Shaken, Not Stirred

The Sad 50

2011-07-14T08:05:00.001-07:00

APPARENTLY. Seeing as how the last post was back in 2009, I figured I'd taken long enough of a hiatus. For those of you who don't know what 'hiatus' means (you know who you are), it means "shut ya' face and google it."

Ahhhh, ok so I'm on the subway ride home, and as usual I'm trying to close my eyes and zone out. John is sitting next to me and notices some college kid directly across from us.

J: "Aww, he looks sad."
A: "Huh?"
J: "He looks sad. You know... thats why you're so lucky to have me in your life."
A: "Huh?"
J: "Because... he looks sad. When you're not happy, I cheer people up. It's true - you're very lucky."
A: "Ok."

The guy realizes he's approached his stop and gets up. He rushes through the subway doors to exit before the doors close, when I look across from me and his wallet is resting right where he was sitting.

The 2 people that were to the left of him stare at the wallet, then stare at us. Then the people to the right stare at the wallet, then us, then at everyone in the surrounding area. No one moves. I pick up the wallet, see the I.D. in front and throw it in my bag. I figure when I get off, I'll just leave it with a conductor. One man suggests I drop it in a mailbox and the post office will take care of it. Given my experience with the miserable fucks who work at the USPS, I'm not taking that chance. I've lost my wallet, 6 cell phones, and 2 ipods, all in the EXACT same way and have only gotten my ipod returned once... and not by a postal employee. It sucks, and I'm gonna get it back to him the only way I'll know he'll receive it - I'll mail it myself.

We're walking home from the subway station and John turns to me:

J: "I know what you're thinking."
A: "Huh?"
J: "You wanna know how much is in that wallet."
A: "No. Actually, I'm starving and I'm thinking about chicken."

We get inside and relax on the sofa. I take the wallet out of my bag and rest it on the table. John grabs it and immediately opens the cash compartment. There was a little less than $50 in cash when he grabs a $20 and a 5:

J: "There. You can have the rest."
A: "What? What are you doing?"
J: "What's yours is mine - you take half; I'll take half."
A: "I'm not taking this guy's money, it's $50..."
J: "Well, you know if he was the one that took YOUR wallet, you wouldn't get it back with cash in it."
A: "That's not the point - karma's a bitch! Hahahaha, are you serious?"
J: "Yep. This is mine."

John walks away to put the money in his wallet.

A: "Ummm.. what happened to 'everyone should have someone like you in their life?'"
J: "Oh please..."

Hahahahahhaha, moral of the story:

If you're sad and someone looks concerned... don't buy it. They might just wanna take your money, order a pizza, sit on the couch and watch 'Weeds' instead.

We've Got a Moaner...

2009-11-03T10:57:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-16T07:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-29T08:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-07-23T08:35:00.000-07:00

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.'

2009-07-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-05T14:28:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-26T10:11:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

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?"

2009-05-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-04-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-14T06:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-23T11:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-18T09:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-05T17:35:00.001-08:00

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

2009-01-23T08:03:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-20T11:05:00.000-08:00

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

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

US Airways V. Big Bird

2009-01-16T07:00:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-01-14T08:00:00.001-08:00

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!"

2009-01-09T10:08:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-07T06:51:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-01-03T08:31:00.000-08:00

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. :)]

September 11th

2008-09-11T14:41:00.001-07:00

Well... normally, I'd be bitching, complaining, or pointing out some other ridiculous situation I've put myself in recently, but I still can't get my head around the fact that it's been 7 years since I was stuck in my boss' apartment wathcing "Alive" with his wife at 3am. The subways and LIRR weren't running that day; I had no cell reception, and thusly nowhere to go. Joe insisted that I stay with him and his family until it was all over. Holy shit was that a mistake. Some part of me would have welcomed a confrontation with the Taliban just so I wouldn't be subjected to the antics of that entire fucked up family. Let me paint a picture for you:

We leave the office, sometime in the early afternoon and walk to his multi-million dollar apartment on Riverside Drive. The reason I noted the "million-dollar apt." is that upon entering the apartment, you would have thought this family was eligible for low-income housing. None of the furniture matched. There was a half-dead ficus in the corner looming over animal-destroyed sofa, and the 50" flat screen television was propped up by a broken wooden footstool. I shit you not - it was awful. I don't have a fraction of what these people have, and my Walmart linens are in better shape than this. We sat there watching the horrific videos of the towers and all of that looped CNN footage till I basically wanted to stab myself with the switchblade that was resting on the kitchen counter. (I don't know why it was there either.) His friend from Germany was planning on staying that night also which meant that sleeping arrangements were going to get a little tricky. I stayed awake watching bad television for most of the night when my boss' wife, Robin, couldn't sleep either. We sat up watching "Alive" on HBO or Cinemax or some shit. Granted, probably not the most appropriate thing to be watching, but at this point I need to find a happy place - even if that place is on a mountain in the Andes ready to fry up my best friend's ass cheeks for food.... it happens.

