I have a question I need answered though... (The 3 people in the world who actually read my drivel can either email me or post their answers in the comments section.) If you were to mix up the following:

A shot of Coconut Rum
A shot of Blue Curacao (Orange liqueur dyed blue)
Splash of club soda

Would you prefer passion fruit, mango, or pineapple juice as your main ingredient? What would make the nipple, that wasn't frozen on the walk to your door, stand up at full salute?

"B*tch, gimme ma' kidney!"

Alright, every once in a while some absolutely fucking ridiculous news story breaks out of Long Island that just makes me proud, proud, proud to have been raised in such a fine place. Take, for example, one Richard Batista from Massapequa. This poor son of a bitch donated a kidney to his soon-to-be ex-wife back in 2001 and is currently insisting she either give it back to him, or at the very least pay him $1.5 million. Wow. Now, I've dealt with some nasty breakups in the past and gone back for ooooh a portable dvd player, a Calvin Klein shirt that clearly fit me better, the good porn, you know - all reasonable shit. It turns out that Batista's, quite unattractive, philandering wife happened to be banging her physical therapist, but in all reality, what the hell is he going to do? Pay tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills to hack himself up and put the fucking thing back in? I'm thinking it's something in the water out there... Have you seen the Long Island Sound? It ain't pretty. This is warning to all my friends and family back in L.I. Do yourselves a favor - switch to Poland Spring.

Pearrrrrrl Cream

Does anyone else remember this idiotic infomercial? Of course you do. It was huge in the 80s and I've made it my mission today to figure out what the hell happened to little Nancy Kwan. Although I haven't seen any of the movies she claims to have been so popular in (What the hell was "Nobu How"?), I'm intrigued. People like Ron Popeil and his Pasta Maker, Food Dehydrator, and Rotisserie Machine from hell fascinate me. How the hell did they become so successful hocking this shit that's basically completely useless after 2 tries? Well, I have to admit I own the rotisserie, though it's sitting in my grandmother's apartment in brooklyn... I live in Queens... we ain't got the counter space. Hahaha, I love how when I mention queens my writing skills go in the toilet. Anyway, sitting at my desk here at work I'm thinking I need to invent something... something good. Something tasty perhaps? I don't know. I have all of the manufacturing contacts in China through this job. Hmmm... If anybody has any ideas, holla' at a brutha!

Ummm, I just IMDB'd Nancy Kwan: "Nobu How" = "Noble House" Ooops

Adios '08!

Let's hope 2009 will be filled with less stress, more money, less drama, more cocktails, and lastly let's just hope it's a whole lot fucking better than last year. Here are my top 5 highlights of '08:

#5: "It's Halloween, bitch."

Every year we host it and have a pretty damn good time, but there was something about rockin' a beaded cornrow wig, a velvet open-chested red blazer, and calling everyone in the room a 'bitch' that really did it for me. Ahhh good times, and this year's party favors were priceless too (See Facebook's 70s-80s Hits album) - next year's theme is 80s television shows... be warned, bitches.

#4: "My 'Lifealert' is on back-order."

Ok, not to beat a dead horse, but yes I turned 30 this year. I was eased into it with a helluva lot of drinking and some pretty great people too. The joint pain's started and the gray hairs are a-sproutin', but it's all well and good. I got some pretty amazing gifts too, which I really didn't expect at all (ie. I actually own something from Gucci - and it's fucking REAL! Thanks, baby), and I definitely owe all of you guys. There are still a few of you out there that haven't yet hit the quasi-milestone, but I'll be sure to welcome ya to the club - or kick you the fuck out if you get carded at the bar and I don't.

#3: "My mother can text... sort of."

I swear to god, new technology - scratch that... technology that was invented circa 1990 and beyond it basically completely fucking foreign to my mother. She's a relatively young mom at 49 years old, but has yet to grasp simple concepts like AIM, a dvd player vs. VCR, and the fact that you can purchase clothing from establishments other than Kohls. My sister, at 12 years old is very much aware of these things and is slowly trying to bring my mother out of the cave. She texted me for the first time a few months back with a simple "Hi, how are you? Love, Mom" (Oh yes, each text is in letter form), to which I responded with "I'm fine - I'm at work". Now most semi-proficient texters would respond with something like "have fun with that" or "lol, hahaha, (insert stupid fucking texting shortcut here) that sucks" or "oh, Im sorry".. or maybe even no response at all. My mother on the other hand responds to all text like she does an IM - with a phonecall. Now, is it just me, or does anyone else find this strange? She'll text me with "Hi baby" and follow it up with a 25 minute phone call telling me about my stepfather's gas problem. I've since taken to texting my 12-year-old sister instead and using her as a conduit to deal with her, but we'll see if 2009 throws a wrench in that plan...

#2: "Rock the Vote! Then have a Baconator"

I had to drag my ass all the way out to Long Island to vote, because I never changed the address on my license and didn't fill out an absentee ballot in time. It's the same place I voted last election and nothing's really changed at all. It's a very small, somewhat smelly, elementary school that apparently even at 8pm is filled with screaming misbehaved little mongrels some might call children. I had a mission: I wanted to do my part and vote hoping that Señor Obama could do this country some good, and basically just get the fuck out of there. I'm on line and this slew of elderly women are ushering people to the correct table, line, booth etc. This little older black woman looks at me and asks "Hello, how are you? Your last name?" I tell her and she points me to the correct table. I start to walk there and she stops me, "Excuse me, you were here last time right? I remember your face." I tell her yes, ummm 4 years ago in the last election?" She responds with "Oh.. you mean you weren't here before then?" I tell her no, very confused. She looks at me and says, "Well, you look familiar to me. Oh well, hell, I guess we all look alike... Next!" What the fuck was that? I know I'm probably one of 3 ethnic faces in that entire town, but grandma really threw me for a loop. Anyway, I voted - I did my part, and immediately celebrated with a big fat Baconator from Wendy's. It's my new celebratory meal for any significant event. You should try it.

#1: "(Cue the harps) The Margaritaville Frozen Concoction Maker was made by Jesus himself."

There's a line in 'Interview with the Vampire' that goes, "He never knew what life was till it ran out in a red gush over his lips". Only in my case, I never knew what life was till I got brain-freeze 4 fucking days in a row 'cause I can't stop making these goddamn things. This machine is genius. You can make margaritas, piña coladas, and basically any frozen slushy drink and add alcohol to it. Not even the 15 degree weather stopped me. I was determined to get my drink on, and that motherfucker needed to be frozen. I haven't yet mastered how to drink it without chugging the damn thing, but I'm learning. I've made frozen amaretto sours, frozen strawberry daiquiris with banana schnapps, frozen blue raspberry coladas... good lord the possibilities are endless, and I've just begun.

Ok, I've been writing way too long and haven't eaten so I'm getting a little irritable. Be well, fools and I'll see you in the new year. I hope... not... sporadically!

[5 bucks to the first person who emails me with the movie that line's from. :)]