To make a long story shorter, I ended up sleeping in a twin-sized pink Barbie bed, complete with Barbie canopy. (The daughter left to sleep with her parents.) My fat ass could barely fit under the sheets, much less my feet, that dangled at the ends like two giant half-wrapped hershey bars. When I woke up there was a 3 year old that desperately wanted me to play 'house'. Fuck that. I gave it a go for about 10 mins before the reality set in.... I'm in my boss' apartment, desperately in need of a shower, and I have a 3 year old girl looking at me like I'm a fucking Teletubby come to life for the sole purpose of entertaining her. My shoes were by the front door so I had to tip-toe out without anyone hearing me. I instructed the little girl to give her doll a new hairstyle until I got back (clearly the makers of this doll thought it was 1988 - it was awful), so she was taken care of. I get about 4 feet from my shoes when I see freedom actually within reach until... about a foot away from the door knob, I step in a giant puddle of cold fucking dog piss.. Not warm, cold - apparently an overnight gift left by their little pooch. I took off my socks and stuffed them in the garbage can, grabbed my shit, and was almost out the door when I see Robin walking out of the bedroom. "I'm making chocolate-chip pancakes? Where you going?"... Fuck. Who am I to turn down pancakes... chocolate chip even. So, I sat and ate quietly still not believing like the events of the day prior had actually happened. Not the towers.. I slept in a fucking Barbie bed! Ok, yeah the towers. It was completely fucking surreal, and after I'd had my pancakes, I was getting the fuck out and on my way home where I belonged.

I actually have no memory of getting home, probably from the lack of sleep the night before. However, I will take with me this - If I EVER find myself in a situation like that again, national attack or otherwise, I will walk, steal, hitchhike, hijack a fucking car if I have to. Life's too short and if it's my time to go, it won't be in the presence of these crazy sons of bitches.

Over and out.

Whore

2008-06-04T10:16:00.000-07:00

Shepherd One

2008-04-21T06:28:00.000-07:00

At the risk of sounding mean (thought I should probably use that preemptive phrase at the beginning of all of my blog posts), does anyone else find it hilarious and rig-goddamn-diculous that the name of the plane that flies the Pope from Point A (Vatican City) to Point B (Anywhere else and vice-versa) has been officially named "Shepherd One"? I swear to god, I was waiting for X-Zibit to come out of the plane and show me all the plasma tvs and Vatican bling they've got on display, but no. Instead I got almost an hour of fucking news commentary.

I'm watching tv quietly on a sunday night after having just finished dinner, when I put on CBS to watch Big Brother (no judgments, please) and I get the view of the Pope's ass ever-so-slowly ascending the stairs to board "Shepherd One". Now, Shepherd One has a big fat airbrushed logo on the side of it that reads 'Alitalia'. Last time I checked that was an actual airline that flew out of italy. There was no crucifix on the wing, no little shepherd decals pasted on the inside of the windows... just a regular plane that happened to hold a lot of robed men with italian accents. Maybe it's because it was Sunday night and the impending doom of Monday wasn't far away, but for christ's sake, let me watch my show, please. I missed the entire thing and had to watch a re-aired version at midnight. It's all well and good that he came to visit and say "God Bless You" to the masses, but did every waking moment need to be televised?

I'm hoping SNL does a skit.

God Bless.

Sevs

2008-04-11T10:41:00.000-07:00

Just a few fun facts about good old 7-Eleven:

If you're from Long Island, you know you've begged your parents to take you for slurpies, and you've probably had a late night run-in (at some point) with a dirtydog (they call them hotdogs), some burnt coffee, or even one of the pseudo-meat sandwiches. Oh, and we can't forget about the congregation of one or two groups of people - the motorcyclists, or complete fucking losers who use the parking lot as a meeting place, or perhaps to induct new members into their highly elite little club. It is what it is, but thought you all might be interested in a little not-so-well-known info about the establishment:

The Busiest Location Is:
Samutprakarn, Thailand

The Busiest Location in U.S. Is:
East Quogue (Long Island), N.Y.!!!

Fun Facts:
There are over 7,500 7-Eleven stores in North America and 33,700 globally.

7-Eleven's birthday is on July 11 (7-11), and the stores used to operate from 7 a.m. to 11.p.m.

Who? What? Where? Who’s buying the most 7-Eleven stuff? The answer is – the most Slurpee® beverages in the world are purchased in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada; and for the United States, it’s the Greater Detroit Area; hot dogs in Washington, D.C., coffee on Long Island, nachos in Colorado, Big Gulp® drinks in Las Vegas and Utah.

Wheel of Misfortune

2008-04-08T16:41:00.001-07:00

I sincerely hate this show. The only real pleasure I get out of it is watching people make asinine mistakes and lose all of their money. Is that evil? Does that make me a bad person? I was laying down in the bedroom relaxing when I heard a loud gasp coming from the living room. It was John, horrified that this man, Scott, had just asked for an "N" after having landed on $3500 on the wheel. To his surprise, there were 4 N's. His $3500 wheel spin was immediately followed by a big fat honkin' BANKRUPT. (Insert gasp here) John comes running in to tell me what happened, and while I could honestly give a shit about Wheel of Fortune, I lept to my feet to see the expression on his face after having just won and lost $14,000 in a matter of 40 seconds. Sadly, I had missed it... and here I am... blogging about my joy in watching someone lose money that really wasn't theirs to begin with. Maybe I'm just bitter and wish it was me that won it. Maybe it's just that I'm exhausted from a long day of dealing with an office full of complete fucking imbeciles. Oh well.... I'm going back to the show. With any luck, Megan (barefoot and desperately in need of some rhinoplasty) will win a little cash. Looks like she could use it.

Death Bus

2008-04-08T07:41:00.000-07:00

So there's this regular, or so it seems, MTA bus that makes it way around the corner at 157th Ave. and Cross Bay Blvd. Just about once or twice a month, I catch a glimpse of it on my way out of Blockbuster or CVS or some other irritating store I dread making the weekly pilgrimage to on my weekend off. This bus is never occupied by more than 6 or 7 people... who all look DEAD. Oh, I'm not kidding. They're not just old and lonely. They're not just tired from a long 10-hour stretch working the nightshift... They're dead. No one is under 70 years old. One man might be asleep with his face against the glass, another woman might be hunched over with what seems like her head in her purse searching for something, except her eyes are closed. I've officially named it Death Bus. Though technically, I believe its the Q-Something... Q17? Some regular NYC Transit bus, only occupied by those who've quite obviously crossed over. The bus turns the corner from 157th onto Cross Bay... continues on up and makes a right onto Nassau Pkwy never to be seen again.......

On an otherwise average sunday afternoon, I really get excited to see it. John thinks I'm psychotic, but I'm telling you the truth. He's seen it - he knows what I'm talking about. The MTA has made some sort of deal with the Grim Reaper. Maybe he got lazy and was tired of lugging that heavy fucking scythe everywhere - who knows. Alright... Maybe they're not actually dead, ok, but it is quite remarkable how these people look like every ounce of life has been completely drained out of them and all they're left with is this shell of a body and not much to look forward to except pushing that little red button that signals the next stop..... the fucking afterlife. Although maybe they'll hit up the bakery first. There's this really great italian bakery on Cross Bay Blvd. right next to ACE Hardware. If you ever get a chance, order the Cannoli Cream Pie. Mmmmm good times, but I digress...

Next time any of you are in the area on an otherwise dull Sunday afternoon, check it out. It'll make the trip worth every penny.... just don't get on.

Oh yeah...

2008-03-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

By the way, Happy St. Patrick's Day...

I love Google.

The Pajamafication of Howard Beach

2008-03-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

I'm curious...

When and who decided it was ok to fall out of bed and leave the house to run errands in the same stank-ass flannel pajamas you wore to sleep? Personally, I don't have this problem because I sleep naked. (Yes, perhaps too much information for some, but hey - this is my fucking blog) I go to the drug store, bank, pizza place, blockbuster - any of these places on Cross Bay Blvd and you see them. Now I don't mean to sound like I'm some cornerstone of fashion and walk around dictating to everyone exactly what's wrong with the way they look, but... well... C'MON! Put some fucking pants on. Jeans. Shorts. Something. Anything that makes you look like you actually showered this morning and aren't still wallowing in that haze of funk you slept in last night. Lie to me - just put on something, anything. I'm not exactly sure why it aggravates me - it just does. Maybe it's because I took the time and effort to put on actualy clothes that day, so why the hell should I be subjected to looking at your lazy ass who couldn't be bothered to even put shoes on. Have you seen the Slipperpeople? You know, the ones who not only wear PJs in public, but actual slippers. I'm telling you, they need to be quarantined and sent to Staten Island.... and don't get me started with that place.

I've even seen kids (teenagers) go to school like this. I don't get it. Maybe I should donate my old jeans (You know, that ones with the 32 waist, that my fat ass doesn't fit in any more) and leave a bin outside my apartment door. Granted, I'm in a building where there only about 4 tenants under 97 but hell... these people clearly need help.

Whoa...

2008-01-25T09:01:00.000-08:00

No, I haven't been watching repeats of "Blossom". There seriously are no words:

Click Here

The New Girl

2008-01-25T07:20:00.000-08:00

To put it simply, she's useless. She sits behind Jennie and mumbles into a phone all day long and occasionally gets "trained" by Him (See blog entitled "The Frighteningly Long Pinky Nail"). I use the word "trained" loosely because their conversations seem to go something like this:

New Girl: "*mumble *mumble *mumble "
Pinky: "How you say... this is... how to find? Oh... amount in receivables, you must call.. we get the check."
New Girl: "Uhhhh... what? I don't understand what your saying *mumble *mumble *mumble "
Pinky: "Such headache... you call... or.. something like that to how you say...yabba dabba doo"
New Girl: "*mumble *mumble *mumble ...I don't... uhh what?"

This fucking shit goes on from 9am till 1pm when she leaves for the day. When the phone rings, she looks at it. She fucking stares at it as if to decifer some code or alien language coming through the constant ringing. *RINGGGGGGG.... *RINGGGGGGG.... She stares... then looks back up at her computer screen *mumble *mumble *mumble .

It's so weird. Jennie even tells me that she sits there motionless... soundless... for HOURS. Is she even breathing? I even swear there's a strange smell coming from her purse.

Her new thing is the coffee pot. Now, there aren't many pleasures I get from this place, but if there's one thing (other than a liquid lunch) that I look forward to, it's my goddamned coffee. She INSISTS on brewing a fresh pot the second she comes in. She barely takes off her coat, when she bolts for the kitchen. This, of course, wouldn't be a problem if her coffee didn't taste un-fucking-believably bad. I'm dead serious. It tastes like a cup of roasted dick. It's foul, muddy, and not even watering it down and adding extra flavored creamer helps. Here's the best part - she doesn't even drink coffee!

Something tells me there's something she's putting in there that probably shouldn't BE in there. Yes, perhaps a little far fetched, but all in all completely plausible. I drank a cup today solely because its about 35 degrees in here (that's another story). As a result of ingesting this sludge, I'll probably end up growing hair in places no hair should be growing. Oh well... I've got a razor.

Balls

2008-01-22T09:44:00.000-08:00

It was bound to happen, and I wasn't even the first. Countless tales of masseuses, yoga teachers, former employees, prophylactics strewn throughout the office. A good two weeks have passed since the incident, so I feel I now have the stomach to recount the ordeal in as much detail as I can muster without vomiting. It was 9am and there was a sign outside the office door saying "Yoga Practice till 9:20". Irritated, I waited in the front office and made coffee for myself. About five minutes later the yoga teacher walks in to get water from the cooler. Now, I assume then that the practice is over so I walk on back, say hello, and proceed to my desk. (It's a railroad office so I have to go through my boss' office to get to my own.) Then I see him sitting on the floor, legs crossed, in a pair of skimpy powder blue short-shorts.

Yeah.....

So, I apologize, excuse myself, and turn around to head back up front.

"Hey Alf! Check this out, she's gonna torture me. You've got to see this pose."

Now, I can't tell you how much of my morning coffee had already backed up at at this point. I stopped and said "That's ok. I'll just wait up front 'till you're done."

"No Alf, you've GOT to see this. She's gonna torture me - you'll love it."

I have to admit, the thought of him in pain did intrigue me, so I briefly turned around. The yoga teacher grabs the cup of water, which I mistakenly thought was for her to drink. Oh no... it had become lubricant. She rubbed his shoulders and forearms, then his thighs and calves with the water. He sits indian-style and proceeds to put each arms through his crossed legs then wrap them back up and around to the opposite arm. If you're having trouble visualizing this - just imagine a wet unbaked pretzel with a tuft of curly grey hair in front... only the top of the pretzel is a head and at the bottom - a crotch. He's now locked in position. The yoga teacher then grabs his shoulders with both hands and proceeds to roll his body around the mat like a fucking beach ball! I'm not even kidding. She started rolling him forward, backward, back and forth and he's all knotted up like a roll of fucking yarn. Is this a normal yoga practice? Does one have to sign a waiver before attempting something like this? I watch this entire scene play out in utter shock. Joe glances at my face and loses it. He starts laughing and she stops playing "ball" for a moment. She stops him with his torso facing me, he lets one leg loose and BLOOP! There it is. My boss' left testicle in all its glory. (Note: "Bloop", in my head, is the sound that a nut makes when hitting the floor - sort of like when one retrieves a power pellet playing PacMan.) I'm not going to elaborate, but I will say this. If ever anyone out there reading this comes into several million dollars at some point in there life, or perhaps not... if anyone out there never sees that kind of money and ends up selling carnations on a highway off-ramp, please... for the love of God.... trim. Surely this man has enough money to have someone do it for him if he's physically incapable of doing it himself. That's all I'm leaving you with.

I immediately turned away and told him I'd wait up front. He was still laughing when I closed the door and walked up front barely able to blink. It's not like this was his first show. He flashed his furry gonads to a coworker about 3 years ago during a photoshoot - I can guarantee she still hasn't fully recovered.

I haven't.

It's been a while...

2008-01-04T09:02:00.000-08:00

It has. And why I've decided to blog now when I can barely feel my fucking fingertips - I don't know. (It's about 20 degrees outside - maybe 25 in here.) So our company offices are moving to midtown in the next 3 weeks or so. If nothing else, it'll be a nice change of scenery. Mainly because the "scenery" that exists here consists of used sexual paraphernalia on the floor and in coffee mugs, and a creepy little employee with horrific hygiene.

Is it wrong that my main concern is what kind of food is available in the area? I've become accustomed to the Upper West Side, as much as I've complained about what actually IS available to eat here. For some reason, I find a restaurant that has great food, at decent prices, and the motherfuckers close on me within a year! Don't they know who I work for? Show a little compassion. My coworker Jennie and I found this place called the Silk Road Palace a few months back. Now don't let the name confuse you... it's far from a fucking palace. It's a small sea of tightly-packed, rickety little tables that are sometimes topped with some sort of residue, but all in all, not that bad. You walk inside and are greeted by one of three people. There's "Evil" (the angry skinny little woman with tight, thin lips who scowls at you when you order), "Wine Guy" ( the delivery/busboy/wine poorer who has since become our best lunch friend), and "Tranny". Tranny is a cross between a little hard-working boy, and... well... a small set of breasts. She takes your order, usually is at the register when you leave, and basically is helpful only when you need more soy sauce. You do not ask Evil for soy sauce. We've seen her get very upset with customers who complain about food or want extra anything. She'll stand over them and if you look very very closely, you'll see tiny horns peek out of her temples when she's particularly angry. The Silk Road Palace is usually filled with very old men and women.... and then there's us. We order the same thing every time, for the most part, so we try and make the visit as pleasant as possible without upsetting the beast. Did I mention the main reason we go there is you get a free carafe of wine with your lunch special? Oh yes... it's advertised as 1 free carafe of wine per customer, per meal. Wine Guy gives us 4! He usually grins at us when we come in.. like there's something "special" in the wine he's serving, but we don't care... we go back to work good and buzzed, and had a great-tasting greasy chinese lunch to go with it.

Lately, I've become concerned. We went into Silk Road as usual, and were seated. Evil comes to our table and says 2 beef chow fun, spring rolls, scallion pancake, no rice right? Then...... she SMILED at me. Jennie's eyes pretty much said it all. Now, it wasn't that she had major dental issues that would have normally frightened away a hungry customer, but it was that the smile had this sinister "I'm going to put you in tomorrow's spring roll if you say another word" effect. It made us both extremely uncomfortable - the smile AND the fact that she remembered what we order. Wine Guy gave us more wine and I even got a smile on the way out. After months of going there, what would possess Evil to do this? She's actually YELLED at me before. Twice!

1. I had asked if we could have more chow fun noodles instead of the rice that comes with it. I thought she didnt understand me when she said "uhh.. no comes with rice", so I repeated myself, and I got a very stern NO, accompanied by an "I will gouge your eyeball out with my teeth" look that made Jennie want to leave.

2. The next time, I tried to pay with a credit card.... for the second time. Yes, ok my fault. I was told the first time I went that they didn't take credit card, but I had forgotten... maybe it was the wine. So I put the card on the table. "AY! CASH ONLY!", she shouts from across the room. I cowered in the corner and sifted through my pockets to find the cash.

In short, I don't know what her deal is. Maybe she knows we're leaving the neighborhood and there will be no more Fun to be had. Jennie and I generally talk about how much we hate our jobs, and often how much her service sucks while we're there for the hour. Oh, I love Fun. Fun and wine is what gets me through a typical Sporn week. That and watching Jennie get busted for coming back to work shit-faced and flushed. Joe will tell her, "Wow, it's smells like alcohol in here... have you been drinking?" Jennie looks confused, "Ummm, no why?" I love it. Hopefully midtown will have it's own version of Fun. Something tells me it's a lost cause. Maybe I can convince my boss to hire Wine Guy. He's hard-working, foreign, heavy handed, it's perfect... maybe he cleans mugs too.

The Frighteningly Long Pinky Nail

2007-09-11T09:01:00.000-07:00

SPORK or DEADLY WEAPON?

Either way, the fucking thing should be outlawed. It's vile, disgusting, unnecessary, and I skeeve them in the worst way. I was in a local grocery store near my job and came across a little troll of a man in front of me sifting through the change in his palm with this rigoddamndicuously long nail. I nearly shat, then had a flashback.......

I work with this guy who has this long overgrown nail (about a good 1 1/2 inches now) and I can't stand to be near it. Not all of his nails, just the pinky. He's known for blowin' up the bathroom just about every morning, so of course this raises all sorts of questions about cleanliness and hygeine. That thing has no doubt been used to scratch, probe, pick, rub, tickle, touch, and finagle it's way into every orifice he can find. However, last year was the breaking point for me. I had brought in an Entenmann's Raspberry Danish loaf thingy and wanted to leave some for the rest of the office to share... emphasis on the some - mmmmmmmmm danish. Shit, I digress, but ok I buy the danish and get my first piece. A good few hours go buy and I notice most of it is gone. Now, I had my piece so I'm ok with it. I ask around if anyone wants the last piece. Everyone's had enough so I go into the supply closet to get myself another plate. Now the rest of this happens in slow motion for me:

I glance to my right, and see the man approaching....... I gust of wind as he takes him hand from his right pocket and extends it out towards the danish. Then a CLACK!......... the nail hits the foil pan in the bottom of the box and scrapes it's way down toward the last piece, carrying every bit of crumb, raspberry, and debris with it.... WHOOSH! His hand it whisked up in one fluid motion and the Spork from Hell empties the debris in his mouth like a fucking dumptruck. I quickly turned away, threw the plate back in the closet and went back to my desk. I think I made several phone calls afterward trying to figure out how one thinks doing something like that is OK. I mean, he might as well have dropped his pants and tea-bagged my cup of coffee at the same time. Ugh. In summation, the Fingerspork should be illegal and all growers should have their pinky-nail beds surgically removed and be subjected to prison time in a maximum security facility...

Who's with me?

Who I LOATHE!

2007-09-06T18:12:00.000-07:00

I'm not even sure if loathe is the right word... Hate? Abhor? Despise? Detest? Want to see beaten in an alley with metal pipes by a gang of Crips? Yes, him.... Wayne Fucking Brady. I can't even pinpoint how the hatred started but it's done everything but go away. His voice, his seemingly endless forehead, his need to sing random words when having a normal conversation... all of it. Now the douche hosts yet another primetime television show just to torment me.

He's an arrogant dick, he sucks, and I'm starting a petition.

To be continued.........

'P' Day

2007-08-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

If given the opportunity, I highly recommend a stint at the luxurious Queens County Criminal Courthouse. Not that I was surprised, but I've never seen a larger congregation of fucking losers in my life. I take that back. Alleged losers... as I was now one of them. I put on a button-down shirt, pants, and shoes which apparently made me feel as if I had just showed up to a Wu-Tang concert in a tux. I get ushered through metal detectors, down an elevator, through a corridor, to a series of court room doors. When asked, I'm told to go to room 3. I walk into the courtroom and it's completely packed full of criminals. I'd say about 80% of which had to utilize one of the 4 interpreters in the front of the courtroom. There were people summoned for "riding a bicycle on the sidewalk", "vandalism", "disorderly conduct" (FYI they call it DisCon...ya' learn something everyday, people), "possession of unidentified species of animal", "possession of porgies out of season". It was fucking retarded. Ever see the decrepid little people in the subway chanting DVD DVD DVD DVD, trying to sell you some shitty bootleg? Yeh, she was there. She didn't have a license and apparently was a little too spread out on the sidewalk that day. I forget the fine she was handed down, but something even more horrifying occured to me. They first announced her name, let's call her Bertha, then her crime, then they asked how Bertha pleads and determines the fine if she pleads guilty. Yes, they ANNOUNCE the crime. Now I'm seated in the far back of the courtroom, and have to wait until everyone else in there had been called. Yes, and waiting to hear exactly how the words "Alphonso Delaney - Urinating in Public" rolled off the officer's tongue. It was an excrutiating wait, until the Ghetto Girls showed up and sat next to me. They were the biggest heaps of unshowered shit I've ever seen, complete with torn dirty t-shirts and what looked like Cross Color pants. I was extremely overdressed, which didn't help matters any, and I have these two fuckin winners next to me trying to strike up a conversation.

Ok, long story short... they call "Alphonso Delaney... Urinating in Public" (Not "violation of health code"). Random muffled chuckles were heard on my way down the LONG fucking aisle up to the Judge. $50. That's what I'm ordered to pay. I exit the courtroom, and catch the dirty girls smiling - one waived goodbye to me.... I needed a shower.

As IF my day coudn't get any worse:

I'm leaving the courthouse and just as I thought my day couldn't get ANY worse, I can't find my car. I'm going up and down the streets in the rain, cold, wet, and frantic. I realize EXACTLY where I had parked and there was a hideous yellow car in it's place. Un-FUCKING-believable. My first thought is: This was my last month of car payments, and what do I get... a stolen car? I immediately call 911 and they dispatch a car to me...20 minutes later. He tells me since there was no broken glass, the chances are it was towed. However, I parked in a completetly legal spot, so he said I had about a 50/50 shot. Great. Thanks. Einstein with a fuckin badge. So Enstein gets on the horn and calls wherever one calls to retrieve a towed vehicle. In short, my car was towed away, and I have to pay a RIDICULOUS towing fee as well as fines and all other kinds of other shit.

I had to take 3 buses and eventually arrived home an hour and half later. (By car, it would have taken 20-30 minutes) I'm waiting at home for an oven to be installed, LIVID, and realizing I had to fedex a package that night for work. Needless to say, that never happened... Ugh, if anyone knows of a person with worse luck than me, please feel free to inform me. I have yet to meet them. Well, it's time to open the company fridge and pull out the wine....and remember. Next time you decide to piss in public, just go in your pants... it's a little uncomfortable, maybe a little smelly, but trust me.. the shower will be much better than the HELL you'll endure in a Queens County Court.

"What The Fuck?" Photo 1

2007-08-17T07:18:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't normally post twice in one day, but WHAT THE FUCK?

Yo Mama'

2007-08-17T06:59:00.001-07:00

Apparently I missed the memo, but when did Yo Mama' jokes come back? I'm on the train this morning and this group of... kids?... I'm not sure of their age, but they weren't teenagers, they were clearly younger than me, so I have no idea. Let's just call them assholes. So these assholes are bickering on the train back and forth at the other end of the car. Then... sadly... Asshole A busted out a Yo Mama' joke. Ready?

"Yo mama's so dirty, she tried to take a bath and the water jumped out."

Now, I didn't know whether or not to laugh or feel sorry for them, but I couldn't help but lower the volume on my iPod so I could hear more. I can't rememeber them all, but here are a few that followed:

"Yo mama's so ugly they filmed 'Gorillas in the Mist' in her shower."
"Yo mama's so ugly she was a stunt double for Chewbacca."

Yeh, I know.. stupid... but it was early, and sadly I turned down my music to listen to this. Does this make me as marginally pathetic as they are?

My Pending Court Date

2007-08-15T09:35:00.001-07:00

Yeah, you hear it correctly. I have to appear in a Queens court on the 21st of August to plead guilty. Why, do you ask? For having to take the biggest PISS I've ever needed to take in my life. I was leaving a concert, during which I drank heavily, and fortunately sobered up by the time I was ready to 'release'. I wasn't about to wait on the ridiculously long line at the Bowery Ballroom, so I opted to just wait until I got home. It was raining, pouring actually, and I felt there couldn't be much harm in urinating where it would be washed away by Mother Nature in a matter of fucking seconds. So... I mosey on over (I love the word 'mosey') to the end of the OUTDOOR elevated subway platform. There was no one in my line of sight. Just me, the rain, and Alabama ready to relieve himself. I huddle in the corner, behind the large pillar, and giant metal bin that cleared my waist, and began to pee. Within...oh... 7-8 seconds of my endeavor, I hear a voice from behind me: "Youuuuuu just let me know when you wanna' wrap that up." Now, I'm still somewhat drunk but not visibly, thank god, and I turn to see a police officer standing directly behind me. I reply casually with, "Yep, no problem" and continue to finish my marathon piss. I then get escorted downstairs where I'm greeted by yet ANOTHER friendly NYC Police Officer. By friendly, I mean the biggest sarcastic, ego-trip-taking, asshole I've encountered in a long time. I get told to sit on the bench and proceed to laugh. Officer B then tells me "I'm sorry if we're disturbing you, but is there something funny?" Now, this statement really didn't even make sense to me. How can observe someone laughing as perseve them as being disturbed and yet amused? He was clearly a complete fucking imbecile, which just made me laugh harder. I stopped chuckling and the reality set in.... I'm getting a summons for taking a PISS! A piss where you couldn't even prove I was pissing cause it had been washed away in the time it took fuckin Dragnet to usher me downstairs and set me on the bench. I started asking random questions at this point. I'm not sure why. He asked if I lived there (the train station where I was transfering was in Ozone Park) I replied with an extremely indignant "No, I'm definitely not from here." In retrospect, that was a bit snobbish, but who gives a fuck. I'm still the poor asshole who has to go to court. (FYI, for those of you not familiar with the area, here's a little snipet on the shooting that occured just two months ago.)

I'm gonna wrap this up. In short, I have to appear in court and plead guilty in front of a judge. "Yes sir, I peed. Yes your honor I peed?" I think I need a manual. What the fuck am I supposed to say? And better yet, what kind of fine am I looking at? If anyone can shed some light on this, it would be much appreciated. I still find the whole situtation hysterical and I'm actually looking forward to the day off of work.

Oh, and I'm thinking of wearing these pants to my hearing, sans the ice skates... but perhaps the poka shirt, that's a good look for me:

The "7"

2007-08-14T08:03:00.000-07:00

Ok, so this is my first official "blog". Why the fuck I'm even doing this, I don't know. I figure it's a way to kill time and I used to enjoy ranting and raving about random shit, but I would normally just put it into an email. I've since gotten a bit lazy, and haven't been writing anything, so I figured this would be a good way to catch up.

So, here's the "7":

1. My posts will more than likely be COMPLETELY random in nature, so don't expect a typical 'journal entry'.
2. I won't be editting my posts, so they will likely contain extraneous amounts of foul language. If you're not a fan, perhaps you shouldn't be reading my fucking blog.
3. I won't post names of individuals unless I find it necessary to tell the story.
4. I'm not using this as a way to exploit myself, rather I'm using this as a way to keep my sanity, and well... hopefully get a laugh in at the same time.
5. Anyone is welcome to read, leave comments, ignore... whatever tickles your schmeckle. I'm not presuming that more than 2 people will even read this, but in the event that they (you) do, I don't mind reading what you think.
6. I work, and when at home, often am eating, cleaning, or sitting on my ass, so I may not adhere to any sort of schedule. I blog when I blog and if I don't, I'm busy.... or not.
7. 'Shaken, Not Stirred' was the first thing that came to mind. Shaking is random and messy, stirring is controlled and neat. I prefer to shake it.... and Vodka is my friend.

I'll end with my favorite quote:

"Only normal, sane people think they're going crazy - crazy people don't think it, they are."